"...interesting. I would have to get a closer look to know for certain."

Ciel opened his eyes, wondering who had been speaking as he woke, and looked over to the side of his bedroom, where a long-red-haired reaper was conversing quietly with Sebastian.

"What are you doing here!" he said at once, in sudden alarm, sitting up in his bed and reaching for the gun under his pillow in one motion, holding it pointed and ready at the brilliantly-clad figure. "Sebastian—what's going on," he demanded. Although the reaper had not moved against them the last time they met, he was obviously a wild card—and Ciel couldn't help the instinctive feeling of revulsion and alarm, stronger now that he realized what he had remembered in that red coat. Grell, that betraying butler… the reason why his aunt was now dead.

"Grell is here to offer his expert opinion on your condition," Sebastian said smoothly.

"...In my bedroom," Ciel said flatly. "Was this really necessary?" He put the gun down beside him, within easy reach, and eyed Grell warily.

"I wished to have him observe you when Alois could not possibly be listening in," Sebastian explained.

"It's not like I wanted to be here," Grell complained, with a long-suffering scowl. "But Sebastian-dear insisted. Apparently you're worth a lot to the demon," he said.

"Yes, I seem to be," Ciel said drily.

"Well," Grell continued, "I've learned all I can from a preliminary observation. If you'd like me to continue, I could probably figure out exactly what's keeping you tied to Alois Trancy."

"...Continue?" Ciel said shortly. "Explain."

"Well, you'd have to go to sleep again, which would give me a little door into your dreams, and therefore your cinematic record, so I can see where the tangle is. Of course, I could also just use my death scythe—" the reaper, suddenly grinning a maniacal shark's grin, reached into a space in the air near his coat and pulled a long, red-handled scythe from nowhere, the modified, sawtooth blade whirring.

"That will not be required," Sebastian said firmly, pulling Grell's hand down.

"Oh, you never let me have any fun," Grell pouted.

Sebastian continued to look at Grell sternly, until, with a mutter, he folded his scythe away, and turned back to Ciel. "Well then?" he asked. "What do you say?"

"You know, Sebastian," Ciel said archly, "I've discovered I really don't think much of your friends."

"Grell, is, not…" Sebastian said, with a pained look.

"Oh, even the little earl knows it," Grell said, leaning close to Sebastian to swing an arm about his shoulders. "We were just meant to be!"

Sebastian was gritting his teeth, very obviously trying to restrain himself from throwing the reaper bodily aside. Ciel smirked. "All right, then, Grell," he said at last. "How is this supposed to work?"

"All you have to do is fall asleep," Grell said. He paused. "Well?" he asked. "What are you waiting for?"

"I can't just 'go to sleep'," Ciel retorted, annoyed. "It doesn't happen like that—"

"If I may," Sebastian said, "I should be able to relax the young master into a state conducive to dreaming—with your permission?" he said, turning to Ciel.

Ciel stared hard at Sebastian before at last nodding curtly. He wasn't sure what Sebastian had in mind but he had given his butler permission to use any means at his disposal to get rid of Alois, and he tired of waiting.

Sebastian walked over to the bedside and leaned over. "This is nothing intrusive, my young lord," he said, in a low voice meant for Ciel's ears. "Merely a small mesmerism. I know you are quite immune to these, should you wish, but allow yourself to be persuaded."

"Very well," Ciel returned, though his words were short and he could not rid himself of the sudden tension in his frame. He let Sebastian divest him of his eyepatch, turning the world two-toned, and he took a slow breath. Ciel was still aware of the reaper in the room, already an untrustworthy individual even if he was not going to let him into his dreams; but Sebastian, standing before him, looked calmly back, the deep cherry glow of his eyes inviting him to sleep. Ciel struggled with his natural reaction against the call; trying to tell his mind to let go, to be persuaded. Sebastian put one gloved hand up to his contracted eye, leisurely. "Sleep, my young master," he said softly. "You are tired, aren't you?"

He brushed one finger across the bottom of the lid, sparking softness throughout Ciel's body, and Ciel nodded. Yes; he was tired; he concentrated on that feeling, pushing away Grell standing, a bright flash of red, in the corner of his vision, casting out his anxious thoughts. He was determined to do this.

"Very good," Sebastian said, quietly. "Now, cast your mind down; remember what it feels like to dream. You remember it, yes?"

Ciel nodded, slowly; the world felt farther away, blanketed in tired quiet, and sleep beckoned. Sebastian held him as his body went limp, lowering him onto the covers, and Ciel closed his eyes. It will be fine, he thought. Sebastian would not let Grell hurt me, anyway—not if he could help it. And it will all be worth it if this rids me of Claude's curse…

/

How funny, Grell thought, staring with one lip twisted critically at the scene. Head over heels, and neither one will admit it. The reaper sighed; that was always the luck with men, wasn't it? The handsome ones were always unavailable. But Grell could never resist an impossible chase. Somehow, that made it all the more thrilling…

"Grell."

Oh, what was that? Grell blinked, finding Sebastian standing much closer than he had been before.

"The young lord is asleep," Sebastian said, testily. "Now, it is time for your part."

"There's no need to be so impatient," Grell retorted. Really now. I was about to get on it… you can't fault a girl for a little fantasy…

Sebastian sighed in palpable annoyance, and Grell smirked. On the other hand, it was always a treat to see Sebby so worked up. With a flourish, the grim reaper walked over to the earl's bedside and peered down at him. It all looked fine from here, but what would be found inside that head? Grell picked up the edge of the trailing red coat, and settled onto the edge of the bed, glancing over at Sebastian's almost inaudible noise of protest.

"Don't worry, Bassy darling," Grell said, sweetly, staring up at him. "I'm just getting comfortable."

"Just as long as you don't get too comfortable," Sebastian muttered.

Grell laughed. He really was a dear. The demon pretended to abhor the reaper, but if anyone knew interest, it was Grell Sutcliff. And even if it was only to show off, Sebastian returned the banter much too much to keep up his fiction of indifference.

But it really was time to get to business. Grell took a deep breath, putting one hand to either side of Ciel's forehead, and leaned in, letting the natural openness of the dreaming allow a space into Ciel's cinematic record. After a moment or two, the sounds of the room seemed to drift away, and that familiar reel spinning by grew louder, still attached to the body, still adding new frames in each living moment. But all at once, the strangeness became quite clear. For instead of one record, spinning round and round, wound within the human's breast, there were two, side by side and moving almost in concert, each attached to a bright glow. The proper one was entirely evident, as it fit quite naturally into its body; the other one was almost shoved in; it made the both of them exceedingly cramped. Grell tutted in sympathy, and looked closer. The other soul showed definite signs of mishandling; there was a section that had quite clearly been pulled; it still didn't lay quite flat on the reel. This was where it had started to unspool, at its body's natural death, before its unfurling had been halted. Kept within the enchanted stone, and unable to properly die, it had been stuck existing in a tortured state until it had been placed here, grafted into the body. As Grell had suspected, it was the reels that fouled it up—the memories, not the soul itself. Here and there, bits of film from one spool stuck to bits of film at the other; these points were clumped at the back, where the most formative memories were. Each boy's mistreatment stood out, a blaring frame repeated beyond its natural life, popping up throughout the rest of the reel in dreams and intense memories, and so the rippled effect of those small changes was quite strong. And then, some of the newer parts of the reels almost seemed to melt into each other, shared memories repeated image for image in each; each positive match tying the two more tightly together.

How very vile, Grell thought. The longer the curse remaned, the more the two souls' memories would become entangled, until it might not be possible to take them apart at all without severely damaging both.

But it hadn't gotten that far yet. And as a death god, Grell felt a natural inclination to fix this horrible mess; even if Sebastian hadn't asked as a personal favor. It was just awful.

Those memories at the very back, those memories that had been brought together through dark magic: Alois Trancy, then Jim Markam, pulling his way from the ranks of the dirty slave-boys by his fingernails, using the old man's lust against him. Just be what he wants you to be, it's not so hard. Not when you'll get everything out of it: money, a new name and a title, all the power you ever dreamed of.

Ciel Phantomhive, pulling his way out of the ranks of dead bodies, the dirty cages, the partygoers who looked at him with groping eyes. Taking the hand of the devil. It's not so hard. Not when you'll get everything out of it: revenge, and all the power you ever dreamed of.

Young Jim, dancing with the flames of the village around him. Just what he had wished for.

Just what he had wished for, young Ciel, in his moment of despair—someone to strike them all down.

But Luca was dead. His brother, his only brother, the only one who had loved him unconditionally. Dead, with staring, marble eyes.

And Sebastian Michaelis had done it!

Sebastian Michaelis made that deal!

/

"It's over now, you know," a soft voice said, amid the screaming and the pain. Ciel opened his eyes, and in the midst of those bodies, the knife raised up, flickering down to strike his own flesh, and disappearing, was a figure sitting casually upon the altar, one leg crossed over the other, red-booted, red-jacketed.

Ciel looked around, realizing that, as the reaper was sitting upon the alter, Ciel must not have been after all. The bodies were only skeletons, mouldering on the floor. He took a deep breath, and looked up at the red-haired man, who smiled, almost kindly, with pointed teeth.

"I remember you," Ciel said at last. "I've dreamed you before, haven't I? You were the Cheshire Cat."

"You remember!" Grell said, hopping lightly off of the altar. "Yes; I was the one sent to guide you to the afterlife—I think they figured no one else could manage it—but you fought me quite a bit on the way."

"Yes," Ciel said, slowly. "I think I do…"

"Right now, you have another problem. It's Alois Trancy; his memories have been brought together with your own."

Ciel nodded. "It's these memories, of course," he said.

"Yes… but look," Grell turned around, and the whole scene seemed to slide sideways as he did so, until the whole empty, horrible room where the cult had been was cut across to stand side by side with Trancy manor. "What do you see?"

Ciel walked closer, reaching out. He was no longer within either scene, but somehow outside it, in the emptiness between, and the images seemed oddly flattened, not real at all; more like old memories should feel, with a barrier between him and it. "They're different," he said, at last, his eyes flicking from one to the other as the scenes scrolled through. Now that he saw it, it was hard to think how they could have been so entangled; they were so different. And it was easy, from out here, to recognize himself in the one, and Alois in the other.

He couldn't help staring at that child, crying as he was taken, tormented. Were those tears really his? Had he ever really been that small, that young? For the first time, Ciel saw the memories without living them again, and though his breath caught, and the tears in his eyes started to fall, he was crying clean tears, for a boy and his lost innocence, for what had once been himself.

The reaper stepped forward, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. "There, there," he said. Ciel turned his head as the memories ended, looking at the familiar red of that coat that his aunt had once worn, and he was too tired to stand. He slumped to his knees, still crying, and let the reaper crouch down beside him and carefully put an arm around his shoulders.

"Is that all?" Ciel said, at last. "Has it been fixed?"

He felt wrung out; tired even though he knew he must be dreaming.

The reaper looked out into emptiness, green eyes squinting behind his red glasses. "Almost," he said. "There's only one piece left, but it's a tricky one."

Ciel looked out as well, trying to make out whatever it was that Grell saw. For a long time, he saw nothing but darkness. But then, slowly, from the shadows, he made out the faint, almost transparent outline of an image scrolling past, slowly drifting toward them, becoming clearer and more distinct.

"Luca!" Ciel said. He tried to stand up, to rush forward into that image and hold him one more time, but the reaper stopped him with a firm grip.

"Look," he said. "Really look. You know that's not your brother."

"Yes it is," Ciel said. Part of him believed the reaper's words, but the wrenching pain inside his chest denied it. It was one thing to reinterpret his own memories, but to erase someone from existence… he felt so real.

"Luca was in the village. You never met him. See? That's Jim Markam he's with, not you."

Ciel looked.

"Isn't it?"

"Yes…" Ciel said at last. "But… he was my brother. He died. And it was Sebastian's fault."

Grell sighed. "Really?" he said. "You know better than that. Look again."

"No," Ciel said. "No, he's my brother… I loved him…"

"Alois loved him."

"No!"

Grell watched him; his face was unreadable, blank and flat in the light from the screen. "Why are you so afraid of this, Ciel?" he said.

"He is my brother," Ciel said, stubbornly. "And I loved him."

"When all the village was against you, Luca was always there?" Grell said. "But you were never in the village, Ciel. You were taken from the burning house. You were always alone in that cage."

"No!" Ciel screamed. "I wasn't… I wasn't…"

The dream-space shattered.

/

Ciel shot up in his bed, his eyes wild, still screaming. He scrambled to his knees, eyes darting from Grell to Sebastian, and darted a hand to the gun still sitting beside him. He held it out before him, hands shaking. "Take it back," he shouted, training it on Grell. "Take it back."

Sebastian stepped forward. "Young master," he started. Ciel turned his way, pointing the gun toward the butler as he did so. "Stay where you are," he said.

Then he turned back to Grell. "I wasn't alone," he said, his voice thick and shaking. "I wasn't. My brother was there with me."

"Brother?" Sebastian said, looking at Grell in confusion.

"Alois' brother," Grell said, glancing at him quickly, before turning back to Ciel, and speaking with a calm, pacifying tone.

"Luca was Alois' brother, Ciel. He was in the village. You weren't."

"Not Luca—" Ciel said. "My brother. My brother, he, he was there, he promised me he wouldn't leave."

"Then where did he go?" Grell asked.

"He died!" Ciel's voice wavered, and he dropped the gun, curling up onto his bed and wrapping his arms about himself. "He died, or he never would have left me."

"What was his name?" Grell said.

"I…" Ciel said. He looked up, meeting Grell's eyes with a tear-streaked face. "What do you mean? What kind of a question are you asking?" His voice was sharp and suspicious.

"It's a simple question," Grell said. "What was your brother's name?"

"...Ciel," Ciel said, uncertainly.

"That's your name," Grell said, but Ciel shook his head, pressing himself back against the headboard.

"No," he said. "That boy, on the altar. That wasn't me. Ciel. It wasn't me. It was my brother. He died. I… I took his place, I stole his name."

"Alois Trancy stole the name of Trancy's son," Grell said. "Trancy's dead son, whom he looked so much like. You are not Alois, Ciel."

"Not Ciel," Ciel said. "I am not him."

"That what do you believe your name is?" Sebastian said, curiously.

Ciel opened his mouth, as if to speak, as if waiting for something to appear. "I don't know," he whispered, at last. "I don't know. I must be nothing."

.

.

.