"Sebastian!"

It was all he could think of to say.

The butler didn't move. His mouth hung open, stained with blood that had long stopped flowing. His eyes didn't so much as twitch, hellfire gleam dimmed to old coals.

Sebastian had never ignored a summons before.

He didn't even realize he was in motion until he felt something tacky on his rear.

He was straddling Sebastian - when had that happened? - staring at the dull shock on the butler's face. The man's flesh was neither hot nor cold, but disconcertingly room temperature beneath his hands.

"Sebastian, I order you to get up."

Why wasn't he responding? He never disobeyed an order!

Behind him, he could hear Mey-rin's whimpers, and Finnian's sobs. Bard's deep breaths as he fought to contain himself.

The butler's coat smelled of blood. Of blood, decay, and death. His hands clenched, bunching the woolen material between his fingers.

It was getting hard to breathe.

A deep, wheezing breath.

And, beneath the blood and decay and death and bad things, he could smell him. Smell Sebastian. Smell the soothing sulfur and chocolate and ash and smoke.

No matter how much he strained his ears, how hard he pressed his face into the clothing, there was no sign of the butler's faux heartbeat.

"Sebastian, please."