Thank you! to EVIL GummyBear LOVE, Carrie for massive beta-help, and guests. Hope you enjoy this chapter~

A/N: 3rd person past, as Sebastian is remembering this. We will rejoin Ciel when we're done remembering. These are a collection of memories, and thus are short and sweet, with soft breaks, not hard scene cuts. Enjoy!

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Chapter 11: into the past

Sebastian didn't remember if there ever was a time that he didn't know his father was a policeman. And by six years old, he realized that his father was crooked.

Sebastian fingered the police uniform, examining the spots. He'd just have to ignore the oil and grease stains; he didn't know how to deal with those. But he put the "color safe stain remover" on it anyway. The bloodstains however, would need different treatment. He traced the small spots, imagining the legal and illegal ways his father might have acquired them.

Maybe he got them taking a witness in. A bloody one. Or maybe he hit the witness.

The state of the boxers, however, suggested otherwise.

Sebastian made his way to the sitting room. The telly was on. His father wasn't a fat man, for all his drinking and bad ways, but he wasn't as thin and tall as Sebastian one day would be. Sebastian knew his father noticed him come in by his sudden stillness. He didn't quite wince away, but he didn't lean in or laugh at the program like he might have.

"If you're hungry, there's stuff in there," he gestured to the kitchen, "for pasta and sandwiches." Stiffly, he looked back to the program.

"I already made stew yesterday. Do you want leftovers?" Sebastian replied, less than enthusiastic.

"Right. Right. Because all six year olds can cook stew." He sighed and turned his eyes back to the program.

Sebastian's intelligence made him strange, but his emotions were what made his father wary. "You used to laugh, when you were a baby, when somebody cried. I would burn my hand on the cooker, and you'd giggle…" He took a drink of something amber. Beer, or maybe whiskey, Sebastian wondered.

"Drinking is bad for you," Sebastian said solemnly, but he smiled even as he scolded. That caution, that borderline fear, fascinated him. His father was not a stupid man—he recognized something dangerous in his son.

"I want to talk about Mummy." Sebastian fixed his eyes on his father's, studying him for any hint of reaction. But his father only froze, watching Sebastian like a rabbit does a fox.

"You said she died." Sebastian smiled faintly. "I looked it up on the police database. She died of coke overdose. There's a police record and everything." He paused. "Doesn't that mean that I should have been born addicted or something?"

The man in the chair sputtered and scoffed. "What? Of course not! What are you trying to imply?" He cleared his throat, waggling his eyebrows in indignant confusion. "Your mother was not a whore. I never brought her in. She was a—a lady of quality. We met," his mouth worked, searching for words, "at a pub," he said cheerily, but with an air of bravado. He stuck his chin out stubbornly, as though daring his son to contradict him.

Sebastian stared. "Last time you said she was a childhood friend."

His eyes darted to the side. "…stew." He looked back, their eyes meeting for the barest fraction of a second. "Well. Warm us up some stew then."

.

.

Any normal child would already be asleep, Sebastian rationalized. He thinks I can't hear. There it was again—that noise. A woman's voice, high pitched and whining, followed by a rhythmic thumping.

Irate, Sebastian tried to come up with a solution to the problem. He thought of one swiftly enough. First, he rubbed his fist into his eyes, pressing until they were suitably swollen. He wondered if he should find a stuffed toy or blanket to drag against the floor in a parody of Darling's youngest boy in Peter Pan, but he decided against it. All of his toys were disfigured.

Then, he wandered, shuffling not-so-quietly, to the master bedroom. He didn't knock. He just pushed the door open, rubbing at his eyes once more. "Daddy—" his high-pitched voice cut through the surprised sounds from the bed.

His father swore and hopped away, leaving the woman handcuffed to the bedpost. He scrambled for his clothes and a scrap of privacy, moving with a muttered, "Come on now."

Sebastian was swiftly hustled out, but not before he saw the crushed notes in her purse, and noticed the sweet smell of smoke, like a sickly flower, in the air.

"Do you think this is a game?" His father level with his son, leaning down awkwardly.

"No. But if you do, I don't mind playing." Sebastian gave a rare grin, looking more like the innocent child he ought be.

"You're a monster," his father muttered.

"And you're a hell of a bobbie," Sebastian countered.

He went back to bed; the flat was finally quiet enough to sleep.

.

.

After that, Sebastian learned what it meant to be obsessed.

He started following his dad—becoming his tiny black shadow—and photographed his misdeeds. Over the course of a few months, he enjoyed making a portfolio of evidence, which he tucked into a manila envelope. Each photograph was dated, and receipts—when found—were clipped to them. Memos were typed and printed. He didn't want anyone to recognize his wobbly cursive.

After the envelope was finished, he showed it to his father. While the man had his tea, he pushed it over to his side of the table. When it touched his fingers, he asked, "What's this?"

Sebastian smiled. "Open it."

When he did, his father had to clear more space. He fingered one photograph, and hurriedly flipped to the next. He paled, flushed, and then paled again. As he read the files, his fingers trembled.

Sebastian smiled still, when his father drank too much. When he sobbed, his apologies wet with spittle, beer, and utter loss of control. He reveled in these drunken, sobbing apologies. But the feeling died out, leaving him bored and empty.

Sebastian watched, his eyes cold, his face blank. His father's misery was no longer interesting.

"I'll resign." he claimed, with all the sincerity of an addict swearing he'll quit.

"Why?" Sebastian asked. He shrugged. Such short-lived satisfaction.

.

.

After The Incident, Sebastian wasn't sure if he meant for it to play out like that or not. Can a six year old, even a very intelligent one, really understand the repercussions of death?

"I was playing on the tracks," Sebastian later told the police. "I know I shouldn't have." His voice was quiet, tentative. He hoped they put it down as shock.

The bobbies gave him a cup of hot cocoa and asked him again. "How did your father wind up on the track?" Their voices were wary, tired, no matter who asked it.

Sebastian knew they thought he pushed him. Some old busy body told them she saw him do it. "A thin boy pushed a police officer—right after that same police helped him up," she said.

Sebastian said he fell.

They found the manila envelope that very afternoon. The local police officer's tragic accident wasn't looked into after that.

Alone at last, Sebastian remembered his father's face. The paralyzing fear in his expression when he realized he was stuck and a train was coming.

His father looked up, his eyes wide and strained. He shook his feet, shuffled, and tried to move his bigger body. Sebastian, lithe and fast, nimbly leapt away.

Over the noise of the wheels, the squeaking emergency breaks,Sebastian couldn't hear well, but he thought he saw his father's mouth move.

"Sebastian?"

Sebastian remembered, and smiled a crooked smile.

Then it occurred to him.I wonder if we were even related at all? Maybe he should have thought of that before… He can't imagine how his intelligent, crooked father could have fallen for such child's play.

Sebastian, after all, had known the time table for the train, knew the perfect spot that was just right for a child to play, and just the place where an adult's larger size would be a disadvantage. And fall. Especially if he panicked.

So, what of it? The man was dead either way.

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Sebastian first saw Charles Grey in the hallway, glowering at some underclassmen. Neither party noticed him waiting for the math teacher.

"He could pass any entrance exam he wanted," the lower classman said, oblivious to Grey`s disapproving stare. "It's just a matter of how long he can stay in."

"So he's a real troublemaker, then is he?" Charles drawled. "I don't care if he's the devil himself. Cretin like you shouldn't be gabbing in the hallway." His pale eyes caught sight of Sebastian at last.

Sebastian noted his freshly pressed uniform—it was clearly better cared for. Their eyes met, but Sebastian looked away; he didn't see anything that interested him.

It wouldn't be for several weeks before they traded words.

.

.

"Mr. Grey, you need to understand more about your condition. You can't try and act like there's nothing wrong—"

"What do you mean, 'my condition?' Don't waste my time without clear test results. I won't have you talking me into unnecessary treatment. I'll talk with the doctor, not some upstart nurse."

Charles Grey and Sebastian Michaelis were both in ER, Charles because he'd collapsed at school, and Sebastian because his guardian was having his hand stitched up.

"Oh no, you can't stay here alone. I don't care if I bleed all over the passenger seat as well, I'll tie you to the car if I have to, but you can't stay where I can't see you." The big man had blustered, even as his hand bled. The matter settled—Sebastian didn't care one way or the other—Sebastian accompanied him to hospital.

Next to Grey, the nurse left with a scowl.

Sebastian looked at Charles with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. He'd heard about this Charles Grey. As member of society, he was as spoilt and arrogant as one would imagine, but there was something about that arrogance that caught Sebastian's interest.
"Oh, well if it isn't the charity case."

Even while being insulting, he smiled. Not ever enough to show teeth.

Grey stretched leisurely. "Are you just here for kicks? I never would have thought those stories were true."

Sebastian shrugged. "And you're here for a checkup. Feeling poorly?"

Charles yawned. "Not too bad. I overdid it in P.E."

Sebastian considered the other boy, noting his pale completion and small stature. He surmised that it was not a new diagnosis, but rather, something Charles had dealt with for some time. Sebastian said nothing.

"I bet you get off on all the pain and blood in the A&E," he scoffed. "Everyone knows you're a complete psychopath." Charles's eyes glittered with interest. He waited for Sebastian to reply, but after a moment, he continued when Sebastian said nothing. "I heard you pulled one over the teachers."

Sebastian looked the other boy up and down, trying to determine why Charles was interested in talking to him at all.. "Are you asking for details or advice?"

Charles scoffed. "Like I need advice from you—you were found out right? Someone stopped you." The gloating tone didn't quite cover his curiosity. "I rather think you're in need of advice yourself."

Ah, so that's it. Sebastian thought. "Is that so? And you would be the person to go to, is that it?" He walked slowly over to the cot, enjoying the way Charles stiffened as he approached . "You want to be mates. Go for a walk on the dark side." Sebastian reached out to straighten the collar of Charles shirt.

Charles smacked Sebastian's hand away. "Hardly. But I wouldn't mind—" he closed his mouth sharply.

Sebastian didn't know the details of Charles' diagnosis, but he took a gamble, guessing that Charles himself might not be willing to face the details. "You've got one of those giant hearts. You won't live to be twenty."

"So what? I'll live will until then. Life is better if you play from time to time." His smile never wavered.

Sebastian frowned. "You couldn't keep up with me."

"Try me."

And so Sebastian began an elaborate lie, playing off of Charles' willed ignorance surrounding his illness. Slowly, Sebastian fed him a story, urging him to believe he was dying, all the while pushing him to do ever more.

Who would yield first?

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tbc…

A/N: These chapters always take more time (and story) than I originally anticipate. XD So, let me know! Do you want the details of Grey and Sebastian's friendship, or are you not interested? If not interested, what do you want to see?

The alternate story-line is not finished yet. Sorry. . .will let you know when it is.