Author's Note: So, I recently got into the Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji fandom, and as of now I'm on Episode 21. I just watched Episode 20, and I was really sad about it. WHY?! WHY DID THEY KILL OFF FRED?! Seriously, he was awesome. I think he was one of the only truly pure-hearted characters in the whole series. And I loved the dynamic between him and Ciel; I could totally see them having a pseudo-father/son relationship. Kind of like Parental!RoyEd in Fullmetal Alchemist. So I was sad when he died. And then he left behind a soon-to-be-wife and unborn kid... yeah, tragic. And there's virtually no fanfiction for him, too. So this piece was written in tribute to Fred, who is much more than just another minor character to me.

9-12-2014 Edit: Reuploaded with minor edits. Better transition between scenes, some touching up here and there, etc. Also added three extra paragraphs to the end. On a completely unrelated note, I just saw Episode 10 of Book of Circus, and now I'm sad all over again!

*SPOILER AHEAD* I knew what was going to happen because I read the manga, but it was still tragic. Poor Joker, Doll, and the Circus group. That ending scene, with the music and the ribbon... *sob*. I had 'Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son' stuck in my head for the whole morning. Hm. Maybe I'll write another oneshot similar to this later, except instead of Abberline's spirit, it's the Circus group. Gah, more Angst and Tragedy... Why did they have to die?! Why?! At least they set the stage for Snake to join the Phantomhive Servants, though. And in the first episode of Book of Circus, when Abberline showed up (with a mustache. *snicker*) I was thrilled. Too bad he doesn't really show up again. Anyway, I hoped you all loved Kuroshitsuji: Book of Circus as much as I did! *SPOILER END*

Disclaimer: I don't own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji, because first off- if I owned it, Fred wouldn't have died. He would have LIVED! I really hope he doesn't die in the manga, too. Then I'll be very sad.

Frederick Abberline

1853-1888

Status: Deceased

As dusk fell, a strange figure could be seen on the streets of London. It was, for the most part, a rather ordinary-looking young man wearing a bowler hat, a green tie on a white shirt, and a dark grey trench coat. His head was topped with shaggy auburn hair, and his features were soft and kind. Blue eyes flickered from side to side, as if searching for something- or someone -as he wandered through the crowded streets.

Although his shoulders were relaxed and his steps were soft, an aura of sadness seemed to cling to him like dusty cobwebs. As if, behind the kindness in his eyes, there was a deep-seated grief that had never quite gone away as well. He kept walking, shoes thumping almost soundlessly on uneven cobble.

But, as the ordinary-looking man continued his search, any observer could see that he had two rather... extraordinary qualities. The first was the way nobody looked at him- rather, instead they looked through him. The edges of his form seemed to be blurred as well, like a bad picture. And at times, when the edges of his coat flapped in the wind… one would almost think that they could see through the material to whatever was behind it. And occasionally, a flash of crimson would flicker into existence around his gut, a bloody stain that was there one moment and gone the next.

The second, though- that was the obvious one. The one that anybody watching (assuming they could see him) would notice first. This second extraordinary quality came in the form of two, enormous white wings that arched high over the man's head, then curved down so low they almost brushed the ground. At the moment they were folded tightly against the man's back, feathers rustling slightly in the breeze. They seemed to almost glow with an ethereal light, pure and innocent as fresh snow.

By now, the man had come to a small house tucked away in a relatively nice part of town. He turned and stopped in front of the door, a melancholy expression on his face. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Passers-by, though, would swear that, for a moment, they heard something. It was only one word, but the sadness in his voice made it stand out in their memories, even though, to them, there was no one there. That word was a name- "Maria."

Then, the man- no, angel -vanished completely, reappearing with a slight breeze inside the small home. His gaze was instantly drawn to a young woman sitting at the table in the middle of the room, with long, light brown hair and sky blue eyes. Her belly was rounded in a way that showed she was obviously pregnant, and at the moment she was sobbing as she clutched a small black-and-white framed photograph to her chest. "Fred…" she whispered softly.

The angel, known in life as Frederick Abberline (Fred for short- he had always hated being called Frederick) frowned as he moved towards the woman, Maria, who had been his fiancee. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and even though she couldn't see him, perhaps she subconsciously registered his presence. For her sobs slowed, stopped, and a strange warmth filled her, not unlike when her former soon-to-be-husband held her in his arms. The angel bent down and whispered in her ear, then, reluctantly, raised his hand and left. And for a moment, the woman could almost swear that she had heard her lost love's voice.

"I will always be with you and our child, Maria, in your hearts."

The sun was almost down by now, a mere sliver of burning fire against the horizon as street lamps began to flicker on. Far across London, in the rich part of town populated only by nobility, the former police officer stood on the side of the road as he watched a young boy with grey-blue hair and expensive clothing walk past. He had the proud strut of one who knew his place in society and believed all others beneath him; and carried himself like one several times is actual age. It was odd, really, to see such a gait on a boy so young.

The boy had one cerulean blue eye on his left, glittering with intelligence far beyond his years. The other was covered with a black eyepatch, but the man knew that if it were to be lifted, underneath he would find a very different eye of glowing lavender, with a five-pointed star surrounded by a spiked circle as its pupil.

This mark was the symbol of a contract between the young lord and a demon, a demon who took the form of his butler, Sebastian Michaelis. This butler followed behind him dutifully, as the pair made their way towards the young lord's London home.

Fred, though, watched with a sad smile on his face as the young boy strode past without a second glance. His mind flashed back to a different time, when the boy's face hadn't been cold and emotionless like it was now- when it had been frantic and worried, worried for him, the man who had taken a sword to the chest for his sake.

He remembered the pain, the blood, the realization that yes, he was dying, and he wouldn't get to officially marry his Maria, or see his unborn child grow up. But then he saw how his actions had prevented the death of a different child, one that, though he insisted otherwise, was still just a boy. And that made the whole thing worth it.

"You have another chance, Ciel," he murmured softly. Ciel Phantomhive paused for a second, turning his face towards where Abberline stood. The boy's brow creased slightly, and his one visible eye narrowed. But then he shook his head as if to rid himself of a strange thought, and continued.

His butler, on the other hand…

Sebastian turned towards the angel, crimson eyes slit and glittering demonically. A devious smile curled about his lips, and he gave the blue-eyed man a short nod.

Thank you for protecting my master, his eyes said.

It was nothing, the angel seemed to reply. Take care of him, Michaelis. Take care of him.

"And Ciel… don't forget. You don't always have to be alone."

Then, Frederick Abberline smiled one last time. His form faded, shimmered, and dissolved into a storm of white feathers that spiraled up towards the heavens. He had finally passed on, heading for a better place. All that was left was a slight glow in the air, a section of cobblestone that maybe sparkled a bit more in the light, and a single feather that drifted on the wind towards the Phantomhive Mansion.

It would be found, several days later, by Finny as he tended to the garden. He would then put that feather in his pocket, bring back to his quarters, and carefully prop it up against the wall atop his dresser. It would occupy that spot for years to come, never losing its pure white gleam or becoming dry and brittle with age.

Several days after its discovery, Sebastian, upon coming into clean, would see it laying innocently on the wooden drawers. He would come close, one gloved hand hovering just above white vanes, but never touching. After a moment, his hand would drop, and he would carefully dust exactly six inches in every direction around it. When he was finished, he would continue with the rest of the room as if nothing was wrong.

The demon butler would never tell Ciel of Finny's newest treasure. And Finny would be forever bewildered by the way that Sebastian never dusted in a six inch radius around his prized feather.

Up above, on golden clouds, Abberline watched, and observed, and smiled.

The angel's spirit was now at peace.