Author's Note: A collaboration fic between Smart Angel and Harmonized Insanity~ This fic is set in the manga-verse, so there's no mention of anime events or characters at all.
Spoilers: May be slight references to manga events such as the Circus Arc, but otherwise, nope, it's safe.
Pairing: Not really a pairing fic, though there may be hints of SebCiel, but no more than is canon anyway.
Warnings: None come to mind. If that changes, it'll be mentioned at the top of the chapter.
Summary: Ciel had hardened his heart, accepted his fate at the hands of the Demon at his side, but will that resolution crumble when the chance to reclaim his past comes knocking at his door? Or is he already too consumed by hellfire?
Disclaimer: Yana Toboso is our God. We own nothing.
۞
His eyes wouldn't open. The grogginess was fading now, but still he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. It felt like he'd only just put his head down on the pillow. Surely it couldn't be morning yet? No, surely not, Tanaka hadn't come to wake him.
It took a moment for that thought to register in his mind, and when it did, alarm shot through him like a bolt of electricity. Any lingering drowsiness was gone instantly, and his eyes flew open.
Darkness.
Thick, impenetrable, and most certainly not his bedroom.
Vincent Phantomhive was a man that thrived on darkness. His very existence depended on it, really, to be able to do his duty. However, that didn't exactly entail literal darkness, and suddenly awaking to nothing but wasn't something he liked. It was only his years of experience and iron will that kept the immediate surge of panic at bay.
Experimentally, he lifted a hand. He wasn't so much surprised as mildly annoyed to meet an obstruction not too far in front of his face. Feeling around ascertained what he had already assumed; he was encased. In what, he didn't much fancy thinking about. Still, he did a lot he didn't particularly like, so he set his mind to the task at hand. His first and most morbid thought was a coffin. If the soft cushion beneath him was anything to go by, little more guesswork was needed; he was indeed in a coffin.
Fantastic.
No panicking. Vincent Phantomhive did not panic, even in morose situations such as these. He kept calm, cool and collected as he analysed the situation and-
"Vincent?"
Distant, muffled, but he would have recognized that voice no matter what.
"...Rachel?"
And all shred of composure fled him. Giving no thought to just how much oxygen there could be in the coffin, he beat his fists against the wood trapping him, kicked his legs out as much as the small space would allow, a wordless cry breaking past his lips.
Rachel was near. Rachel was in danger. And he was trapped.
"My, my, someone's not a morning person."
The coffin door suddenly swung forward and Vincent, moving forward to strike the wood again, was propelled out. Usually there would be grace. He'd have caught himself, held himself with that ineffable air he'd been raised to always possess. Clearly not now, as he instead was set hurtling to the floor. Hands settled on his shoulders instantly and he moved to lash out before catching sight of who it was touching him.
Rachel was knelt beside him, cerulean eyes racing over him, checking for any injuries. Her face was impeccably calm, but the hands on his shoulders betrayed her frenzied state, so tight even he had to bite back a wince. Satisfied he was unharmed - apart from his bloodied fists, but that was due to himself - she looked up at the only other man in the room.
A man they both recognized.
"Undertaker," Vincent said, just the feel of his wife at his side enough to calm him, not a trace of his bemusement evident in his tone.
The man was the same as always; that ash hair obscuring his eyes, effectively making him one of the most impossible men to read, those scars peeking out from beneath the bangs, that ever-present grin that so needed to be wiped away just as much as answers needed to be given.
"It is nice to see the Phantomhives again," the man said with a smile, "After suuuch a long time... This is certainly turning out to be much more interesting than I originally thought."
"Interesting?" Vincent echoed, putting his arms around Rachel's waist. It was true that in some bizarre way Undertaker was their ally but... But a visit to him meant something was going on with England's Underworld. Was he on a mission from the Queen? And how did he end up there? More importantly, why was Rachel there, by his side?
He took a look around, trying to find some clues to what might be going on. A mission from the Queen; that was a good start... But what had she asked him to do? And why is it that he could not remember? Maybe someone gave him some poison or drugged his drink... No, he was Vincent Phantomhive, Earl of the Phantomhive family. He wouldn't be as careless as to allow himself to be drugged. So maybe a fight? That still didn't explain why he was in a coffin though. And why did Undertaker say they haven't seen each other in a long time? It hadn't been that long since his last visit...
One look at Rachel and Vincent could tell his wife was thinking the same thing. Rachel was a smart woman, calm and able to process things faster than you would expect. She may suffer from poor health, but what she lacked there, she more than made up in intelligence and charm. That was the reason why many times she would help him in missions, when he had to go undercover and needed someone capable to stay by his side.
Was that the explanation? Was she helping him in something?
"Ciel..." Rachel suddenly said, her voice barely above whisper. Vincent looked at her in surprise, and was about to ask why she was calling their son's name when she stood up and started to look around. "Ciel!" she called again "Is he okay, Undertaker? Is our son..." Coffins everywhere the eye could reach. One which she was inside not long ago, and another one where her Husband emerged from... But none that would fit a ten year old child. So he was safe... Or at least not locked inside a death bed. The thought was enough to make the poor woman sick. To imagine her little child, who could barely stand being alone during a stormy night, alone, in the darkness of a coffin... Oh God, please, never let her child know that solitude and darkness!
"It's okay, Rachel," Vincent said, and then stood up and joined his beloved. He was just as worried about Ciel as she was, but one of them needed to keep their cool. He put an arm around her shoulder, trying to calm her down, and, not surprisingly, he drew strength and comfort from her. He was able to adopt a calm smile as he looked at her beautiful blue eyes. "I'm sure Tanaka is taking very good care of Ciel." When she took a deep breath to calm herself, the man turned to Undertaker, who enjoyed the show with a smile on his face. "Undertaker, what is going on here? I'm afraid I don't recall how I ended up in this... rather strange situation."
"Awww... So Mr. Phantomhive wants answers, eh?" A giggle came out of the white haired man... This could not be good. "I know it has been a long time since your last visit... And what a visit it was, indeed... But I do have a price for my information..."
"Laughter." Vincent nodded. A joke... This man was always so troublesome! How could he come up with a joke when he hardly recalled the past hour?
"I'll take care of this." Rachel said with a smile "I heard some from Ann the other day, and I'm sure you will enjoy it."
True to her word, in less than five minutes the creepy shop in London was erupting with laughter.
"There you are..." Rachel said, and turned to her husband, "I think he will answer anything."
Vincent, snapped out of his shock, smiled proudly.
"I'll ask again, Undertaker," Vincent said, and even though it was clear that this was not a request, but a demand, he still sounded polite "What is going on here...?"
"You ask a hard question, Sir..." Undertaker answered, still wheezing with laughter "One I cannot give yet... Or rather... I'm not the right person to give it to you... All I can say is that you have no missions from the Lady." The man chose to ignore the chuckled followed by the word 'you' "Why don't ya go home? I'm sure that will be a lot more useful..."
At the mention of home, Vincent felt Rachel tense beneath his arm. He knew just how she was feeling, because the same feeling flooded him then. A bone-deep weariness, an overwhelming desire to see those red brick walls and flower-strewn lawns, the lawn which Ciel would come darting down at the sound of their carriage, Sebastian at his heels. Rationally, he knew it couldn't have been long since he'd last seen his son, but he was filled with a sudden longing to have the boy in his arms.
He needed no more prompting.
"I see. Well then, thank you for your help, Undertaker."
Yes, because the man had been ever so informative. Vincent's head buzzed with confusion, a feeling quite foreign to him. He was usually so in the know, five steps ahead of everyone else. Yet now the roles had been reversed, and he was clueless.
Being clueless was not a thing he enjoyed, and he resolved to not be clueless for much longer. Undertaker said that the answer to his question lay in his home, and since he – well, Rachel – had paid the price, he did not doubt his associates words. So, they would return to the manor.
۞
There was no carriage resting outside of Undertaker's shop, only deepening Vincent and Rachel's shared unease. The carriage would not have left without them, surely. With little other choice, they had to pay for a ride with the little money in Vincent's pockets.
The man overcharged him, and Vincent remembered just why he didn't dwell with the Great Unwashed if he could help it.
There was another couple also in the carriage, reeking of alcohol and other things Vincent didn't want to think about, so he held his tongue and tightened his arm around his wife. There remained much to be said between them, but it was not for the ears of strangers, even if they were drunk.
Vincent and Rachel disembarked the carriage a distance away from the manor; if their companions saw them going to such a extravagant place, they'd surely be mugged. As the carriage drew away, Rachel slipped her hand into his.
"I don't like this. We gave Undertaker what he wanted, why would he be so vague?" she murmured, a delicate frown pulling at her face as they began walking.
"Undertaker always has a reason for what he does. It's alright, we'll figure this out. If there's nothing at home, I'll get in touch with Deiderich, see if he can tell me anything."
They trotted over the rubble path, hands clasped tightly, as the manor rose over the horizon. It looked much the same as ever, with its immaculate gardens – Rachel's pride, the perfect playground for the children – and the huge building, the windows glittering in the setting evening sun. A rush of warmth washed over them, that odd exhaustion lifting slightly as their home drew closer-
Only to retreat instantly. Rachel's hand gripped his tighter, palm clammy, as the unease returned. It bloomed like a flower in her chest, growing as the petals unfurled, further and further until it threatened to choke her completely.
Those flowers. Those flowers were yellow roses, when they should have been red. She remembered picking the seeds with Ann, laughing at the blush as bright as her hair that stole across her sister's face, declaring that there'd be a part of her in the garden.
And... and wasn't there supposed to be a tree there? Yes, definitely, because that was where they sat when the sun was too bright and she grew dizzy, but didn't want to go inside because Ciel and Lizzie were having too much fun playing. She'd had that tree planted right there, because it gave the perfect shade, close enough to the flowers to smell them but far enough away that the wasps and bees didn't bother them.
The manor too... had that crack always been there? Spider-webbing along the wall, like something heavy had charged right into it.
Something wasn't right.
"Vincent..."
"I know," he muttered, a rare frustration lacing his words. He'd seen the changes too, seen the differences, seen that their home was wrong.
Slowly now, wary, they approached the front steps as though crossing a minefield. Their grip on each other was almost painful, but neither released the other's hand. As they climbed the steps, they only noticed more details, little things that were wrong. Little vines creeping along the wall, mouldings around the door that neither of them recognised, a door knocker that both of them would have deemed far too tacky to have.
A shadowed glance passed between them, a silent agreement not to just enter even though it was their home and their right to go inside, before Rachel, always the impatient one, grabbed the door knocker and knock, knock, knock.
It was not Tanaka who answered the door.
The man – boy? – was one they had never seen before. Not much taller than Rachel herself, he stood in a stance that mirrored their own, tense and ready to turn tail and run should need be. He eyed them warily, as though they'd bite, yet seemed completely unafraid of the snake twined around his own neck.
When neither Vincent nor Rachel made any move towards him, the boy relaxed, smoothing down his black blazer self-consciously and straightening. He took a deep breath, then spoke in a voice little over a whisper.
"Do you have an appointment with Smi... Earl Phantomhive?" and then added, "says Oscar."
Rachel and Vincent exchanged apprehensive looks. Earl Phantomhive... Didn't this boy know that the man whom he spoke of was right in front of him? Clearly not, since he still waited for an answer.
"No," Vincent said, and then smiled when the boy frowned. "But we have urgent matters to discuss with the Earl so if you please..."
"Black said to not let anyone in without an appointment. We must follow the schedule," the boy answered, and his already small amount of confidence seemed to be dropping. Was this boy even properly trained as a servant? "says Webster."
"That may be your order, boy," Rachel said. Something was definitely up, and she didn't like it. First they woke up in coffins, then their house was wrong and now this boy was referring to some unknown person as Earl Phantomhive? The title that belonged to her husband? She didn't like this... she didn't like this at all... "But we need to get inside. It is an urgent matter."
"B-But Black said..."
"Snake, what is going on?"
A butler clad entirely in black appeared behind the boy, his voice calm, if not a little impatient. Elegantly, he sent the boy on other household business, saying he would take over from there. A very handsome man, Rachel noticed, he could have been Vincent's twin if not for some minor details. He was tall, had hair as dark as his clothes, and his blood-coloured eyes examined them with... What was it? Amusement? Surprise?
But what shocked the couple the most was not the inhuman eyes or the sadistic curve of his smile, but the pin on the butler's clothes. The pin, that belonged to Tanaka, the head butler of the Phantomhive manor.
"You want an audience with Young Master, I hear."
Young Master?
"Why don't you come in?" he said and then stepped aside, letting them inside their own home.
The view shocked them. As if the outside of their home wasn't different enough, the inside looked like an entirely different place! The family portrait they had posed for months previously, and the one Rachel so proudly hung on the main staircase, was gone. The carpet and the wood flooring, while very similar to the one they had, was different. Furniture was in places it hadn't been, and around ran a maid whose glasses seemed not to be doing their job. And of course, there was the sound... Or lack of it. Before their home would be filled with Ciel's laughter and Sebastian's barks. But now the only sound heard was of the maid's shoes as she clamoured around on the wooden floor, or of servants discussing things in the distance.
This was not their home. Not the one they left. This house could not even be called a home; who would want to live in such a dark and tense atmosphere? With so much loneliness and darkness, Vincent felt this place was almost worse than the coffin he had been in just this morning.
"My Young Master is quite busy, but I'm sure he will take the time to see such important guests." Something flickered in the man's smile. He knew who they were.
"Your Master seems like a very generous and kind person," Vincent said, deciding to continue the little game. He looked at Rachel, hoping she would understand she should follow his lead.
"Some people may say that," the man said, and started going up the stairs, "Others may disagree."
"What is your opinion then?" Rachel asked, with a pleasant smile, trying to get any clues as to what kind of man they were about to meet.
"I shall stay by Young Master's side until his last moments," he said "I am, after all, one hell of a butler."
"That did not answer my question." She did not miss that those words, to this man, meant something more.
"I believe actions speak louder than words." He then stopped in front of a door. "Here we are."
A knock, and Vincent and Rachel found themselves holding their breaths. Though no response was heard, the butler opened the door, and stayed in front of it, blocking their view of the so-called Earl Phantomhive, and his view of them.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Young Master," he says "But I have guests that demand to see you at this moment."
"I don't have time for this, Sebastian." That voice... Vincent could have sworn it sounded just like... But no, it was not possible! It sounded like him, but it carried a harshness, a coldness that would never be present in his son's voice! "I believe I ordered you not to interrupt me unless it had something to do with the..."
"And it does indeed, My Lord," the butler said "I never disobey your orders, after all. I believe you will find these guests to be..."
But he was interrupted, for Rachel couldn't take it any more. She shoved the butler aside and made her way into what she knew was her husband's old study. It looked about the same, but different at the same time, just like the house. There were still books everywhere the eye could reach, two sofas for the guests and the Earl, and a writing desk close to the window. However, now there was also a chess table in the room, as well as some other games she did not recognize on the coffee table. A deck of playing cards was spread across the writing desk, and sitting on the armchair behind it was a small boy, holding a chess piece close to his lips, with a big blue eye showing and an eye-patch covering the other.
The hair... The eye... The face... Even though there was no smile, she would recognize this boy anywhere.
"Ciel!"