-:- Subject 13's Butler -:-
.:A Kuroshitsuji Fan Fiction:.

Author: AoUsagi

Summary: Ciel takes the leap into Oblivion, only to wake into a strange white-washed world of beeping machines and white-coats doctors. The only thing that seems real is Sebastian, who steals him away from the hellhole laboratory to save him from the sick sake of science.

BeforeNote:

*GAAAAASP* I AM ALIVE.

And I'm really really sorry for making you all wait. It was wrong of me I know and I swear not to do it again.

Well, not anytime soon anyway.

Not that you probably care nor want to hear about my life, but in the last three or so weeks I've been having my best friend stay with me whilst she tries to find a house to rent and a solid paying job. This often means spending waaay too much time being "social" (i.e: walking aimlessly around town) and staying up to ridiculous hours of the night waiting for her to come home from wherever the hell she buggers off to with her boyfriend.

Basically she's been occupying a lot of the time I usually have to write, along with having to look for another job myself, filling in extra hours at my current job whilst my boss flies overseas, and rewatching an old anime series favourite of mine in the time I have free but am so exhausted I can't be bothered to do anything else but be a couch potato.

So anyway, here is chapter twenty, which I've been wanting to get written for the last three weeks at least. I hope there's still some of you out there who will read this tripe.

- Mercy

…

go see banana fish.

Chapter Twenty: In Which Ciel Stumbles Into Trouble. Again.

-:-

His breath was beginning to come in short gasps, clouds of dragons breath spiralling away from his panting lips as he feverishly jogged through the winding maze of alleyways. The cobbles beneath his sneakered feet were cold and unforgiving, and sharp stabbing pains of cold air shot through his lungs every time he drew in breath.

Ciel Phantomhive was clinging desperately to the memory of seeing his father standing in the street across from his window.

It had been no easy task to slip out passed Sebastian – the floorboards had creaked and groaned with his albeit meagre weight putting pressure on them, and there had been a terribly long, drawn out minute of held breath after one particularly loud creak where Ciel was sure Sebastian would have woken. But the doctor had remained asleep, and although he had rolled over and murmured something in his slumber, he did not wake. Ciel had pulled a grey hoodie over his head before slipping out, thinking to wrap up warmly against the cold night air.

And now, he was out in the dead of night, feeling his heart pounding within in his chest as his lungs stretched and complained with every breath he sucked in. He was slowly becoming aware of one certainty as he padded along the sidewalk of the narrow, run down street.

He was hopelessly lost.

He hadn't dared call out – he didn't want anyone to hear him and yell out a window at him or something. He had no clue where he was or how to get back to the opium den's townhouse, meaning that he'd probably have to find a map or some such along the way. But right now, Ciel's top priority was finding his father. He rounded another countless brick buildings corner and into another alley, barely registering the figure standing directly in front of him, and Ciel stumbled into the taller person.

"Oof!" Ciel staggered backwards, regaining his balance before he looked up at the man he'd accidentally run into. "Oh, uh…sorry…"

He was stopped short when he registered who's back he'd just stepped away from – the man had dark brown hair that fell down to the base of his neck, and as he turned, Ciel barely dared to breath.

"Hello Subject Thirteen."

It wasn't his father – that much Ciel knew immediately. When the words finally settled into his mind, he also realized that he was in danger. He didn't recognize the face of the young man he'd been pursuing right away; it took him a moment and even then he couldn't grasp for the name of the boy who could only have been about six years older than himself.

Ciel's body took action before his mind caught on – he whirled and tried to run, knowing one thing: he had to get away. The young man had called him "Subject Thirteen", meaning that he had to be from the Hospital. Ciel realized, only moments too late, that he'd run straight into a trap. He felt a cold hand catch onto his arm and yank him back, and Ciel cried out in surprise as he was tugged back and off his feet. He was airborne for a second, before the wind was knocked from his lungs as he was thrown against the brick wall.

With a gasp, he collapsed to the pavement, coughing and trying to desperately suck in air. He managed to glance up at his attacker – in the street beyond him, there was a street lamp that was flickering its fluorescent light as if tremouring, but the erratic light was enough to shed light on the colour of his attackers hair – it wasn't dark brown, as Ciel had first thought, but more of a purple hue. Hair dye? Ciel didn't have time to ask, he just tried to scramble up and away from his attacker.

He got less than five feet before his attacker had drawn level with him, the older boys longer legs clearing the space much faster than Ciel could, and Ciel felt his attacker grab him by the hood of his jacket, and Ciel was jerked back once again, this time, more violently by the neck as his attacker skidded to a stop and pulled Ciel back with him.

Landing with a thud on his side, Ciel felt pain spiral through his ribs, and his arm twisted awkwardly beneath him – he was barely able to register that the pain probably wasn't so bad that his arm was broken; but probably sprained. He couldn't stop a small moan from escaping his lips, and as he tried to push himself up with his good arm, he saw two pairs of legs run into the mouth of the alleyway; both wore the same black jeans and black boots as his attacker – Ciel glanced upwards only to have his fears confirmed. The two new comers were almost identical to his attacker; only the way their fringes parted showed how they were different from each other.

These three were, in his former life, a set of demon triplets, known as Thompson, Timber and Canterbury, and were employed servants of the Trancy Household.

If Ciel had had more time to consider the situation, he wouldn't have been so surprised that these three were associated with the Hospital; Sebastian had mentioned Claude Faustus before, and how he was another Keeper at the Hospital. So maybe Ciel should have expected something like this. Maybe he should have realized that these would have been the most likely ones the Hospital would have sent to track him down and take him back. These three were dangerous – deadly.

And the one thought that stuck in Ciel's mind was how stupid he was to have fallen straight into their trap.

He was going to be taken away.

Away from Sebastian.

The three of them were surrounding him now, cutting off any possible escape route. They towered over Ciel, and one, he couldn't tell which one it was, had a gun in his hand. A simple, silver handgun with a silencer attached to its barrel. Ciel flinched at the sight of it, as if someone had pressed a cold ice pack to the back of his neck. Then, one of them stepped back, opening an escape route.

"You have two choices, Subject Thirteen," his first assailant said, gesturing at the now open path of escape. "Run, and die. Or come quietly."

Ciel's eyes darted back at forth from the escape route to the faces of his attackers to the gun in the middle one's hand. The carrier of the gun had an almost pitying expression on his face; but Ciel barely had any time to consider it – his mind was desperately screaming at him to lurch forward, make a dash for the escape. To run, as far as and as fast as he possibly could, back to Sebastian and the others. They would protect him. He wished with every fibre of his being that they were here now. But no matter how much his mind begged from him to try and run, his body was frozen to the spot, trembling in fear.

The triplets exchanged glances, before his first attacked crouched down, reaching behind him and pulling out a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. He knelt down in front of Ciel, and leant forward slowly.

"Easy does it."

The triplet with the gun raised the gun to aim it at Ciel; a warning. But as Ciel glanced past the one reaching for him with the handcuffs, he could see that the young man holding the gun had a slight tremour in his hand, as if he were scared of having to use the weapon. It was the slight shake of his hand that kept Ciel mesmerized and before he could object, his first assailant had grabbed his wrist and slapped the handcuff around it.

"Good. Get up." The first triplet stood up suddenly, yanking Ciel up with him, and Ciel yelped as he was suddenly hoisting to his feet. There was a sudden, high-pitched whistle that seared through the night air, and the silence around them was broken as something – no, someone – came flying down at them from the roof of the building across the road from the alley, and collided with the third triplet who had stepped aside for Ciel. The triplets yelled and burst into action – the second one, the one carrying the gun, accidentally misfired the gun and a suppressed shot was fired off, the bullet flying wide of all of them and ricocheting of the brick wall of one of the buildings on either side of them, chips of brick spraying and one fleck flashed by Ciel's cheek, and he felt the sharp, hot pain of the brick chip scratching his flesh. He yelped as it burned, and he tugged away from the first triplet, managing to yank his handcuffed hand back as the triplet were more preoccupied with the new attacker.

The lithe figure ducked and whirled and spun in an eccentric dance around the triplets, blocking and dodging any of their blows before retaliating with her own – Ciel caught sight of her clearly definable female figure, and it took him a moment to register that the long pole with the large, spherical shapes on either end that she carried and whirled as a sort of quarterstaff was actually a weapon of a kind. And the spheres on either end were actually some sort of thick, paper-covered lamp with intricate flower designs. Asian style lamps.

"Ran Mao…?" Ciel barely dared to breathe as he saw Lau's 'younger sister' duck and dance around Thompson, Timber and Canterbury, wielding her quarterstaff and using it to block their attacks or to make swipes at them, her long, thin black plaits of hair flying around her gracefully as she moved like a choreographed dancer among the triplets.

She made a quick flip over the head of one of the triplets, placing herself between Ciel and the triplets, and she scuttled backwards quickly, grabbing Ciel's hand as she fended off the three assailants with her quarterstaff in her other hand.

"Run," she murmured only barely loud enough for Ciel to hear, before giving him a quick shove towards the darker depths of the alley. Ciel paused for only a second, not even thinking about what he'd find at the other end, and then he burst into a shake run as the triplets yelled and cursed in frustration behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, just able to see the silhouettes of Ran Mao and the triplets once again fighting, the small, well endowed Chinese girl quite easily keeping the three taller triplets occupied whilst Ciel made his escape.

His legs were shaking almost uncontrollably, making his running awkward and he ended up stumbling most of the way down to the very end of the alley; when he came to the end, a tall brick wall reared its head high above him, blocking his way through. Almost giving up hope, Ciel groaned and slumped against the wall, only to see that the building on his left had come to an end about half a metre before the brick wall that marked the end of the alley, creating a small gap between the buildings. Through the gap, he could see the glow of another street light at the other end. Hope lifted his heart and his tired body lurched forward, pressing himself through the gap and shuffling forward as quickly as he could. The space was a bit smaller than he'd first thought, and his back and stomach scraped a little on the walls on either side of him, but there was just enough room for him to squeeze through, sidling sideways like a crab.

Once he emerged at the other end, he was greeted by yet another alley way, this one far less inviting than any of the others he'd seen. It was filled with garbage; large skips and trash cans littered the cobbles, along with big black rubbish bags piled around them – some of the bags had ripped and torn, spilling their contents over the street, and Ciel had to pick his way gingerly through the refuse. He could see that the end of the alleyway opened out into another proper street, and heaving a deep breath into his aching lungs, he made his way towards it.

As he set his foot down on a large paper bag which he thought was empty, a large cat yowled and shot out from beneath his foot, causing Ciel to yelp in surprise as the feline darted away, and he stumbled back, trying to regain his balance. He fell against the wall of one of the buildings, only to have the wall – no, it was a door – fall open and he tumbled inside, crying out as he fell back into the blackness.

The door swung shut behind him, and Ciel remained completely silent as he pushed himself up from the floor on his good hand – his other arm ached and complained whenever he put pressure on it, and he cradled it to his chest. Ears pricked and eyes blindly scanning the room, Ciel's senses were on hyper alert. He wondered if there was anyone in here. If someone had heard him. But he couldn't hear a thing, and slowly, his eyes became more adjust to his surroundings. It looked for all the world like he was in some sort of a dress making shop. It was almost old fashioned in it's appearance, with lavishly designed clothes slowly becoming visibly, all hung and set on dress-makers dummies and mannequins.

He had stumbled in through the back door into a clothing shop of some kind that probably opened out onto a proper street. One that might help him find his way back to the town house. Ciel felt a tad guilty for leaving Ran Mao behind to deal with the triplets by herself, but he assumed, from what he had seen of her incredible fighting ability, that she would be able to hold her own against them – maybe even defeat them and make a getaway herself. Taking a long, slow deep breath to calm himself and not allow his hammering heart and aching lungs to aggravate his asthma, Ciel slowly stood and brushed himself off. The floor was dusty, as if the shop didn't often see customers. But as he slowly made his way through the silent dance floor of exquisitely dressed mannequins, he could see that each and every outfit was immaculately clean of any trace of dust or blemish. All of these clothes were of beauty and grace; nothing like the clothes he saw in today's society. These all looked like they belonged in the time in which he'd thought he'd once lived in, when ladies wore corsets and elegant gowns adorned with lace and ribbon finishes, when men looked their finest in dashing suits and top hats, with ties or all kinds holding up their collared white shirts.

It was like a step back in time, and Ciel paused among them all, taking them in as his eyes became more adjusted to the dim light that poured in through the front window of the shop. He felt…strange. At home, almost. Nostalgic. He reached out tentatively to one of the mannequins that was dressed in a beautiful red ball gown with a large bell skirt and a bodice that was decorated with beautiful flower embroidery and lace. The fabric was soft under his fingertips, and he gingerly ran his hand up the satin sleeve of the gown, marvelling at the impeccable stitch work. He looked around the rest of the shop – there were large mahogany cabinets lining the walls, full of fine china on display or vases of flowers. Where there weren't cabinets taking up wall space, there were framed photographs hanging; of people dressed in the beautiful gowns and suits that Ciel could see on display.

Ciel stepped carefully around each of the dress makers dummies until he came upon a large, dark-wood desk that had a small bell and a telephone sitting on it, along with a pile of white pieces of paper – some of them had sketched dress designs on them, others had sketches of the human body; analyzations of both the male and female anatomy.

He dared not touch anything, and instead moved to the front door of the shop. He grasped the brass handle and twisted – only to find the door handle wouldn't budge. The door was either locked or jammed. Ciel was about to give up with a sigh when he felt a chill run down his spine, but before he could turn around, a large hand with long, bony fingers was clapped around his mouth, muffling his shout of surprise.

"Well, well," the soft voice behind him mused quietly, chuckling. "Seems we've got an after-hours guest. A little late night trespasser. What should we do with him, ladies and gentlemen?"

Ciel squirmed in the man's grip, unable to look up into the face of his assailant, the man's hand and sleeve covering both of Ciel's ears, muffling his voice and making him unrecognisable to Ciel. There was another soft laugh, and Ciel was suddenly dragged away from the door by his tall aggressor.

"My, my – I should hope that you know what we do to little thieves like yourself," the man said, and Ciel suddenly realized who it was. It was the scent of the mans sleeve that tipped him off; that and the slightly sing-song tone to his voice. The way the man talked to himself. He knew who he was, he just couldn't remember the name… and he just had to get his assailant to recognize him now.

Ciel wriggled and twisted in the mans arms as best he could, desperately trying to throw his meagre weight around to through his aggressor off balance, only for the man to grab Ciel's hand, which was still clasped in a handcuff.

"Ah, seems to me you've already made one escape tonight. Well you're not going to get away again, let me tell you." The man said as he moved Ciel over to where there was a silver railing set into the wall. He clapped the other handcuff over the rail before letting Ciel go, immediately whirling away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go ready your –"

"W-wait!" Ciel blabbered now that his mouth was uncovered. "I know who you are! I-I need your help!"

The dark clothed figure paused, but didn't turn. Ciel's mind was in a whir trying to remember that one name…

"I doubt that, my little thief. No one knows me."

"I do!" Ciel said desperately. "Please, I just…"

"I'm going to call the police. They'll punish right and good for breaking into a poor old dress makers shop in the middle of the night for no good reason. What were you after, lad? Money? Dresses? Ha – heheheheh, I doubt that."

Ciel watched, distressed, as the man stepped over to the large desk at the front of the shop and reached for the phone. He could hear the buttons being dialled as he watched the man's long, slender finger punch in the digits. It was those hands of his…there was something wrong about them. Something not right. They were missing something.

Scars. They weren't scarred the way they should be.

"U-Undertaker!" Ciel finally stuttered, and the man holding the phone froze. After a moment of silence, he put the phone back down and made his way back over to Ciel, his face hidden by shadow.

The man flicked on a light switch on the wall, and the overhead lights lit up the back area of the shop, and Ciel scrunched his eyes shut against the sudden, invading light. But when he could open them again, blinking to adjust his eyes, he looked up to see the face of none other than the moronic mortician who had always in the time Ciel had known him been called the Undertaker.

"It's been a long, long time since anybody's called me that." The tall, silver haired, green-eyed Undertaker said, a small, curious smile on his face.

-:-

"He what?!" Ciel exclaimed, almost spilling his cup of tea.

The Undertaker nodded, adding another cube of sugar to his own cup. They were sitting in the upstairs living quarters of the dress makers shop; the Undertakers shop. Once Ciel had explained to him that he was the missing Phantomhive child, that his father was Vincent Phantomhive, the Undertaker had come to recognize him. Apparently, he and Ciel's father had been very close business partners many times when Vincent had been the Queen's Watchdog, and Vincent had once introduced Ciel to the Undertaker – either Ciel had been too young to remember, or those memories had been suppressed. Now, Ciel was eagerly listening to everything the cooky old mortician had to say about Vincent Phantomhive.

"That's right. He asked me to go out of the whole death business. Begged me, time and again. Tried to buy me out of it, too." The Undertaker said. "After everything we'd tried to find you, prove that you were still alive, when he finally gave in, he asked of me that I'd retire too."

"But why?" Ciel breathed, and the silver haired man shrugged, crossly his long legs over each other.

"He didn't want nothing more to do with bein' the Watchdog. That meant he cut himself off from most of his other associates that he'd often use as sources of intel or assistance in many of the cases he was assigned. As one of his…closer companions, I s'pose you could say, he asked this of me as a favour – he didn't want to cut ties with me for some reason, but he couldn't bear to know that I would continue to work with the dead." Undertaker said, taking a long sip of his tea before setting it down and standing. He went over to a small cupboard and took from it a clay jar. When he sat back down, he pulled off the top and offered the jar to Ciel. Peering inside, Ciel saw the jar was filled with bone shaped biscuits – just like he remembered. Swallowing his pride and trying to reason with his grumbling stomach, Ciel reached in and took a biscuit.

"Okay." He said in between bites. "Then what happened?"

"Well, since the Aristocrats of Evil had technically been disbanded we all went our separate ways; but I was one of the only ones who actually changed profession. Now, as you can see, I run that little shop downstairs."

"A clothes shop?" Ciel asked, and the Undertaker smiled.

"Ah, but not any old clothes, right?" the silver haired man smirked. "But old fashioned clothes. You see I always fancied myself a bit of a historian for English History when I wasn't prettying up the dead, so I thought I'd combine the knowledge I have of the human body and the passion I had for past centuries fashion. I work by commission, y'see, for people who want fancy costumes or museums doin' exhibits and such."

Ciel took a sip of his tea to down the soft, dry shortcake biscuit. It didn't seem illogical, but it wasn't something he would have done. But then again, the Undertaker he was sitting across from now didn't seem all that different to the Undertaker he'd known in his past life, and that Undertaker had certainly been a handle to comprehend.

"Is it much of a life?" he asked, and the Undertaker shrugged.

"I don't need much. A bit of room, a few metres of cloth; and it keeps me out of trouble and away from the public eye. See no one wants to 'ave anything to do with the corky old man who would make the dead look nice for the grave after they say he went mad and sold up his business coz of some promise he made to a friend." He said, and Ciel blinked. "But most of my customers like what I do and they pay me good for it. So they get the quality they pay for. Speakin' of which, I should be having a cheque arrive for me any day now."

"What for?" Ciel inquired, intrigued.

The Undertaker chuckled. "I just had a big commission for a large convention that's takin' place in _ Manchester next two weeks, and I've been asked if I'll make a selection and go up to sell 'em there." He reached over his tatty armchair and picked up a small poster advertisement from where it had been sitting next to his chair on the floor before handing it over to Ciel. "Here, 'ave a look."

Ciel took the flyer and looked it over, but he was stunned when he saw the header of the poster.

.:NOAH'S ARC CONVENTION TROUPE!:.

~Welcomes you to this years Historical Steampunk Convention!~

"Somethin' wrong kid?" the Undertaker asked, looking a little concerned as Ciel gripped the flyer tightly. He knew these people…all of them. They were the group of assassins who had staged themselves as a circus troupe. They had kidnapped children to make into their puppets. Their ringleader was the Baron Kelvin, the madman who was in search of being the most beautiful man in the world.

Ciel had stopped him.

Joker's smile was grinning up at him from the page, and it was hard for him to tear his eyes away from it, only for his gaze to be caught by the sight of one of the logo's of one of the convention's sponsors.

Proudly sponsored by the Funtom Corporation.

Ciel felt feel himself trembling, and the Undertaker got up and stepped around Ciel's chair to look over the top of his head at the flyer, putting his large hands on Ciel's narrow shoulders and gently massaging them to calm him.

"Easy there, kid," the Undertaker murmured. "What's got yer knees knockin'?"

Ciel pointed at the sponsorship logo. "That…that's my…"

"Your fathers company, yeah. The Funtom Corporation is still going strong after all these years despite your old mans retreat from society. He and your mother I last heard were withdrawing from the social light completely in mourning for you, their lost little boy. I heard something about him handing the reins of the company over to one of his most trusted employees' – so they keep sponsoring the convention in Vincent's absence."

Vincent's absence. Those two words stuff in Ciel's mind, and he looked up at the Undertaker.

"Where's my father now?" he asked, knowing how pitiful his pleading voice sounded, but the Undertaker shook his head sadly.

"I don't know, kid. I honestly don't know." He said, and Ciel's heart sank, his shoulders falling. The Undertaker had once been one of his father's most trusted companions and associates. If he didn't know where Vincent Phantomhive was, it was most likely that Vincent had done an excellent job of disappearing from society.

"There has to be a way to get in touch with him," Ciel murmured, dropping his eyes back to the flyer still clasped in his good hand. The Undertaker had given him a couple of pain relief tablets for his sprained elbow, which was now wrapped in a make-shift sling that the mortician-gone-historical fashion designer had fashioned from a spare length of soft lace after wrapping Ciel's forearm and elbow in a bandage he'd dug out from an ancient looking first-aid box. Ciel glanced down at the dull white bandage. It was a symbol that he had survived the attack from the triplets; sent after him by the Hospital.

If he could survive, then he could find his father. His eyes fell back on the picture of Joker's smiling face on the poster. The Noah's Arc Convention Troupe. Not a circus. but close enough, he guessed. Sponsored by the Funtom Company. Suddenly, an idea began to form in his mind, and Ciel couldn't help but smile a little as he thought that this was almost like how he used to be; devising plots and plans to uncover the truth of something he'd been sent by the Queen to investigate.

This time, it wasn't the Queen he was obeying – it was his desire to find his parents; to be reunited with them.

"Undertaker," he said quietly, and the silver-haired man leant over his shoulder and smiled.

"I think I hear a tone that's not unlike your fathers. It's the way he'd say my name when he'd just had some brilliant idea." He said, before he considered something. "Well, it was usually either brilliant, or real stupid."

Ciel allowed himself to chuckle a little. "This might just be a little bit of both."

-:-

AfterNote:

OKAY SO THIS WAS MASSIVELY OVERDUE AND I'M REALLY REALLY SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW I LOVE YOU LEMME LOVE YOU AND ADORE YOU JUST REVIEW AND TELL ME YOU DON'T HATE ME PLEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAASEE

Actually *straightens tie* I'm not that desperate, but I'd very much love you A LOT if you'd review to say how much you think I should update more often. So I'll pose a question for you all: do you think I should have a set date that I update on? Do you think that you be better than just updating whenever?

Okay. I'll leave you all be now.

Mercy