The First Book: Behind Melpomene's Tears

Sketch VI
Velleitie

Little do you know/ How I'm breaking as you fall asleep/ Little do you know/ I'm still haunted by the memories – Alex & Sierra, Little Do You Know

-X-X-X-X-X-

"Dean? It's for you." Dean didn't know how he had ended up at his parent's dinner table for the first time in weeks, but there he was, at least physically. His mind was somewhere far removed from the mealtime chatter of his parents and half-sisters. It took him an entire minute to realize that his step-father was holding a letter out to him. Nodding dumbly, Dean put his fork down and took the letter.

Slowly turning the envelope over in his hands, Dean examined the letter with a vacant expression. He recognized the Burnett coat of arms stamped into the wax. It was from Doctor Dalles. Confused, Dean broke the seal and removed the letter, wondering all the while what she could possibly be writing him for. He unfolded the expensive paper and started to read. By the end of it Dean's fingers were trembling so badly the letter slipped through them. Not bothering to pick it off the floor, he pushed his chair back and shakily got up from the table.

His mother looked up at the noise. "Dean, where are you going? You've barely touched your food." Dean didn't answer. He didn't even look at her. He just headed straight for the door. "You're not going outside?!" Elaine sounded incredulous. "You're not wearing your coat! Dean, it's the dead of winter. You'll freeze to death! Dean? Dean? Dean!"

Dean didn't hear her. In seconds he was out the door and tearing down the street, just two words of the baroness's letter on his mind. Tanaka. Dying. In his head Dean cursed the cruelty of God, and Fate, and every other power he could think of. Why give him those years of happiness only to strip it all away now?

He turned sharply onto a busy street, nearly colliding with a crowd of people coming from the opposite direction. Dean pushed his way through, mumbling apologies at random. He thought of the hours Mr. Tanaka had spent teaching him to play chess. The head butler had seen how Dean watched Ciel while she played with Clause and had taken the boy under his wing. Mr. Tanaka had been the one to explain the rules to him, to show him different strategies and when to apply them. Dean had never won against his mentor, not even once, and now he was terrified that he might be losing the man himself as well.

He rounded another corner, knocking into someone as he passed. The stranger shoved him roughly back. Dean stumbled and fell into the snowbank. The icy snow clung to his clothes and Dean shivered. A few people jeered, but Dean picked himself up, thinking all the while of the time his second youngest sister had scarlet fever and he read her to sleep. Josie had worked herself into hysterics every night before falling into a restless sleep. Dean would never forget the look in his mother's eyes when she saw the little girl curled up against him, still flushed but sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks. He pressed on. It meant staying away from the manor longer than expected, but he'd read to Josie every night until she recovered. That had only been possible because Mr. Tanaka taught Dean how to read beyond just recognizing his letters and when they spelled his name. It was the first time he'd appreciated any aspect of his training beyond how it made running errands less difficult.

Dean was so concentrated on his destination that he never saw the patch of ice on the street, just a gap in the crowd. He pitched forward, landing heavily on his hands and knees. Pain shot up to his elbows. Dean winced. He looked around as he got to his feet. 'Not that much further,' he told himself and started running again. He didn't know where he found the energy when his legs were already burning with the reminder that he'd been lying in bed for weeks. His hands and knees stung from their impact with the ground, his ears felt painfully cold, even breathing hurt, but Dean kept going.

Several people screamed when Dean burst through a set of doors at the Royal London Hospital. He knew he must have looked a right mess, sweaty and wild-eyed in his torn, snow-drenched clothes, but he didn't care. He ignored every scolding, every scandalized look thrown his way and ran as fast as he could.

Dean skidded to a halt, panting in front of Doctor Dalles. The crimson-haired doctor looked mildly surprised to see him, but then a sad, knowing look crossed her face and she gestured to the door. "He's in there." Dean struggled to catch his breath and then followed her into the room.

A heavily bandaged Mr. Tanaka lay in the hospital bed, eyes closed in what seemed to be a healing sleep, but he knew from the letter that that wasn't the case. "It looks like he's just asleep, but we can't wake him." Doctor Dalles looked sadly at the butler's still form. "Dean, he's not as young as he was," she said softly, calling him by his name for the first time he could remember. "His injuries were pretty severe when they brought him in. The doctors have done the best they could, but there's a good chance he n-never wakes up." Her voice quivered slightly.

"There really isn't anything you can do?" Dean asked, dazedly. He felt lost.

"We can pray, pray for a miracle, but that's all." Doctor Dalles looked at Dean, taking in his disheveled appearance. "I'll go find you a towel," she said with a forced smile and started to leave. She hesitated at the door and added, "If you wanted to say good-bye, this would be your chance." That it was a chance he hadn't gotten with anyone else didn't need to be said.

Dean dropped numbly into the visitor's chair, determinedly looking at anything but Mr. Tanaka. There was a framed picture on the bedside table and Dean latched onto the distraction, picking it up and examining it. His eyes widened.

Instead of a photograph, the frame contained a slightly charred and soot-stained drawing. One of Dean's. He remembered carefully cut it out of his sketchbook to show Ciel. It was a Phantomhive family portrait which he'd done because his muse had hated how no one looked themselves in the family photo. He had taken a long time to finish it since he didn't already have a memory he could transfer to paper, and he'd also chosen to draw everything in color, but Ciel had smiled so brilliantly when she saw it.

Naturally, Dean had drawn her in the center of the portrait, with her father just behind her. A secretive sort of half smile played about Master Vincent's face. He had one arm wrapped around Lady Rachel's shoulders and the countess had a hand placed affectionately against her husband's chest, but they were both looking at their daughter holding hands with Lord Edward, who looked pink-cheeked and flustered. Lady Elizabeth was clutching her brother's other arm, leaning in while Ciel whispered some great secret to her. Marchioness Francis Midford stood behind her children, a little farther to the side, straight-backed and proud with one hand placed delicately in the crook of her husband's arm. The Marquis Alexis Midford was smiling happily, but his wife looked as stern as ever. On the other side, Doctor Dalles stood behind her sister holding her late husband, the Baron Burnett, by the arm and laughing joyously.

The picture reminded Dean for the first time that he was not the only who had suffered losses that day. Angelina Dalles seemed like a shell of her former self. Dean had seen it as she left. It was barely noticeable and most people wouldn't have, but Dean could tell that her chin were a little sharper, her cheeks a little more hollow. Her eyes had lost their sparkle, and even her hair seemed drab and dull. She looked nothing like the lively woman that used to visit the manor.

Dean put the picture down. His head hurt. He turned to look at Mr. Tanaka and a burning feeling of guilt and shame welled up inside him, threatening to spill over. The baroness just lost her husband in that carriage accident a little while ago, and now she had lost her beloved sister and nephew as well. She had every right to lock herself in her estate to grieve, but she hadn't. She had been here, at the hospital, working to try to save the mentor that until her letter Dean was too busy wallowing in his own misery to even remember was alive.

Dean took one of the butler's hands in both of his own. He used to think that his mentor was indomitable, but at the moment Mr. Tanaka looked every inch a frail, old man. Dean hated it. He thought of every martial arts lesson, every sparring session he'd ever had with his mentor. Dean never went to bed afterward without being sore or covered in bruises and mentally cursing the man for every one, but Dean would take it all back now if he could just get his mentor back.

Doctor Dalles had told him to say his good-byes, but where did he begin? How was he supposed to put what he felt into words? He had never wanted anything more than he now wanted Mr. Tanaka to wake up from his not-sleep. Dean bowed his head in desperate prayer. "Please… I'll do anything." He looked to the bed, hoping against hope that somehow something would have happened. Nothing seemed to have changed. Dean felt drained. His head drooped and he tightened his grip on the old butler's hand.

Then, something did happen: the hand clasped in Dean's gave a slight twitch. Dean froze, scarcely daring to breathe. He didn't think what was left of his heart would survive another let down. But it happened again. Mr. Tanaka let out a quiet groan and stirred faintly. Dean didn't hesitate any longer. He pelted out of the room. "Doctor! Somebody get Doctor Dalles! Doctor! I need a doctor!" Dean couldn't see straight. He wiped his eyes angrily, but everything was still spinning. He could just make out the blurred outline of a panicked Doctor Dalles running down the hall toward him. Dean tried to tell her what happened, but no sound would come out. The corridor seemed to tilt on some kind of axis, and Dean vaguely registered the feeling of his legs giving out underneath him. He was so, so tired. Then everything went black.