Author's Note: Okay. Everyone might wanna take a few moments to re-read Kiss the Gunner's Daughter. Cus I make a few references from that chapter in here. So if Sen was confused when I sent her this chapter, then you guys will be too. This was written a few weeks before Ronnies magnificent zombie headshotting appearance was made. I totally called his personality.
If any of you are interested, Kiss the Gunner's Daughter can now be read in French! www. fanfiction .net/s/6576253/1/ I've been getting some interesting comments about it.
Big thanks to by beta Sennasanthia
93. Opportunity
The day Sebastian collapses, Ciel can't say he was particularly surprised, yet hadn't seen it coming quite so soon either.
Cutlery and fragile glasses had smashed, translucent and porcelain shards dusted the carpet like a diamond coat. His butler was prostrate on the ground, breathing abnormally shallow and fast, abnormal especially for a demon who could dead sprint and keep it up for half an hour and not throw up after doing so. Especially for a being who supposedly didn't breathe.
He'd seen it coming, because as frigid as Ciel acts, he still keeps a careful eye on all his valets' well being. Over the last few weeks, maybe even a month now, he has watched Sebastian's chalk white face slowly change to a hue of curdled milk, swaggering walk tamed and eyes squinting as if suddenly developing short sightedness. He's certainly dropped, misplaced and forgotten many things over this short time period.
And at last the day comes when the puppeteer behind Sebastian relaxes his grip on his strings- and the demon simply topples over without a sound.
Ciel manages to round up Tanaka and the chef's help- because where on earth does he hide all that weight- and gets the docile demon into his bed chamber. He also manages enough lies- he's been over worked, he just needs some rest- to assure Tanaka he doesn't need a physical examination. That could led to all sorts of awkward questions- no heart beat you say, that's. . .um. . .
He makes sure the door is firmly closed and footsteps gone before he starts talking.
The room is as white and as boring as the other two times he's been in here. He wonders if Sebastian has kicked the habit of sneaking in cats yet. He can check another time.
"So. What's wrong with you?" the Earl inquires, not asking how he is, because the answer is written all over his face. "This isn't some kind of. . demon disease, is it?"
"No, we can only get sick in our own realm," Sebastian smiles thinly. "Even then it rarely happens. I'll be fine in a few minutes."
Which they both know is a load of bullshit.
Ciel waits, counting out the seconds. He gets to three hundred. He'll give Sebastian some credit. He makes a good attempt of getting up. Before his cheeks tinge blue, and he falls right back over onto the pillows.
"Now will you tell me?"
"I've told you before that I've given up on regular human souls," Sebastian finally gives in, subtly not looking at him, uncomfortable as always to directly address his demonic tendencies. Ciel nods impatience. Get on with it. "That being the case, I haven't. . eaten, in a long time."
Ciel is reminded that his definition of long and Sebastian's, are two entirely different things.
"Demons can survive for a good few decades without consuming souls, depending on the quality and stockpile," he makes it sound like he's talking about the economy ratings of Phantomhive. "But this is in the Netherworld. In the human realm, our magic and power is cut in half- reverting back to my true form, and healing myself constantly in the time I've been with you has probably taken many years off my, er, expiry date, if you will."
"In other words, you're dying?" so this is how it ends. Not with a bang but a pathetic squelch.
"Not for a few more years. I'll simply be too weak to more from this spot until I just rot away. It's a pretty messy process, truth be told. Unless. . ."
Ciel sighs. He had seen this coming. "Unless I find you an entree to tide you over until the main course."
If the conversation wasn't awkward before, now it most certainly is.
He should really be taking advantage of the situation. If Sebastian ceases to be- the contract will be null- he'll keep his soul until the day he dies. However. . . no matter what hitmen and sleuths he hires, none will get the job done like his demon. Nobody but he has the power to fulfil his desire of revenge.
The truth certainly is hard to take.
19. Life
The sun has started to bleed across the horizon, slate concrete and ruddy bricks shadowing the London streets like smears of expressionist brush strokes. Ciel is the only figure tripping down the broad walk, cloak snapping around his shoes and top hat making his silhouette look like a bean pole scarecrow in the growing twilight.
He pauses outside the eleventh door from the street sign. Raising a knuckle, he only knocks once before the door springs open and a pale hand snatches him inside. This has happened the last three times he's had the misfortune of crawling here on his stomach for help.
"Lock the door," the Undertaker mutters in a distracted way, platinum sheet of hair tied messily up into a pony tail that looks oddly out of place on him. His moth eaten top hat is as ever perched crookedly on his head, shading his eyes from sight.
Nervously, Ciel does as he asks, before taking a careful seat on a –mercifully- empty coffin.
Still prancing around his shop, the Undertaker grabs fist fulls of what appear to be hiking equipment. Rope, ice pick, nails, hammer. .
"Is this a bad time?"
"Not at all, Earl. If you would just give me three minutes, I just have to finish dealing with my other customer," he reassures him, bending to search under his desk, rump high in the air.
"Other customer, what do-Jesus goddamn Christ!-" as his eye drifts around the room, there, in the dark corner, is a faceless man, who had certainly not been there a moment ago. At once, Ciel tries to scramble up, but also move backwards at the same time, resulting in tripping over the coffin edge, smacking his head on the book shelf behind him.
It's like one of those irrational fears you have as a child.
Waking up in the middle of the night and seeing. . . a thing in the darkest corner of the room, ready to rush at you with white hands out. Yet it doesn't. It simply stares. And try as you might, you can't-
"Are you alright?" The Undertaker asks, monotone, peering over the lip of the desk.
Shakily, Ciel stands, gazing at the ghostly figure. His face is nightmarish. Perfectly blank, deep indents of where eyes should be, a small mound for a suggested nose, mouth a grim line of stitches. He dresses in black robes, peaked hood pulled lower on his face. Ciel can see right through his transparent feet to the grimly wall behind. He shivers like a hand has trailed down his back.
He simply stands there, not stirring or breathing. Just. . existing in that little corner.
"Oh. . this is Pete," The Undertaker introduces them. Ciel cautiously inclines his head, the phantom doing nothing in return. "He's a Spectra from the death god realm. If he was to talk to you, not only would you not understand the demonic gibberish, his language is spoken so fast for a human ear to listen to, it might rupture your ear drums. His job is to watch over the records in their realm."
"Er. . nice to meet you?" it comes out like a question. The listless figure doesn't appear to be causing him harm, so Ciel sits back down. He can deal with demons and imps and slavering werewolves, but ghosts are another matter entirely.
His skin doesn't stop itching until the Undertaker hands over the desired items, and bids the figure goodbye. And when Ciel blinks, Pete has vanished from the corner.
89. Question
"You wouldn't, erm, that is to say. . .happen to have any bottled souls under that table, would you?"
67. Misguided
It's almost the next best thing.
In the Scotland Yard headquarters, with much under ground strings pulled from Lau and the Undertaker, Ciel walks away with a convict.
He's tied to the back of the coach, and is made to jog to keep up with the horses trot, all the way from London to the mansion. He passes out from exhaustion about three quarters of the way there. Ciel says to drag him- the roads are smooth enough to only graze his skin and bruise. He won't be alive for much longer anyway.
The coach rounds the curve in the kilometre long driveway, and Ciel stares morosely out the window, cheek in palm.
Is he doing the right thing? The convict was going to be hung tomorrow morning, but does offering him up to Sebastian make it right? Nervously, Ciel nibbles on his lower lip, pressing his tongue hard against the roof of his mouth.
Sebastian talked about the quality of souls. Is the one he's going to give met the mark? What makes a good soul in a demon's eyes. Apparently his is becoming quite the celebrity in the demon worlds- a tormented boy, who lies and bullies and kills people who are in his way- are these the qualities of what makes a soul good?
Maybe it's not just that.
In his life before the incident, he had been surrounded by love and kindness, been guided in what his parents believed was the right direction, so perhaps being touched by so many different emotions and experiences is what has made his soul round and fit for a king.
The gravel crunches under the wooden wheels, and at last they stop.
Time to find out.
77. Play
The convict is gagged, hands shackled behind his back, eyes wide and confused as he's dragged into Sebastian's bed chamber. Ciel throws him belly down onto the bed.
"Alright. How are we doing this?" he asks, removing his leather gloves in two quick flicks.
"Just hold him down," Sebastian says, words tired. He's graciously accepted he doesn't have the strength left to keep a grown man pinned and extract his soul at the same time. "And roll him over please."
Ciel sits heavily down on the man's knees, keeping his legs from thrashing then tentatively puts his hands on his wriggling shoulders. Muffled, obviously distressed, grunts come from behind the gag, and the convict must feel something change in the room, because his eyes flood with panicked tears. Sebastian slowly draws back the covers, eyes closed in concentration, moving his body like a tired old turtle.
When he opens his eyes again, they glitter like shattered rubies. And when his mouth parts, rows of angled teeth are revealed through ropes of saliva.
Ciel feels himself freeze in his own moment of terror, knuckles white on the convict's shoulders and he dares not take his eyes off the advancing predator.
Fwip. Fwip. Sebastian removes his gloves, deadly claws revealing themselves and he places one below his prey's ribcage. His forehead gently brushes against Ciel's own, and the Earl represses a shudder- his flesh is icy to the touch.
"Little boys should really close their eyes," the demon purrs, in a voice Ciel has heard only once before. He draws in a harsh breath, tasting ash and sulphur in the air.
"You dare order me? Know your place, you filthy beast," Ciel rasps.
Smirking, Sebastian nods. In once swift moment, his claws jerk, puncture, and rotate. All in one fast, impossible action. The man's rib cage splinters, blood spluttering, and Ciel's tilts his face away, but not enough to keep from watching.
It truly is a fascinating process.
Sebastian removes the gag, and does something with his digging hand, making the man choke. Ciel realises he's just crushed his heart. His eyes flutter, and his lips part. Quickly, Sebastian leans down, sinking his fangs deep into the man's mouth, catching the soul before it moves away.
"Oh my, this won't do."
Ciel jerks in surprise, head swivelling at once. He'd been so focused, he hadn't even heard him enter. A death god is primly standing in the corner, lips quirked in interested. "I've never seen that before," he admits in a carefree voice, double ringed eyes flashing behind thick glasses.
"I know you," Sebastian says, voice salted, licking at his lips slightly to get rid of any stains. The corpse beneath them both is already growing cold. It makes Ciel feel slightly sick. "Haven't you grown up?"
"Hn?" the blonde tips his head back, eyes searching to the left- into his memory. "Oh. Ah! That kid," he blinks, having touched on the distance memory, like the ocean tide. "You've been good to not have eaten him up yet," he congratulates.
". . what is going on?" Ciel interrupts, not at all impressed to be left out of the loop.
"How rude of me. Ronald Knox," the death god smiles charmingly again, putting a hand to his chest. "I was supposed to take your soul," he adds, pointing to Ciel. "And maybe one day I will."
Time is a fickle creator in the death god realm. Shifting and changing quickly, ten times the fold in the human realm. Ronald made have been a child when he'd first met the hungry demon and its prey, yet now he stands in the room as a young man, scythe with an upgrade, and a deeper look in his eyes. Like he'd seen the outside world at last.
"You seem to have a bad habit of taking my charges," Ronald says, bright attitude slipping subtly, grip tightening on the handle of his lawn mower. Sebastian narrows his eyes, muscles tightening. "If I don't take a soul, my Boss is gonna kill me," he smiles innocently, kicking his scythe suddenly. It roars into life. "So I might just take yours instead!"
Sebastian barrel rolls with Ciel off the bed, protecting him as best he can. The bed explodes as Ronald slams into it, bits of wood, material and bloody body parts flying everywhere. Fluff settles in his blonde hair, and he irritably licks away a splatter of blood on his lips. "Oops. That's gonna cost," Ronald laughs, not sounding bothered by it in the slightest. With a guttural roar, the lawn mower spins, and pounces upon its victims, Sebastian screaming at it swallows his left leg whole. Suddenly the blades stop. "Oh. Oh,very good," Ronald purrs in delight, loving the challenge. The blades have been jammed by the demon's tough thigh bone. He smiles, strained.
"Thank you."
Ciel watches in slight horror, clutching onto Sebastian for dear life. ". . demons don't have life streams."
"What was that?"
"If you kill him, he'll just come back." He can't believe he's talking to the creature. It's clearly out of its mind.
"Yes. I know," Ronald smiles. His face may be angelic, but the smile is anything but. "I've had lots of experience with demons. It's great fun. To hear them scream, cry, beg, over and over, as I splatter their brains on the ground a dozen times over. It never gets old, you see. You're not the only one with monsters in their closets, kid."
Ciel suppresses a shiver at those last words. Those are said with such sincerity, he doesn't doubt for a second something terrible has happened to Ronald along the bumpy road of life.
And he's about two seconds away from smearing Sebastian all over the ground because of it.
Their saving grace comes in the form of hedge clippers, smacking into Ronald's neck. The young death god doubles up with a yelp, clutching at the back of his neck. ". . I had that. I earned that fucking five minutes."
"Oh? The bed as well?"
"Especially the bed," Ciel sees the smile on his lips. Crouched on the window ledge is the very familiar figure of William, ever the cookie cut businessman. His sterile eyes brush over them, as if they are simply cattle in a field. He jerks his head at Ronald, default frown smoothly in place. No words have to be said. They have obviously been around each other for so long, they've perfected it to an art.
"I'm going to enjoy this," Ronald brightly tells them, taking a good grip on his scythe. Ciel is immediately reminded of himself. From a long time ago. In the low glow of the library lights.
Take off your shirt.
Unnecessarily, Ronald pushes the blades in as if to wiggle it around for better leverage, making the demon hiss before pulling out. The noise is dreadful. Like when you plunge your hands into a bowl full of thick, clotted sewer water- squelch .
"Knox."
"I'm done," he gives a breezy grin to his superior, waving away his scythe. "Let's play again," he smirks over his shoulder at them both, mounting the window and disappearing in a flash of portal light.
"I think I just lost another year off my life," Sebastian mutters, wincing as he leans down to assess the state of his butchered leg. His pant leg are mere ribbons, skin spiked and shredded. His foot has been crunched into an unrecognisable stain, his femur no better. Blood smears the ground, thin wisps of veins and arteries running dry. A spider web crack runs up his. . Ciel doesn't even recognize the bone anymore.
Ciel lets go of his waist, standing awkwardly. "So. Do you feel better?"
As if those last moments hadn't just happened. Proving that nothing would rumple the proud Earl's feathers.
"Oh. Very much so."