Hi everyone. Here is a crossover of two of my favorite books. "How Many Miles to Babylon?" and "Kuroshitsuji". I hope you all enjoy and are ready for a feels trip!

Note: This story is set during WWI. Sebastian is a human.

I am currently in the process of editing each chapter and will be uploading more after my exams. College really takes up all your time...

How Many Miles to Babylon?

Kuroshitsuji / How many Miles to Babylon?

Chapter I: So I Write and Wait

xMiss Shizaya Michaelisx

It all came down to this; me sitting here with my soiled notebook, blotchy pen, ink and dirtied paper at a desk that looked about ready to collapse if I put any more pressure on it. The dulling wood was chipped with the signatures of those who have gone before me. There were not many of them, but just enough to decorate the small desk with history.

I write and wait. I am committed to nothing.

I love nothing and... I... I love no living person.

As I wait, I accept that I have no future, but only what you can count in hours. I wasn't entirely disturbed by that realisation as I thought I would be. In fact, it was quite welcoming.

As I sit and wait, I have only but the past to play with in my mind. I can juggle with a series of possibly inaccurate memories. I figure that it does not matter if they are disjointed. They are distant now.

As I wait, I slowly come to terms that all my hopes and dreams with... no. There is no possibility of seeing them brought to life.

He's gone now.

It's over for both of us.

I have not bothered to communicate with either my father or mother. They will do that for me when it's done.

Will they feel any pain? My father might. It may possibly kill him. but maybe, like me, he may be better off dead. Will my mother cry? It is a question I have been asking myself for as long as I have been sitting in this creaking chair. I know my cold heart will not bleed for her if she does.

Major Randall has not been near me, for which I am duly grateful. That cold man... he will never convert me. Not now. That much was clear from the very beginning. He will never make a man out of me, but I suppose he won't lose much sleep over that.

Seemingly unimportant places, woodlands, lakes, memories... they are the center of the world for for tens of thousands of men right now. Those places will be there final destination, the end of the world for many, for either the heroes and cowards or the masters and slaves.

I can only guess that it's raining outside. It is February after all. The heavy winter rain shows no mercy for the dying screams of men.

The priest comes to visit from time to time, not that i appreciate it. On insistence, he shows me the gold cross he wears under his viyella vest. He takes it out with pride and allows me the apparent honour of seeing such a fine piece, not that I'm the least bit interested.

"Have you faith?" he asked me yesterday when he came to visit again for the the umpteenth time.

That wasn't his exact phrasing. It was much more sophisticated than that and came out more like he was embarrassed to ask such a thing.

I shook my head slightly, not caring if I offended him.

"No?" he questioned. His eyes had widened behind his smudged spectacles.

I nodded my head, "I'm not exactly what you call one who is among the faithful."

There had been something in his yellow blood-shot eyes. Pity perhaps? When I saw it, I wanted to laugh. I refrained from doing so.

"I don't believe faith can comfort the living, and it seems to me that it is irrelevant for the dead." My throat was dry, coarse. I tried clearing it which only made things worse. I took a slip of the slightly browned water in the glass that sat by my shabby notebook. I didn't take any notice of the dirtied water. It was not important now.

"But you're alive." he noted, looking very much confused.

I wanted so desperately to roll my eyes, "For the moment."

The atmosphere grew uncomfortable. He pushed the cross back in over his his shirt and soon left after conveniently excusing himself.

I am glad that he left. His presence could bore any man to tears. Sitting back in my chair, I push that memory aside. It was not worth thinking about. But as I sit here, beautiful memories begin to fill my mind. Tragically beautiful memories.

Memories of him.

Hope you enjoyed and let me know what you thought!