Undertaker Knows Best

A/N: I had so much fun with my last story, I had to immediately jump into this one. However, this story has less overlapping and the chapters will (probably) be a bit longer so I may not update as quickly. Also, this is the first time I've ever attempted to write Ciel and Sebastian, which was a different experience for me. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Cult Ambrosia and the Child Reaper

He sat in the shadows, allowing the darkness to bury him within its velvety folds as he looked out at his followers. A single, flickering candle burned near his right hand, but the meager light it offered was swallowed by the gloom. They would be the beginning that would bring about the end, and he was thankful for their loyalty. In truth, they were ignorant and pathetic. They weren't here seeking higher ideals or even for the good of their fellow man. No, their purposes here were purely for selfish reasons, and there was little redeemable about them as individuals. Still, they served his purposes well and provided him a means to succeed in his mission, so for that he was happy enough with their services. He would put up with their mindless foolishness, for now, as he kept his eyes firmly locked on the ultimate goal.

They called him Asclepius, just as he was instructed of them, although only a few got the reference. He was not Greek nor did he have interest in medicine or healing. His real name, however, would have had no meaning for them. It would have been just another thing for them to forget as they focused on their own selfish desires. Names really have no meaning when you get right down to it. We wish to hear our own names during times of recognition and hope not to do so during chastisement. Names are nothing more than tags. From this point until his eventual end, Asclepius worked as well as anything.

He laced his long fingers together and leaned forward towards the solitary, feeble candle which wavered with his movement. The light spilled until the dark robe he wore which masked any features not hidden by the darkness. The others were similar robes, but they didn't do so to hide their identities. It was only to help them to feel closer in their leader, although the gulf between them was already too broad to ever be crossed. Besides, they had no real identities to speak of other than his followers, so there was nothing for them to hide. "Tonight you will find a new lamb to offer the taste of immortality. If we are worthy, than the sweet nectar shall be perfected and our new eternal lives will be at hand. If not, then we must keep striving. We much reach the plateau of faith where death no longer can touch us." He paused and picked up a golden goblet that had been setting by his left hand. It winked in the dim light as all eyes turned towards the goblet. "Let us all drink of the ambrosia!" he shouted.

Each of the other members held up their left hands as if they also had goblets in their grasp. "Drink of the ambrosia!" they cried in unison.

Their ritual finished, each of the followers stood up and filed out of the musty room in a straight, orderly fashion. Asclepius watched them lead, but not as the concerned father figure the others considered him. In truth, he felt contempt for the weak-minded fools who had bought into his propaganda. In the end, he would give them exactly what they were seeking, but he couldn't help but wonder how those fools would react if they knew the real reason for their actions.

The simpletons were seeking immortality. He was chasing death.

((X))

It was a rather peaceful morning at Phantomhive Manor as Sebastian went about his daily tasks. He honestly had no particular preference in peace and quiet or a change in routine. Typically he could work through both scenarios with ease and precision, and he would simply do whatever was needed of him. In fact, he knew that the servants of his very manor often held him in high esteem for that ability, but that didn't really affect him one way or another. One thing he could never understand about humans were their need for affirmation from others. When Sebastian did anything, he enjoyed putting forth his best effort simply because he felt that any job worth doing was worth doing right, but he essentially still did it for himself. However, he had seen far too many humans who performed complicated assignments all in the hopes of a crumb of praise or the brief treat of a smile. Not only was it illogical, it was a waste of perfectly good energy that could be applied to some other necessary task.

Quietly, he walked down the hall, thankful that the bumbling servants, whose talents were far better suited to other tasks rather than their current jobs, were staying out his way for a change. The tea cart rolled smoothly until Sebastian reached the closed door to the study. Knocking lightly, he heard Ciel's distracted voice telling him to enter, and he opened the door to push the cart inside.

"I have your afternoon tea, young master," Sebastian greeted, "and a letter from the queen."

At the mention of the letter, Ciel's head snapped up as his attention was tore away from the document he had been scanning with boredom. His visible eye flashed as something stirred within the blue depths of the alert iris, but the emotion itself was difficult to read. Ciel tried so hard to be seen as an adult, and there were times he was successful in speech, mannerism, and actions, yet there was always that part of him that was still a child that sometimes manage to peek out from behind the curtains in that eye. The boy had tried to leap over that invisible boundary into adulthood but had only manage to toe the line as some part of him wanted to drag him back into the innocent pool of youth.

Sebastian would have never claimed to be any sort of expert when it came to children. Before Ciel, his contact had been limited to a few observations, but he had always assumed them to be small adults. The only difference he had really noted, other than them being needier, was that children were brutally honest and cruel. It wasn't that there were any crueler or more honest than their adult counterparts, but they hadn't yet learned all the social conformities and how to wear a mask of politeness to hide disgust or contempt. In that sense, Sebastian almost preferred children over adults because of their inability to hide how they felt. Almost.

Ciel took the letter and read it quickly. "There's a cult known as Ambrosia," he stated, after devouring the letter's contents, "located just outside of Woodham Walter. They've been kidnapping locals. They've believed they've discovered the secret to immortality, but all of their kidnapped victims have been killed."

"Doesn't appear their secret is working then," remarked Sebastian with a slight smile, "Unless sacrifices are part of it."

Ciel briefly touched the patch covering his marked eye in what appeared to be an unconscious manner. "Don't they know that no one lives forever?" he mused softly as a slightly melancholy look took possession of his features. As almost as quickly as it had appeared, the expression was gone as a mask of cold indifference took its place. "They'll be meeting again tonight at sundown in an abandoned farmhouse," he said, "We're to put an end to the cult and to the leader."

"Not a very secret cult if so many know all that about it," Sebastian stated.

Leaning back in his chair, Ciel closed his eyes as if attempting to recite information learned by rote. "Apparently almost everyone in the area knows all about this cult and, but they are afraid. The few who have done or said anything about it has wound up dead in some mysterious manner. Besides, there seems to be some rumors about the farmhouse being used. Supposedly there was other mysterious occurrences there some years ago where an entire family was found slaughtered. No one has dared to step foot near it for years." He sighed deeply, "I'm sick of dealing with cults," he murmured.

"Should we get ready to depart then, young master?" Sebastian asked.

Instead of answering, Ciel opened his eye and looked up at him. "You don't think he has anything to do with this, do you?" he questioned.

"He, sir?"

"You know bloody well who I mean!" snapped Ciel, "The Undertaker!"

Indeed Sebastian had known who Ciel had meant, but he couldn't resist annoying his young master if only slightly. They had seen Undertaker only a few days prior while walking down the familiar streets. Neither one had been prepared when he had suddenly spoke to them from his wagon. To everyone else nearby, he no doubt looked the same old, slightly feeble, and quite mad man he had always appeared, but of course they knew better. They had seen him as his true self, and Sebastian could still feel the pain of the ancient's death scythe imbedded deeply through his chest. Since this body wasn't his true form, it bore no scar from the encounter, but there were times it still ached and throbbed.

Undertaker had called out a casual and cheerful hello as he passed, and Ciel would have no doubt fallen backwards in shock if Sebastian hadn't caught him. Sebastian himself had actually felt a little thrown off balance by the rogue reaper's sudden appearance. Over the next few days, Sebastian had done his best to monitor the situation. There had been a few more reapers in the area, no doubt confronting Undertaker, but then they simply had left and Sebastian had no idea of the actual outcome. He did realize that he needed to be more careful knowing that someone so powerful was back in the picture.

"I don't know," Sebastian said as he considered the situation, "While there are some similarities, especially since this seems centered on a cult, the introduction of some sort of supposed immortality formula seems quite a bit different from his Bizarre Dolls. I wouldn't rule out the possibility, but I have my doubts of his involvement. At least, his direct involvement."

This answer seemed to satisfy Ciel who quickly stood up and stepped away from his desk. "I suppose we need to find this abandoned farmhouse," he stated, "Come on, Sebastian."

Sebastian bowed slightly. "Yes, master," he agreed, but he glanced back at the tea cart setting by the desk as they left the room. It was such a shame that the tea would be left behind to grow cold and undrinkable. He had picked out such a nice blend too.

((X))

The sun was slowly setting, setting the horizon ablaze with lovely, fiery hues as night was just beginning to toss her starry blanket over the sky. Grell had always felt at home in the night – being that spark of color among all the shadows and darkened alleyways, but there was still something about sunset. Perhaps it was the predominance of the many shades of red. It held the promise of excitement and passion, which were both things for which she always searched. Of course, on this occasion, the beautiful backdrop only served as contrast for the extremely boring assignment.

Will had sent her here, out in the middle of nowhere, to gather quite a few souls. Not only was it going to be dull, but it was also going to be tedious. Multiple reapings were also the worst, and that was especially true when you had to work solo. The only saving grace was that one of the individuals that was supposed to die here tonight, a Mr. Guy Moore to be precise, had no listed cause of death. That happened so very rarely, and it had piqued her interest although it seemed like little consolation on a night so dull. With a rather poetic grace, she leaped to the top of a tall tree as she looked at where her particular services would be needed on this night.

The crumbling farmhouse did little to excite the senses or tease the imagination. It was a rather plain affair of wood and stone that seemed to be crumbling inwards as if the structure was slowly trying to devour itself from within. As Grell looked, the front door flew open and she saw something that definitely held her interest. Framed in the doorway like a lost piece of art, Sebastian stood carrying that miserable brat in his arms. A dangerous smile curled about her face. This assignment just got a lot more interesting.

If William had any idea that Sebastian might make an appearance, she doubted he would have given her this assignment, even though she was probably one of the few active reapers that could handle the demon. She thought, or at least hoped, that Will was jealous although her supervisor actually had little to worry about. She liked Sebastian's appearance, even though she knew that it was little more than decorative wrapping disguising a much darker present within, and she liked the danger he presented. He was poisonous, forbidden fruit – delectable to the eye but deadly if ingested. For her, the thrill of her encounters was about the chase and watching Sebastian's cool demeanor crack under her flirtatious assault. Anything else between them were nothing more than daydreams, and she never actually thought about anything more serious. Now, Will was an entirely different story.

William wasn't here, however, and she was ready to play another round of her favorite game. Suppressing a laugh, she leapt dexterously onto the roof just behind Sebastian, who so far hadn't seemed to notice her. Before she could make her next move, however, Sebastian suddenly took off at a speed even her eyes had trouble following. Before she had any time to feel disappointed or even cheated, the building on which she had been positioned suddenly exploded.

She felt herself being propelled upwards by a blast of hot air, but she felt no actual pain from the explosion itself. Calmly, she started to turn in midair so that she could escape the shockwave and return to the earth, when something very sharp and painful pierced the back of her neck. It felt vaguely familiar, but just as she recognized the sensation it was too late. She didn't even have a chance to scream.

((X))

Night had fully fallen, and it was unusually quiet. There were no chirping of crickets of the deep croaking of frogs serenading the moon. The few visible clouds didn't seem to move, almost like they had been tacked into place, and even the wind had stilled as if the Earth itself was holding its breath. It was a night of possibilities and Undertaker couldn't way to see what this night might have in store.

He had traveled farther than usual to perform his services on this day, but the young lady who had requested his help had been quite a dear about it, and he never could turn down a lady in need. Besides, he had no trouble traveling long distances at night, even if his mule did protest sometimes. One of the men back at the cemetery had actually offered to put him up for the night, stating it was too dangerous for one old man to be traveling alone on these roads. The offer was actually quite generous, but Undertaker had been so amused by the notion that someone thought that he needed protection from the would-be robbers and assorted riff raffs of the night that he burst out laughing. Even with his blurry vision, made more blurry by the tears streaming down his cheeks, he could see the looks of shock on the faces around him slowly morph into fear. This only made it all funnier, and he could only fall back onto his cart helplessly as he grabbed his aching sides as the laughter ripped from him. Finally, he gained control of himself enough to explain, between giggles, that he was fine to travel back to his shop tonight. The man who had made the offer looked more than a little relieved that Undertaker had rejected. No doubt the man had thought he was quite mad with his reaction.

Of course, it never hurt to be just a little mad.

Steadily, he made his way back towards home as the wheels of his wagon turned steadily and sliced through the silence of the night. He found himself humming an old tune he had long since forgotten the words to, as he drove down the road until he came to the site of a recent explosion of sorts. He had heard the explosion earlier, everyone at the services had, but the people he had been around had been far too scared to investigate. He had been curious, but duty called him to stay, so he hadn't a chance to check out the situation until now.

He had seen the old farmhouse earlier today when he had passed it, and he could tell then it wasn't all it had seemed. However, he hadn't been expecting for it to be destroyed before he had a moment to even examine the grounds. There was nothing left but a few floorboards and one far wall. The rest of the house lay in scattered remains about the ground like a puzzle that could never be put back together. As he sat there examined the wreckage, he couldn't help but get the feeling that something was wrong. For one, he could sense a reaper nearby, but it was very faint. Some of the higher level reapers, like himself, could mask their presence but this seemed different. This was more like a reaper who was there but not entirely somehow, which made no sense even in his mind.

Plus, there was something small and white moving in the middle of the debris.

Frowning slightly, he jumped down off of his wagon and moved towards what he soon saw was a very small person dressed in white – probably a child. He walked closer and hunkered down on his knees to bring himself to the eye level of the small figure. "Hello?" he asked.

The child, who had seemingly been unaware of his presence, spun around suddenly at the sound of his voice, and Undertaker gasped loudly. He was close enough to get a fairly good look at the boy before him and there was no mistaken that fiery, untamed hair, fair skin, and large two-toned green eyes. This boy was none other the infamous reaper known as Grell Sutcliff. It made no sense since this child didn't look to be no older than four or five, but Undertaker knew exactly what or rather who he was looking at.

It wasn't that Grell had simply shrunk in height, his face was rounder and his eyes were larger – all indicators that he was truly much younger than before. His beautiful hair was shorter as well and his teeth, although still quite sharp and dangerous, were noticeably smaller. He was still wearing his white shirt and waist jacket, although both hung like an ill-fitting dress on his diminutive form, but his pants and shoes were nowhere to be seen. The lens of his glasses were cracked and shattered, but the frames themselves were still hanging about his neck on the recognizable chain. Undertaker had the sudden wonder why Grell, who was often considered by the other reapers to be a little on the dotty side, was the only one who had the sense enough to have his glasses secured with a chain – especially with the way the others acted like their glasses were so all fired important.

To his surprise, the child reaper lifted his head slightly and sniffed the air towards him. Undertaker realized that now that his ability to see had diminished, Grell was instinctively relying on his other senses. He was smelling to see if Undertaker was a friend or foe, and the ancient couldn't help but smile. It was so odd that the academy was teaching the modern reapers such heavy reliance on sight and their glasses when there seemed to be an inborn sense of using all the other senses in conjunction.

"Do you know who I am?" Undertaker asked.

Grell shook his head quickly. He looked both a little scared and unsure, but Undertaker was rather pleased that he wasn't crying as would most children his age – or what Undertaker supposed to be his age. While it could have simply been the fact that he was a reaper, he couldn't help but think it had more to do with Grell's inner strength. He had always liked the little spitfire, and couldn't help that they had more than a little in common.

"How did you get here?" questioned Undertaker, trying to sound gentle.

Grell shrugged his shoulders. "I'm lost," he admitted in a youthful voice that tugged at Undertaker's heart.

"Well, I'll help you find your way," offered Undertaker, "Take my hand."

"I don't know you," Grell retorted, looking at the hand and back up to Undertaker's face in an unsure manner.

"You can call me Uncle Undie." He actually had no idea where the proposed name had come from, but it seemed suitable at the moment, "And I saw you smell the air around me earlier. You can tell that I'm a friend."

"Maybe," Grell said uncertainly. After a few moments of hesitation, he slowly put his tiny, right hand in Undertaker's before placing his left thumb in his mouth. It was a somewhat infantile action, but he supposed that this young, innocent version of the red reaper should be allowed to indulge in at least a few childish behaviors.

Undertaker started to lead him back to the wagon, but he realized that the child had no shoes on his small feet. Without thinking, he reached down and picked Grell up to carry him on his hip. Grell seemed surprised at first, but then he laid his head over on Undertaker's shoulder, the thumb never leaving his mouth. Within minutes, he had fallen asleep.

He looked so innocent and fragile, but Undertaker couldn't help but wonder how Grell had ever managed to get into this state.