Author's Note: Hello again and welcome to chapter four. One thing I want to make most clear before you begin reading is that I made a mistake in the last chapter. A MISTAKE. At the very end of the chapter, I wrote, for some reason, "Just another two years," when I meant, "Just another few years." I apologise profusely. It was just a typing error and I have no large happening in mind for Ciel when he is ten years old. Furthermore, I realised my little slip-up in not accounting for the governess that generally would have taken care of children such as Ciel in the Victorian time period. I feel as though it's a little late in the day to be mentioning any such servant now, so we will just have to settle on the idea that the Phantomhives were a little unusual, and did not employ a governess but rather left Ciel's care primarily with Tanaka, as much as I dislike historical inaccuracies. Shame on me. Treasure Island is by Robert Louis Stevenson and was published in 1883, the year of this story. I do not claim to own it in any way. As always, thank you for your support and I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Warnings: Although this chapter starts out a little light and fluffy, beware of the gore which lies later on. Towards the end, things get really rather gruesome.
Caym
The second the door of his bedroom was closed with an entirely unthreatening click, the nightmares began.
:: ::
It had been rather strange at first, to be bathed by the man who had only that day entered their employ. However, Ciel quickly found that it was not so different after all, and that Sebastian was gentle and professional. He felt only the talented, long fingers rub gently at his scalp with human delicacy and the shivers down his spine were enough to erase just a little more of the memory of what exactly it was he had seen in his garden by the forest that fateful day. As Sebastian's fingers coursed through his hair and his mind (still drowsy from sitting by the fire and now more so by the warmth of the bathwater) drifted, he realised that he found it difficult to remember what exactly Sebastian's true form looked like. He remembered the glowing, catlike eyes and pale skin and, with some reluctance, talons (he quickly forgot about that, didn't want to think about those dreadful things at all) but the image was vague and somewhat distorted in his mind, as though he had seen it through a dream and not through his own eyes.
And perhaps... perhaps it had been a dream - what was he to think then? No, he told himself firmly, of course it wasn't. Why, Sebastian had discussed the entire situation with him earlier that day, hadn't he? ...Hadn't he? It was all becoming terribly difficult, terribly frustrating. He tried desperately to remember what exactly it was he had seen, but only vague glimpses of earlier happenings were revealed to him. He remembered that Sebastian had served him tea, allowed him to eat it in one of the good sitting rooms, he remembered sitting by the fire as Sebastian had said that due to his poor health (surely Aunt Ann had told him of that) he should avoid catching cold. And before that... Ah, of course, Sebastian had tended to his eye and changed his bandages for him... His eye. That had been Sebastian, hadn't it? No... no, his eye was ripped out by a beast, he corrected himself. And Sebastian and the beast were not two of the same... were they?
He glanced up at the butler, at the handsome face and the kind burgundy eyes and the man seemed to sense the unease in his charge.
"Whatever is the matter, young master?"
Yes, he remembered Sebastian's voice easily enough. Sebastian's voice was warm and soft and made him feel strangely light. But he had to press on with the matter at hand. "What happened to my eye?"
The butler's smile was serene, peaceful like the angels that adorned the pictures in the museums that the family had to attend by social duty. Long fingered, pale hands guided him gently by the shoulders to sit up straight again so that they could continue their task as the man spoke, and the boy missed that slight twist at the corners of the butler's mouth as he considered his statement.
"You had a dreadful accident, my little Lord," the butler began smoothly, voice nonchalant, as though discussing the weather. "While you were playing outside."
"What happened?" the boy demanded again.
"You still do not remember? Oh dear, young master. What a shame. Your parents were rather hoping that your memory would clear soon and you would remember the events which unfolded on that morning, but apparently things remain less than hopeful."
And that really suggested that Sebastian was, in fact, not to blame at all. Ciel was not sure why he believed it so easily - perhaps it was the smoothness and confidence of the voice, or the stable hands which cleaned him, or the trustworthy, impeccably handsome face, but he had not the heart to question it. This version of events was easier, less complex, less frightening. He did not have to worry about monsters and instead could put his trust into the substantial figure of the adult assigned to watch over him, as had been fed into his subconscious over the years of his short life.
"Please stand up."
And he did so, petit frame giving a little shiver in the vaguely chilly air of the bathroom, though he was quickly wrapped in a large white towel, the butler thoroughly drying him off. His large, but freshly pressed nightshirt was draped over him with the utmost care and his teeth were brushed meticulously and it was a relief to feel truly clean again after being confined to bed in order to get over the shock of the loss of his eye. His parents had fussed, his mother called him a brave little soldier for being such a big boy about the whole traumatic experience, but Ciel had rather come to terms with the unfortunate happening. Perhaps it was because he truly could not really remember it very well. There was no good in being scared of something that you could not remember, after all.
"Now then, young master. Dr Durless instructed that your injury should be cleaned at least twice a day. So," the butler made his way over to the washbasin at the side of the room, already filled with warm water and with a small washcloth and other items Ciel could not quite make out from such a distance waiting by the basin. "If you would please allow me to tend to you."
Hesitantly, the boy made his way over to stand in front of the man, whose simple, crescent moon smile was already back in place. "Very good, little master. Now, this may well sting for just a moment, but it will be far easier if you are able to bear it for a little while." The child nodded his consent, though he still felt the nerves rock his stomach uncomfortably. Little hands, clammy with discomfort, bunched into fists at his sides as the washcloth was dipped into what he was swiftly but softly informed was a simple warm salt water solution to aid healing. He heard fine white gloves being removed, the subtle slide of fabric against skin, but he did not see them as he had already closed his available eye expectantly. The now bare fingers, surprisingly and comfortingly warm, prodded gently at the injured eye and it was a vast feat not to turn his head away from the offending digits. The lids, having fallen shut over the now empty socket, were very gently prized open and Ciel let out a soft, slightly trembling exhale at the unpleasant feeling that the action brought about.
Sebastian had been right - it did sting. Nastily, so. He bit back a whimper, flinching back slightly from the cloth and the butler paused in his actions until the child was settled again. "This won't take very long, young master. I apologise for your discomfort." Ciel did not respond, instead simply clenching his jaw and squeezing his functioning eye closed as the pain sparked through his nerves like brilliant, biting little fireworks.
Soon, however, he was aware that the cloth had withdrawn and the butler's voice sounded again, breaking through the blankness he had forced upon his mind in an attempt to ignore the uncomfortable sensation. "There we go, young master. All finished. We'll leave the patch off while you sleep so as to let air at the wound and encourage healing."
And Sebastian was so calm, so unshakeable, that, unknowingly, Ciel installed just a little more faith in him and the crevice in his mind between the beast and the servant was widened. Sebastian was no horror to him - he was sturdy and mysterious and graceful. He was everything that was to be expected of a Phantomhive butler.
"Come now, young master, and we'll get you settled into bed." The smooth mouth twitched upwards again into a smirk that blurred in Ciel's mind into a benign, crescent smile. And, with childish pride, Ciel managed to straighten the little vertebrae of his spine and pluck himself up with all the aristocratic air a little boy of his age should have, obediently but contently following the butler back to his bedroom as a fluffed duckling might follow its mother.
Within moments, the child was swathed in his sheets, heavy duvet pulled dutifully up to his pointed chin by the butler. Sebastian bid him goodnight, and reached over to cap the flame of the candle burning on the bedside table, before the boy protested, lower lip jutting and eyes shining that he was about to have been so scorned. "You can't just do that."
The man paused in his actions, gilded candle snuffer still in hand, and turned a little so as to face the child, who had now pulled himself up further in his bed, sitting straight backed with the carefully arranged duvet flopped over at his waist. "Pardon me?" Ciel felt a smug little glimmer of satisfaction at the cluelessness on the butler's face and held his head high, reasserting just who was in charge in the room.
"You can't leave yet. You haven't finished getting me ready for bed."
The man hesitated, his brow furrowed in consideration, before he responded. "I have bathed you, dried you, dressed you in your nightclothes, and tended to your wound. Forgive me, young, master, I cannot seem to see what it is that I have neglected."
And here came the flaws, naturally. Ciel almost laughed, that he could have thought Sebastian's talent could surpass that of Tanaka. Sebastian did not know how he liked things to be done. Sebastian did not know about his secrets. Well, the boy decided firmly, if he wanted things to be done correctly, he would just have to train the butler himself. "Well, to start with," the boy began scathingly, shining cerulean eye harsh as he regarded the butler, "You haven't brought me my warm milk. Grandpa always gave me warm milk before bed, to help me sleep better. And I expect you to put honey in it this time, to make up for the inconvenience." When the butler made no action to move, he was regarded shrewdly. "Go."
There was only a moment of hesitation, before Sebastian ducked a small bow obediently and gave a hasty, "Very well, young master." When the butler had gone, Ciel relaxed against the headboard a little in satisfaction. That had gone surprisingly well. Tanaka had always scolded him for his sweet tooth, telling him that he shouldn't take honey in his milk right before bed, but it had been allowed on special occasions. And Ciel decided that this turn of events deserved a treat, considering the fact that he would now have to do without Grandpa looking after him anymore, having been replaced by the strange, red-eyed young man.
When Sebastian returned, he was pushing a cart laden with the milk and honey that his young master had demanded, Ciel noted. The drink itself, of course, could never taste the way it had when Grandpa had made it for him, even if it was merely heated up milk. However, it was passable. He enjoyed the sweetness of the honey on his tongue and the warmth in his belly as he sipped it slowly, his breath skimming across the surface of the white liquid as he blew at it gently so as not to burn himself, as he had been taught. The teacup was replaced on the saucer with a small clink before both were swept up and replaced on the cart by a slender, gloved hand.
"Well, if that is all, young master, then I really should-"
"You aren't finished yet." When the butler remained stationary, one fine black brow raised a little at another interruption from his schedule, Ciel slipped out of bed (much to the man's chagrin by the looks of things) and clambered gracelessly over to the bookshelf at the side of the room, extracting a novel before tossing it at the butler on his way back to the bed. Sebastian caught the item with the fastest of reflexes, before pausing to read the title. Treasure Island.
"Grandpa always used to read to me before bed. It's a new publication," he added nonchalantly with a small nod towards the book. "Start on page thirty-five."
And so the butler had sat on the edge of the bed when bid to by the boy. Ciel lay back, able to settle himself now with the butler's weight on the mattress beside him, and assessed Sebastian's reading skills. There was a certain lack of expression, from which Ciel derived that the man was clearly unused to reading to children, and he certainly did not put on the silly voices that Tanaka had that had made him laugh with delight, but the voice was warm and melodic, soothing in its even quality, and the boy felt his eyelids drop as he began to drift away lightly, ears filled with the butler's voice.
:: ::
He thought that he may have woken for a split second, when the butler closed the door behind him. He thought that he may have seen the small sliver of light from the candle burning outside grow slimmer, and then disappear altogether as he was closed into his bedroom. Of course, this may have merely been a dream, or other such imaginings. But it did not really matter; not in light of what was to come.
They were looking at him. That was all Ciel was aware of at first. The shadows were looking at him, staring at him, examining him, and whispering to each other about it. He could hear them, but he could not understand them. They came closer and he realised, as the dread twisted around his heart, that he did not want that. He did not want them near him and he did not want them touching him. He just wanted them to leave him alone. Their hands were clammy as they wound around his bedsheets and pushed his hair away from his face. He was breathing hard now, his exhalations coming in short, sharp bursts as they erupted from his tight lips.
A strikingly familiar talon ran down his bare chest, which he was sure had been clothed before he fell asleep. Across the rosy bud of one nipple and down each rung of his ribcage until it reached the gentle slop of his belly. It slipped down this as well and paused at his navel. Terrified, he glanced upwards and saw two red, slitted eyes hovering above him and the whispering of the shadows intensified, rose in grisly excitement. The blackened claw ran upwards again, resting between the cages that his ribs formed - right above his diaphragm.
And then the pressure increased.
It began slowly at first, a mild discomfort, and then it started to get more painful. The talon began to break through soft flesh and he let out a startled whimper, which grew into a yell of both fright and pain as the claw drove through, but his arms and legs were leaden and all he could do was watch - watch and scream - as it happened.
The sticky, crimson blood welled up around the talon, spilling over the edges of the wound and running over his ribs as the claw sank deeper, before it was tugged down sharply, exposing the delicate insides to the harsh atmosphere that they were so unused to. He closed his eyes, too slow, as that harsh nail pulled downwards as though it were being scraped down the length of a blackboard, but he had already seen the repulsive, jellied intestines and organs, the vessels surrounding them ripped and torn and the foul stench of the fluid filling the air as the whispering of the shadows became perverse screeches, overridden only by his own shrill screams of pain and horror.
Cold, decaying lips clamped on around the wound, kissing and sucking and devouring and his screams were strangled as he gagged at the very idea of it. He was going to die here in his bed at the hands of these demons as the blood seeped from his body and his insides were ripped out and spilled messily around him.
A name rose to his lips, not that of his mother or his father, not even that of God, but his one salvation, twisted by fear and strangled and distorted by sobs, but understandable nonetheless.
"Sebastian!"
:: ::
What music it was, the child's howling and screeching as it echoed through the hallways of the mansion. Like a pig being slaughtered, the cries were shrill in their infancy and Sebastian followed them, though making no effort to hurry.
Things were progressing swimmingly, of course. In order to fulfill his little master's desire, a bond stronger than any other must be formed between them and he couldn't have something as menial as the distrust inspired by his earlier actions coming between that, now, could he? And so he had quickly seduced the boy, in the most innocent of terms, and had charmed him enough to earn a little trust. Of course, there was no harm in muting the memories of that grisly morning just a little, just enough to separate himself from the 'beast' that had permeated his little master's mind; the beast that was his true form.
And now it was time for the denouement, as it were - the Big Finish. Why, who else should come to rescue the little master from his nightly hauntings but he himself who starred in them? It was all too beautifully ironic. The boy would fall directly into the palm of his hand, where he belonged. Like the child he was, he would attach himself to whoever cared for him and in that moment his primary caregiver was Sebastian. Yes, everything had played itself out beautifully. The master and mistress were asleep as they should be, too deeply wound in their own slumber to hear the cries of the little ducky who was being so brutally disturbed from his own.
The shining black shoes halted outside the child's door, the shrill cries piercing in their intensity as he swiftly pushed the door open, candelabra in hand so as to cast a soft, calming glow over the surfaces that the room had to offer.
"Little master?" The gloved hand was cast through dark, sweat-soaked hair and the child's eyes snapped open, landing directly onto the glimmering pools of burgundy above him. Naturally startled, he shot backwards in the bed, far away from the servant. He trembled deliciously, like a little leaf on a crisp autumnal day. "Don't fret, my little Lord," the butler simpered, placing the candelabra down securely on the bedside table. "It was simply a nightmare. You are perfectly safe."
"Sebastian..." The truth was dawning on the little boy, he could see it in the remaining big blue eye. "Sebastian..."
"Yes, young master, I am here."
"Sebastian... They hurt me. They ate me." The boy's little frame was stiff, bird-boned shoulders shaking with uneven breaths. The boy moved unsteadily forward, towards his servant, and the tiny, damp hands wound themselves into the fabric of the butler's uniform.
"It was merely a dream. They cannot get you here," Sebastian assured him, resisting the urge to once again run his hand through those tousled strands of hair on the boy's soft crown.
"You have to protect me. Never leave my side," the child demanded, with strength of voice that took the butler by surprise. "Don't let them get at me, keep me away from them." His words were now rushed, a little breathier. "You're loyal to me. Don't forget that. Don't let them..." As the desperate murmurings trailed off, gloved fingers hooked beneath the boy's chin, effectively hushing him and the butler leaned down, smooth mouth now directly beside the pink shell of the boy's ear.
"I will never leave my master's side," he certified softly. "I will protect him until he draws his final breath. I shall be with my young master until the very end."
Always.
:: ::
2 Corinthians 11:14
"Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light."
:: ::
Secondary AN: Well, I hope you enjoyed the latest installment and that I see you in the next chapter. One thing I just wanted to touch on, I suppose, is that I notice a lot of authors in every fandom say that if their latest chapter doesn't reach [insert number here] reviews, they won't update. I want to make it clear that I love and appreciate every single review I receive. What writer doesn't like to see people taking the time to give them feedback on their work? I take every review into consideration and the only time I would ever consider discontinuing a story is if updating it became more of a chore than an enjoyment. I have been writing from a very, very young age and it had always been an outlet and a source of entertainment for me. The fact that as I got older I discovered I could share what I write with others on the internet was an added bonus. Because, honestly, I lose nothing by doing so and I only gain from the lovely things that you leave for me to read. Some of you thank me for doing this in reviews, but really, it isn't necessary. I should be the one thanking you all for taking the time to read my work, even if you don't review. The fact that there are those of you out there who even spare it a glance makes me unbelievably happy. And even if it takes me a little while to update, please don't be discouraged and know that my writing is always there somewhere in the back of my mind. I want to treat my readers in the best way I can and know that I appreciate each and every one of you.
Well. Now that the sap fest of the century is over, I also want to make you aware that I'm considering starting a new project centered around Alois and Claude in the modern era. I have an idea that I rather like in my head, so hopefully when/if I finally post it, I'll see some of you there as well.
Oh, and here's a little fun fact for you - Ciel's nightmare was actually based on my own bad dreams. I'm sure you can imagine how fun those are.
