The First Book: Behind Melpomene's Tears
Sketch III
Tomorrow
We always said, someday, somehow/ We were gonna get away, gonna blow this town/ What about now, how 'bout tonight – Lonestar, What About Now
-X-X-X-X-X-
Dean collapsed on the mattress the minute he returned to his parents' house. His parents' house, not home. If he was honest with himself, this place hadn't been home in years. It didn't matter that his family was all here. It didn't even matter that the small house had been the only thing his birth father had left to his mother. He turned his head to stare at his sketchbook. All he had left of home was what was between those pages. Everything else had been reduced to cinders and ashes. Dean wanted to hide it away in some secret place as much as he wanted to chuck the damn thing at a wall. Neither would accomplish anything though. He settled for opening it where he'd left off instead.
Tanaka smiled back at him from the page, peering over a chipped tea cup in his parents' kitchen. Once, Dean would have smiled at the memory. Now though, it was tainted by a bitter sense of regret.
-X-X-X-X-X-
The knock on the door had come unexpectedly. "Dean, get the door, please," his mother ordered, muttering under her breath, "Who goes visiting at this hour?" Obediently, he went to fetch the door. And there, standing in the doorway was the old man from the park a few days ago. "Heavens, child, you're letting the cold in." Dean didn't realize he'd been staring until his mother came by to see what was taking him so long. Then she saw who was at the door, and she stared too.
The old man simply smiled, and addressed her as calmly and casually as if this was an everyday occurrence. He didn't seem at all perturbed by their gawking. "Good evening, Ma'am. Is your husband home? I'd like to have a word with him."
His mother seemed rather flustered. "Oh…oh my goodness, Dean, go fetch your father. He's in his study," she said, before turning back to the unexpected guest. "Please, come in and have a seat, oh, I apologize for the mess, but I wasn't expecting…Would you like some tea?"
He must have given an affirmative answer because Dean could hear his mother bustle into the kitchen as he quietly made his way to his step-father's study. "Papa?" he asked, opening the door a crack and poking his head through.
"Dean? Did you need something?" His step-father looked up. "I'm a bit busy at the moment," he said, making a sweeping gesture toward the papers strewn all over his desk.
"There's someone here to see you," he said, looking the man over carefully. Nathaniel Thomas looked incredibly exhausted. There were bags under his eyes and his brown hair stuck up from where he'd been running his fingers through it in frustration.
"To see me?" he asked, bemused.
Dean nodded. "He's in the kitchen." With a sigh the elder Thomas rose out of his seat and followed Dean to the kitchen.
"Ah, here is Mr. Thomas." The man in question looked startled at being addressed so suddenly, not to mention the peculiar sight of an old man dressed in a sophisticated suit and white gloves sitting in his house's kitchen, drinking tea.
Still rather stunned, Nathaniel spoke up, "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mister…."
"Tanaka." It was a strange name Dean thought, but it seemed to suit the old man.
"Mr. Tanaka then," Nathaniel repeated, clearly agreeing with the first thought. "Err, how may I help you?" He looked side ways over at Dean, and added in an undertone, "Dean, off to bed now."
Mr. Tanaka raised a glove hand to stop him. "That will not be necessary. I am here to discuss him after all."
His step-father now looked even more bewildered than before. "Excuse me?"
"I am a butler, Mr. Thomas, and I am here representing my employer, the Earl Vincent Phantomhive. My Lord would like to offer the younger Mr. Thomas," he inclined his head toward Dean, "a position in the Phantomhive household as one of the family servants. He will have a starting salary of 10 shillings a week to be paid on Sundays, a portion of which may be sent home if he wishes. Along with the customary room and board, he will also be receiving an education so that he may properly represent the Phantomhive name."
"I don't think I understand." Surprisingly, it was his mother who spoke, wringing her hands and looking anxious. His step-father seemed for the moment completely speechless. "He's only a child." Dean bristled at the statement.
Nathaniel seemed to have gathered his wits somewhat. "That's a very generous offer," he said haltingly, "but as you can undoubtedly tell, I am not Dean's birth father." He turned to look at his wife. "Elaine, this is your choice. I don't think it would be appropriate for me to decide his future."
Dean's mother bit her lip. "Dean, what do you want?" she asked.
Looking the old butler straight in the eye, he asked the most important question. "Will I see Ciel?"
The man raised his grey eyebrows at the question, and he answered slowly, "Yes, you will see the Young Mistress."
Nodding in satisfaction, he looked back at his mother. "I want to go, Mama."
There was something in the look in her eyes that Dean didn't recognize, but all that mattered was her consent. "…Alright, then, you may go."
"Excellent," Mr. Tanaka said, getting to his feet and heading for the door. "In that case, my business here is done. A carriage will come by tomorrow afternoon to bring you and your things to the estate." He inclined his head to the lady of the house, "Thank you for the tea." He smiled once more and left.
The minute he'd arrived at the manor the next day, Dean had asked after Ciel, only to be promptly scolded by the housekeeper for his blatant disrespect to the Young Mistress of the house. Then he'd found out he wouldn't be seeing his muse until he was deemed satisfactory, so Dean had done the only thing he could do and poured everything he had into his training. He learned how to read and write, and how to speak like a proper servant, but most importantly he learned how to fight with a ruthless efficiency. All for the sake of his muse.
-X-X-X-X-X-
Now Dean knew what had been in his mother's eyes that day. Pity. She must have predicted that this was how things would turn out. She should have warned him or something, he thought. Then Dean wondered if it would have made any difference.
