Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with the Black Butler series. Everything belongs to Yana Toboso.

Author's Note: I am terribly sorry for the late update. I have been incredibly busy, but I assured you all that I will continue this story, and so I shall. Hopefully, my next update will be sooner. I do hope you all enjoy. I will update as soon as I can, I promise. Thank you all for your patience.

Chapter Ten: The Rescue

Silence.

It was…unnerving. It…should not be silent. He…he should be here. Had…had he been wrong? Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps Sebastian was not coming for him. Perhaps it didn't matter anymore to the demon, whether Ciel lived, or died; whether he devoured him or not. Perhaps he had returned for a completely different reason. Yet, hadn't the Undertaker told him that his soul was still inside his body? What else could the demon have come for…? Yes. What else, but his soul? It didn't matter now. Nothing mattered now. He knew that he should feel anger, or sadness, or regret, but he didn't. He couldn't. All that he could feel was the sharp claws, piercing the dark fabric of his coat, the thin veil of his vest to tear open the flimsy layers of skin that did little to protect the human body. He was not afraid. He would not die, he could not. He wasn't human anymore. Even if he were maimed, beaten, burned, drowned, strangled, crushed. Nothing could kill him anymore…but…

A frightening thought broke the boy's consciousness, awakening in him a feeling that he had not felt for years. A feeling much like the sharp little nails at his chest reaching past the skin and bone, and what little muscle he had, to scrape lightly against his heart. Fear. He…hadn't felt fear in so long. A part of him felt a thrill at the recollection of a feeling lost. Most Reapers would be jealous of such a thing. And yet, a part of him wished it away. Any feeling but fear, because if he was afraid, then he would not make it out of this alive…because it may be possible that he could die here. His attacker wasn't some Opium-addicted blowhard with a flimsy handgun who asked dead people stupid questions. His attacker was a demon. A demon could do what a human could not: reach past the confines of the human body, overstep the boundaries of physicality to grasp something that truly could be considered a human's very life. To most Reapers, this wouldn't matter…but…but Ciel was different. The Undertaker had not been able to remove his soul, as it had still had a bind on it by another creature. His soul was still inside of his body. That did not mean that a human could kill him, oh no. Only a creature that could access his very soul would be able to cause him any damage, if they wished it…unfortunately for him, the demon atop him could do so. He felt its hot breath ghosting over his face harshly. He could almost see its nostrils flare as it inhaled the sweet, savory scent of is soul. Its maw was dripping, and there was a pair of bright, vicious eyes gleaming in the darkness that was the creature, and the little Reaper's heart was thrumming against the devil's nails, and his mismatched gaze felt hot, and all that he could think of was SebastianSebastianSebastian.

Regret. Remorse. Pain. Sorrow. Fury. Hatred.

…Love. Unrequited, but Love all the same.

A bitter smile stretched his pale, childish features. A delicious meal for a demon. At least all of Sebastian's work wouldn't go to waste. At least his soul was worth something…to someone. Anyone.

Silence. There was silence, ringing through the air and calming his nerves and strangling his senses. His mouth was dry, and a pit was rising from his stomach to his throat, but he was not afraid, because this was the silence that was the most…familiar…to him? He…he knew this silence…this…this was not the silence of peace, of acceptance, of death. This was not the silence that graced the leaving of one's existence from the world. This was not the silence of the end. It…was the opposite. It was the silence of the beginning. It was the silence not of peace, of tranquility, but of tension, destruction, apprehension. It was the silence that filled the air moments before the destruction of the storm occurred…

The wind rushed through the air, seeming to lift his soul with it. There was a force in that wind…a dark force, powerful and destructive. He knew not why, but he felt as though it were seeking him. He felt as though he were the target of whatever was hiding in that darkness, that force, that destruction. The demon above him seemed to sense the danger as well. It tensed, digging its claws deeper into his skin, earning a soft groan of pain from the boy as it hissed, the formless mass of darkness shifting and swirling violently at the intrusion of the wind. Its attention seemed to be directed in a single direction, but Ciel barely had the strength to turn his head to see what or who the devil was glaring at. He could feel something, he could feel what he couldn't hear, see, touch. He could feel a danger…a violent, furious threat. It sent a chill down his spine. Such anger on this wind. Such fury. Desperation…and then he heard something. It was muffled by the darkness that suffocated him, but nonetheless he heard it…and muffled or not, he could not mistake that voice.

"…Pardon my intrusion, but would you kindly take your filthy claws off of my Young Master?"

Sebastian. He came.

He came.

Ciel turned his head to the side, a newfound strength swelling within him. He would live. If Sebastian was here, he would live. He saw what the devil had been looking for. It was blurred by his hazy gaze and the darkness, but it was a figure. Tall, dark, sharp and thin, blackblackblack with redredred eyes. It looked…just a tad different from Sebastian…he couldn't make out the familiar tails of the butler's coat, or the starkly white gloves that contrasted all of that black. He seemed…sharper. His limbs and his hands, so black and extended and sharp…claws. Sebastian had claws. He could see their shapes from here. He had seen those claws before, felt them on his skin, wiping away his tears and blood, cupping his face more gently than even his parents. And his shoes…they weren't the dress shoes that he normally saw Sebastian wearing. They were sharp, too. Ciel had seen these shoes before, too. He'd heard the tell-tale click-clack, click-clack of the heels, splashing over the blood and sweat and other disgusting fluids that he was drowning in on the cobblestone, kicking lightly against the iron, rusted bars as he knelt down to see his sallow, tear-stained face…

He nearly chuckled. How ironic, that he should by lying on his back, bleeding, like he had upon the alter. Of course the demon would come to him now. It didn't matter. He had come. Ciel could feel his gaze meet the demon's. It was burning, fiery as the pits of hell, but it softened to an indescribable warmth as it met his own. How reassuring, like calming a child. He nearly laughed again, but his fascade was far too serious for that at the moment. His gaze was cold in response, burning with a fire of ice, determination. His voice was stronger than it should have been, coming from a raw, dry throat and chapped, bloodstained lips.

"…You're late."

A dark chuckle escaped the lips of the once-butler. He may have been smiling. Ciel wasn't sure. His stance was ever so Sebastian-esque, and it made Ciel feel calm.

"My deepest apologies, Young Master. Though, in my defense, you took your time summoning me."

Ciel scoffed, and it appeared to upset the demon above him, whether for the careless way that the two seemed to be ignoring the entity, or the fact that Ciel did not seem to be frightened at all anymore. He dug his claws in deeper, another pained whimper escaping the Reaper's bloodied lips, and Ciel could feel the tamed demon tense from even so far away. He grit his teeth. Sebastian could not act without Ciel's order, and so he turned his gaze once more to his former servant, and made his decision. It was die, or continue living. That was all. It was a rather easy choice for him…it always had been.

"…T-then…what are you w…waiting for…?"

His gaze flashed dangerously, his lips pulled back in a snarl, his Contract shining bright.

"…K-kill it….s…save me…"

The devil smirked back at him. He could nearly see it. His gaze was soft, but underneath, there was a shadow of the demon that Ciel had always known.

"…you know the words that I need to hear, Young Master."

The demon above was snarling, ferocious and carnal, and Ciel couldn't understand what it was saying, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was his survival. For himself, or for someone else, that was all that mattered. That had always been the only thing that mattered. His pretty lips parted, the night air cold to skin as the blood seeped in, and for the first time…his voice broke the silence.

"…It's…an order…"

xXx

He could not clearly recall the last time that he had felt quite so…angry.

To see the talons of another demon breaking that porcelain skin, another devil's tongue lapping at the sweet essence of his prey's blood, another pair of gleaming eyes gazing down on his flushed, broken form, another pair of black hands holding him to the ground, smothering, stealing, tasting…

He felt…quite angry at the moment.

So much so that he barely realized when he was being addressed by his Young Master, and not the demon. Ah, his Young Master. How wonderful it felt to know that that was true again. To know that his Young Master had called for him, that his Young Master was depending on him, that his Young Master's life was in his hands, that his Young Master was looking at him, speaking to him, giving him an order…

…and, oh, he would follow it. He would follow that bright, determined gaze, filled with fury and everything that made his Young Master his Young Master to the end of this world, and the next. But first…he would have to take care of the beast that was snarling at him from atop his possession. His glare darkened, his pupils narrowing to dangerous slits at the old language that the creature was using. It would seem that this particular demon was quite old…and corrupted. Always searching, always hungry, never satisfied. Poor thing. He would have to put it out of its misery, once it ceased its incessant threats.

"NO! No, go away! You left him! You don't want him anymore, he's mine now!"

With each word, its talons dug a slight bit deeper into his Young Master's chest. Why was it, he wondered, that with every soft sound of pain from his Little Lord, he felt as though the demon were digging his claws into his own chest?

"…I beg your pardon, but I can assure you that you are mistaken."

His smile spread wide, anything but condescending as his gaze fell to the writhing boy on the bloodied cobblestone.

"…I want nothing so much as I desire him."

What did he want from that boy at this moment? His soul? His body? He wasn't certain. The only thing that he was certain of was that the horrible, bloodcurdling ticking in his chest was so disgustingly loud right now…he would do whatever he had to do to stop it…and he knew exactly what that was. The demon above the young Reaper snarled once more, and lunged for him…and he smiled. He was ready and itching for it. He couldn't wait to show this demon of old exactly what happened to those who dared to stand between he, and his meal…especially a meal of such caliber…especially that particular boy.

The demon was quite slow, his attacks rather easy to dodge. Its claws were dull in comparison to his, but the suffocating darkness proved to be a problem. It was rather difficult to see, and he was lucky that he had no need to breathe, or he would have been in a pinch. However, he had fought demons in worse darkness, with less form, and he knew exactly what to do to tear this creature limb from limb. As he fought, the demon's words, the Undertaker's words ran through his mind.

"He's mine now!"

No. No, he was not. He never was. He never would be.

A dark kind of smile lit the pale, half-hidden face. "I couldn't remove it, demon. Hard as I tried, the bindings were too strong. Fond as I am of that boy, it wasn't my place to take him. He wasn't mine to take. He still isn't. He's yours. He's always been yours."

Quick blocks and sharp cuts. Ferocious snarls, coming from both demons. He found himself growing more angry and feral by the moment. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so…demonic. So…desperate. Ah, but that last part was a lie, and he didn't tell lies. He recalled all too well the last time he'd felt desperate, desperate enough to run from the only thing in this world that he'd wanted. Why? Why had he run? Why could he not answer himself? Was there no answer to his question, or was he simply denying the answer to himself? Had he been unnerved by the emotion that he had tasted on his lips? Had he been frightened by the undeniable, unbreakable, unconditional, unrequited feeling that humans wrote tales upon tales of? Dreamed of, longed for, based their entire existence on?

"Why have you truly returned, demon? Have you come to devour that boy after all these years…? …Or…?"

Or. That horrible word. It was always the question that he could never answer. To let him fall, or catch him? To kiss him, or to kill him? To devour him, or-or, or, or-?

His blows became harder, faster, his snarls more ferocious. He realized that he was letting himself go a bit too much, that he was taking his anger and frustration out on this other demon, but he didn't care. He needed more anger, more victims, more blood. Two dark entities mingled, and the cries that broke the quiet night air were inhuman. These were not cries of living creatures. It was as if all of hell was shrieking its loudest, with every voice of every soul that it held trapped.

"He's waiting for you, you know. He doesn't plan to let you have him now…though somehow, I doubt that he has crushed his emotions completely. Especially for you. You've always enjoyed a challenge, butler, so I hope that you're prepared~"

He wasn't. He wasn't prepared to be here, to do this. One glance to the side, at that frail body struggling for breath on the bloodied cobblestone, at that shining azure ocean, refusing to diminish in its fire, refusing to die, and he knew that he was not prepared to devour him, because that horrible throbbing in his chest was stronger than it had ever been at that moment. He was not prepared to devour him. He was not prepared to let him fall, or break him, or take him, or hurt him…

…but he was prepared to catch him. He was prepared to keep him, to hold him, to help him, to serve him, to save him, to kiss him…

An inhuman snarl emerged from the shapeless mass' ferocious maw as it lunged forward.

...to protect him.

Its neck was met with sharp, extended claws from long, stiff fingers, the owner of which had his fangs bared and his feathers ruffled. His eyes were gleaming dangerously, and without any hesitation whatsoever, the creature's neck was snapped, and its formless body fell limp in the butler's strong hold. He dropped it with a disgusted scoff, wiping his hands of the black blood that would surely stain his uniform. His white gloves were back in place, a second skin as much as was the tailcoat that followed as he made his way through the darkness, toward the place on the cobblestone on which lie a frail, thin, beautiful little prey that was ever so good at hiding. He had hoped that he had been awake to watch the show, but he was most certainly unconscious. Perhaps he had lost too much blood? As a Reaper, he should be fine, shouldn't he? He knelt down next to the shivering, cold body, drenched in the blood that ran down in beautiful rivulets from the deep gashes in his paper-thin chest. He ran his fingers over each and every wound, staining his gloves and resisting the urge to lap up the sweet liquid like a pitiful dog. He leaned down, pressing palm gently to the torn skin, searching for something that he found all too quickly, that sent a rush of unbelievable relief through him. He found the sound, soft and less frequent than he'd hoped, but it was there.

A weak, barely audible rhythm. Like rain on the cobblestone. Like claps of thunder ringing through the darkness of his heart. Like that damnable timepiece, always a part of him, even after it had been lost.

Tha-thump…tha-thump…

Tick-tock…tick-tock…

It matched his own so terribly that it ached, that it wired through him a strong sense of something that he had never felt before encountering this child. He lifted to boy nostalgically in his arms, making to take him home. He wished that he could stay like this forever. Hold him like this forever. He buried his lips in that moonlit ashen dust, inhaling the sweetest scent he'd ever known, his voice softer than a whisper as he smiled into his content.

"…Welcome back…Young Master."