My first shot at writing a Kuroshitsuji fanfiction. I do not own any of these characters, and they belong to their rightful owners.

They say there will be a second season! This is just a fantasy outcome I wrote as a continuation of the series, so I hope you enjoy it. As warning to younger audiences beneath 18, mature scenes to occur as story progresses.

For those of you wondering; Coléoptère means Beetle in French.

------

-7-

Coléoptère

Ciel's eye batted open, as he slowly pulled himself up out of bed. He looked at the window, seeing a thin line of moonlight slide along his bed sheets. He yawned, attempting to coax the sleep from his head, and prepare for his journey into town. Sebastian had ordered that he start extra early to retrieve fresh ingredients; and since he had to journey an hour and a half's ride into London to retrieve some of the more exotic items, he'd have to start at around three. He knew what time it was; his alarm had been a small prickling all over his torso as he slept, which grew more and more vicious the longer he ignored it. He rubbed his aching chest as he reached over to grasp at the silver watch lying open on the table. Leaning forward to position it under the moonlight, Ciel confirmed that it was approximately 3:14 a.m, and he pulled the covers open, letting all the frigid night air envelope his body. He shivered violently and he let out a small gasp as his foot touched the icy cold floorboards, and he crossed over to the cabinet.

He chose the white uniform this time; and dressed himself without a hitch, besides the shoe laces, which he repeated the last procedure on the opposite pair (he had abandoned the other pair due to the fact he could not undo his own impossibly tight knots.) He used his fingers to comb his hair, once again attempting to cover his eye and failing. Nowhere near satisfied, but already tardy, Ciel left the mirror and made his way towards the stables and carriage house.

Along the way, he began to feel an overwhelming concern about the task ahead of him: he had never prepared the horses for riding before, let alone for drawing a carriage. He required the space of the carriage for the items he was going to retrieve, so he had no choice but to use one, and that would require at least two horses. A dysfunctional reign could result in disaster, he knew, so one would be wise to know exactly what they were doing before trying to hitch such a massive animal to the cart. Unfortunately, the schedule and intense prickling feeling in his nerve endings pushed the need to research the procedure to the corner of his mind.

A small table by the East wing's exit door held a purse of money, a house key, and a note that read: "This is an order: do not tell anyone who you are." He tore the note into small pieces of confetti and threw them into the air, before grabbing the purse and key.

Ciel pushed the door open, and immediately shut it, shivering intensely. It was lightly snowing outside.

He tried to recall if he saw a proper riding cloak or a winter coat in the cabinet in his room, but a sudden flare up in his arm made him abandon the thought to go grab one. Instead, he wrenched open a closet near him and grabbed a folded blanket from within it. He wrapped it around his shoulders, nearly swimming in the fabric, before he set out again, black shoes crunching on the ice as he closed and locked the door behind him.

He nearly slipped a few times while rounding the side of the house, and he held his arms close to his body as he rubbed them warm with his hands. The snow was already soaking through his pant legs, and he could feel the soles of his shoes already slick and squishy with water.

To his surprise and relief, a horse had already been hitched to a small cart, and was waiting for him patiently as he made his way towards it. Ciel reached out one hand to stroke the animal's nose softly, in a way reassuring himself that the horse wasn't about to rear up and crush him. The horse just stared at him with large black eyes, and remained docile. Patting it gently, he rounded the side of it and grabbed ahold of the side of the cart. Putting his strength into a leg he used for bracing himself, he was able to pull himself into the high driver's seat. He sat in the middle, taking the black reigns into his hands. The cart posed one deficiency; there was no head cover from the falling snow. He drew the blanket around his body a little more so that it covered his head and most of his body besides his hands, and flicked the reigns.

The horse obediently started, and with a lurch, the small cart embarked on it's hour and a half journey from the Phantomhive estate to London town.

From one of the darkened windows of the mansion, a pair of crimson eyes followed the small vessel as it traversed the lane and disappeared behind the tree cover.

"Come back to me safe," he whispered, before he turned away from the moonlit world and retreated into the solid darkness.

† † † †

The journey had been long, cold, wet, and bumpy. Ciel had hardly any experience driving a carriage, and so the slow journey had been perilously turbulent. A couple times, he nearly crashed the cart by hitting a hollow in the road or a large stone. The horse had been sturdy; not a slip of the hoof on the icy road, but the cart had swayed a couple times with a few reckless directions on Ciel's part.

The smokey silhouette of London loomed beneath the cloud cover, and Ciel felt relieved, breathing into his hands now and again to warm them. The thought of being inside a warm anywhere was inviting, and his stomach growled with a vengeance. Having only eaten a tomato in the past two days, he was starving beyond comprehension. He no longer dreamt of filet mignon with rosemary potatoes... he just pictured a lump that read 'edible'. Anything would do; anything that could stifle the relentless hunger.

The darkened streets of the first circle of London brought the feel of a dead city; no signs of life on the streets, besides an occasional cluster of homeless people or a stray dog. He drove the horse onwards, until he smelled a rather pleasing aroma. Driven by his nose, the former Queen's Watchdog directed the horse to a bakery. He pulled up alongside the shop, and disembarked, remembering to tie the reigns to the hitching post. He also remembered the sack of oats that was normally stored beneath the driver's seat, and hooked it around the horse's head so that it could feed.

He peered through the window, seeing the inviting warm orange glow from beyond the darkened shop. Ciel's fingers wrapped around the door handle, and he pulled, but the door did not give way. The baker was in the kitchen, but the shop was not open for business just yet. Ciel stood back in disappointment, which soon gave way to determination, with a relentless urging from his empty stomach. He rounded the side of the shop, and followed the scent of fresh baked bread to the back door of the bakery. The door was open wide, and a group of small ragged children were all clustered around a rather portly man, who was holding onto a waste basket and pulling out pieces of bread. He issued a roll or baguette to each child, before shooing them away from the doorway. Ciel's eye was affixed to the golden-brown treasures as the urchins celebrated their achievements and ran off into the darkened alleys. Encouraged by his pleading belly, he trotted up to the doorway as the last unfortunate child departed, and the baker began to head back into the kitchen.

Ciel stopped the door with his hand, smacking it with urgency, before declaring, "I must have a roll!"

The baker turned to look at the soaking boy; hair messed from the blanket and condensation so that it stuck to his face and in haphazard directions, eye blazing with nothing short of desperation. His plaid wool blanket hung off his body like it weighed a ton, and his pant legs were rendered transparent from the water, so that it clung to his calves and shoes.

"I'm sorry, m'boy," the baker said, "I don't have any more bread for you urchins. It's first come, first served."

"I'm not some urchin!" Ciel started, anger flaring like a torch, "Do you know who I am?"

The poor baker looked at the delirious boy with confusion, contemplating if he should reach for the phone to call the authorities or animal control.

Ciel's tongue was silenced before he could go further; a feeling not unlike a pin being shoved through his tongue caused Ciel to cover his mouth and wince. The baker took a cautious step forward, asking in a soft voice, "A-are you okay, boy?"

"I... I'm fine," Ciel said, clicking his tongue a few times, before straightening up and resetting his demeanor, looking much more noble, "I don't require day old bread, sir. I'm a paying customer. I don't care whether your bread is baked or not, I am willing to pay for anything edible that you can give me right at this moment. Money is no object."

The baker's eyes widened at the boy's transformation, and even more upon hearing the piece about the money. Immediately, he went scouring for anything edible that he had on hand.

† † † †

"That crook," Ciel said, shivering in the alleyway as he pulled out a single croissant. It was warm, but it had cost him a lot of money. He put it back into the bag, before he noticed something was missing on the street: his cart.

"No," He said, breathlessly, before he looked up and down the street both ways several times, "NO!"

His only means of transportation was gone! With no cart, meant that he was not going to be able to ship the inventory he was sent out to get. He would not be able to return home, and worse; he was not going to be on time. He was stranded, and Sebastian would be cross with him.

For a quick moment, he thought he could follow the cartwheel lines in the snow to the culprit; but as soon as he looked down to see, his face fell as he saw that the increase in snowfall had covered the tracks completely.

"DAMN IT!" He cried, falling to his knees and pounding his fists into the snow. Seeing that he had been punching the bag he carried, he drew the now soaked bag up to his chest and sighed. He stood up, and looked around. He could start walking back home. If he started right away, he would be home by the time Sebastian's guest arrived. Starved and looking like a homeless child; what a sight for whatever honored guest to see. He decided that he'd remain where he was for a while. He was already doomed to Sebastian's wrath, he decided that he'd at least eat his now soaked bread in peace.

He walked down a dark alleyway, silently thinking to himself what had exactly happened. He had been sure to tie up the horse's reigns, he had done everything correctly. Why did his cart have to be the one that was stolen? Why did it have to be on a snowy night, and why did he have to be alone, wet, and cold?

He found a small four cornered clearing; alit with a single lamplight that glowed faintly in the darkness. A lone bench lay beneath it, covered in a sheet of snow. Ciel chose this spot for his feast, and cleared the surface of the white blanket with several pushes of his hand. Though the bench was wet and cold, it felt good to sit down on something stable. He drew the blanket around himself more, settling down into it, snatching at whatever warmth the soaked object had to offer.

The bag opened with a tiny breeze of warmth, steam curling out thinly, as if it had been choked. Ciel reached in to withdraw a now flattened croissant, it's flakey surface crumpled and slightly damp. He licked his lips for a moment, before opening his mouth to take a cautious nibble.

It was a mediocre taste, at best. The sogginess left something to be desired; it reminded him of wet paper. He shuddered for a moment, before he felt his stomach demand he take in more. He swallowed his noble palette, and commenced ravaging the meager meal.

Suddenly, he heard a strange sound from off in the distance; a sound that sparked a brief flash of memory. The sound of a machine roaring and tearing through whatever it touched.

Ciel shoved the remainder of his meal into his mouth, and got up from his perch, running off down an alleyway towards the sound. The alleyway had become somewhat of a labyrinth; with only the occasional whirrrrr of the machine to guide him, Ciel was getting frustrated that he couldn't locate the source, despite the many alleyways he traversed. Suddenly, he heard a piercing shriek, and he flattened himself against a wall, chancing to glance around the corner.

A vision of gore erupted into his eye and caused him to turn away, loosing his breakfast quicker than he had inhaled it. He clamped his hand over his poor mouth, as he closed his eye, trying to drive off the grotesque scene from his mind. The mutilated body as it lay on the ground in two pieces, eye roving and fingers still twitching as the man's life ebbed away from it's poor body. Ciel finally drew a brave breath, and swallowed his repulsion. He had seen his target as well; lightly flecked with blood, and wielding a now doused chainsaw.

"Ah~! And that's the last one!" the murderer took out a small red notebook and checked a box next to a name on the page, "Time to head home!"

"Wait," Ciel said, stepping out from behind the corner, gripping the blanket closer around his body so that he could hide the fact that he was shivering from the cold, and not fear, "Grell Sutcliff."

Grell turned around to see the kid come from out of nowhere. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tapped his chin with his pen, "Why does a little drowned rat know my name?"

"It's me," Ciel took his steps cautiously, and in a wide arc from where he had seen the massacred body. He dared not look down again to see, and he took a brave gulp as he stood with his head high. He knew he couldn't tell Grell who he was, but he trusted that the Death God would recognize him. If not, well, what was the consequence? Death? Ciel also was comforted by the fact that Sebastian's order; "You will not kill yourself or die until I say," had not unleashed it's fury on his nervous system, so he took that as a sign that Grell did not have any current intention of whipping around and slicing him in two.

The Death God seemed confused for a moment, looking Ciel up and down a couple times before shrugging, "Sorry... don't know any little street rats."

Ciel sighed with frustration and parted his hair, covering his sewn eye with his hand, "Recognize me now? Picture darker hair and a demonic butler behind me."

Grell's eyebrows shot up at the mention of 'demonic butler', and he briskly walked up to Ciel, crouching down to look the young boy directly in the face (a little too close for comfort). Ciel glared at him for intruding on his personal space, and upon seeing that familiar expression, Grell let out a loud squeal, "It's the little Earl!"

"That's right," Ciel said, taking a step back to regain his ground, and rubbing his ear to cease the insidious ringing in his eardrums.

Grell took Ciel's face into his black leather clad hands, tilting his face violently up and down, left and right, surveying all the differences. One finger pushed down on the tender spot where Sebastian had firmly smacked him, and Ciel let out a little hiss of pain. It didn't seem to impede Grell's inspection, however. Ciel tried to pull back, but Grell's other hand wrapped around the back of his head to prevent him from escaping. He didn't chance wrenching free forcibly; the chainsaw still rested a couple feet from them, still carrying the signature of Grell's handiwork. His eye returned to the Death God's face, as he exclaimed, "I absolutely love what you did with the eye! It makes you look so edgy~!"

"Thank you," Ciel said as politely as possible, hoping that the Death God would relinquish his face soon, "Sebastian's responsible."

"Ah, that horrible Sebas-chan," Grell let go of Ciel's face, only to drop him onto the ground on top of something that squished under him sickeningly. Ciel sat there frozen for a moment, eye wide and trying desperately not to think of what exactly was the source of heat that was now seeping into his clothes, and warming his legs and palms with a pleasant, yet grotesque feeling.

"Can you believe him?" Grell continued, picking up his chainsaw and slinging it casually over his shoulder, popping his hip out with attitude and resting his hand against it, drumming his fingers on it, "Gets a title and everything and will not so much as invite me for a tea!"

"No," Ciel slowly tried pulling himself out of the snow, feeling another sickening squish under his fingers. He did his best to bite back the nausea, "He's been too busy making my life a living hell. No thanks to you, by the way."

"You're very welcome," Grell took off his glasses, breathed on them, and rubbed them against his vest, getting a little smudge of blood on them in the process. Despite the worsened condition, he replaced them back onto his nose and pushed them up the bridge, "I bet he's just waiting until he knows what kind of tea I like. I know how much my Sebas-chan is a perfectionist in the ways of entertaining a special guest."

"I'm sure that's it," Ciel caught a glimpse of something shiny and red on his own hand, and refused to look down at it, choosing to look up at the Death God instead, "Grell, I have some questions for you."

"Let me guess," Grell sighed dramatically and flipped his long crimson hair out of boredom, "You want to ask why you're still alive, is that it?"

"You're not as thick as you look," Ciel wanted to say, but instead settled for a simple, "Yes."

"First," Grell looked down at the boy, "does Sebas-chan know you're out and about, little pup?"

"Yes," Ciel answered flatly; he figured being straight and to the point with Grell was the best way to go. The less he bothered to use elaborate responses, the more likely he was going to get what he wanted without loosing a limb. His eyes flicked back and forth between Grell's face and the ever looming chainsaw that now bounced on his shoulder, anything but harmlessly.

"I find it hard to believe," Grell tapped the side of his face in thought, jade green eyes trained on the sopping ragamuffin in front of him, "that he would let his little pet wander so far from home, and on his own, nonetheless."

"Believe what you will," Ciel said, "I'm on a shopping trip. It's a butler's duty, is it not?"

"Uh huh," Grell raised an eyebrow, bouncing the base of his chainsaw up and down on his shoulder, "And you are in the back alleys why? No shops back here, pet."

"My cart and horse were stolen." Ciel said, blue eye following the chainsaw in a steady rhythm, "I went for a walk. I heard your... work... and followed it. I have questions for you that I would like answered, if you'd be so kind as to grant me an audience."

"Before you go making any accusations," Grell huffed, "My work is completely legit today; I have the book to prove it."

"Is it always this... messy?" Ciel grimaced at the thought, his eye now taking in just how much blood was covering Grell's clothes. It was splattered everywhere along the white fabric; the red and white bow looked like it had been dipped in the stuff on purpose. Grell's pale skin was dotted with a flurry of crimson droplets, and his hair was slightly matted about his face with a darker liquid from his usual hair color. Some of his bangs were even painting his cheeks and forehead with it. The most disturbing part was that Grell was smiling wide with pride as Ciel surveyed him.

"Mmhm~!" the click of high heels on the cobblestones neared as he walked over to the corpse behind Ciel. Ciel just looked at a pure white drift, trying to block out the sounds of crunching and sloshing as Grell picked about the body. He then heard a sickening snap, and clutched at his stomach, trying to calm the sudden urge to dry heave into the snow bank.

Ciel's gaze was interrupted by Grell walking past, black gloves now glossy with a scarlet liquid as they shook off something that looked somewhat like a purse.

"You pickpocket your targets?" Ciel asked, feeling a bolt of pure repulsion once again.

"What? He's not going to use it," Grell used his shark-like teeth to pull his glove off, while he dumped the contents of the little purse into his bare hand. He counted the money aloud, despite the obstruction that muffled his voice, while Ciel took a few steps towards him.

"Grell," Ciel's voice bore a heavy strand of annoyance, paired with urgency, "Please, answer my questions."

"--- Alright, alright," the red head exhaled a puff of hot air in bitter annoyance, putting the contents back into the bag and syncing it tightly.

Ciel shuddered aloud, suddenly aware again of how cold it was outside. Grell paused to look down at him, before he smiled broadly and reached into his vest, bringing the little red notebook out into the cold once again. He flipped it open with one hand, and let out a little "Aha~! Looky here!"

Ciel looked up alarmed for a minute, as Grell read off, "Ciel Phantomhive, 6:34 am, Hypothermia!"

"You made that up," Ciel said accusingly, but taking a few cautious steps back, drawing himself down defensively.

"Yeah," Grell laughed shortly, clamping the little red book shut with two fingers and a thumb, "but you should have seen that baby blue get large! Your teeth have been chattering since you came out of your hole, it's been pretty irritating, actually."

Ciel had not been aware of it, but it was true; his teeth had been clattering together horribly, and even he could hear the dull sounds they made as clear as day. He hugged himself tighter, rubbing his arms to drive off the wicked touch of Cold's cruel boney fingers as they dragged themselves up and down his spine.

"Come with me then," Grell walked off towards one of the alleyways, "We'll talk once we get home."

"Home?" Ciel wondered out loud, before he trotted off after Grell, not noticing that the corpse and all the evidence of a massacre had completely disappeared behind him.

-----------

Chapter 7! Hopefully, I will be able to release Chapter 8 by tomorrow night!

((Grell was rather difficult to write for in this chapter; I'm sorry if he didn't come across as well as I intended him to. Despite him being one of my favorite characters, he's always such a challenge because he's so unpredictable! Also saying how there isn't that much interaction between Ciel and Grell in the anime, it's rather difficult to see how they'd get along. He didn't kill him when he was looking for Elizabeth when she was kidnapped by the doll maker, so I figure that the murderous intent isn't exactly trained on Ciel much past the Jack-the-Ripper scenario. Which is why I gave him kind of a playful 'Looky what I just killed!' demeanor for the sake of this chapter. And poor Ciel... no food for you! [favorite part to write: What's that warm squishy stuff, I wonder?]))

Thank you all for your reviews and for reading my story!