It was on a whim that Sebastian had slipped back here, or so he had thought. Wondering what had happened to his former contractor. Perhaps hoping to see him once more. He was not so very surprised to find him ill, but it disquieted him. The child was half-delusional and his skin burned to the touch, almost hot enough to kill. He hadn't planned to let himself be seen. He had planned to slip away after only a moment. And yet the sight of Ciel's suffering seemed to necessitate an answer.

Sebastian reached to the wash-cloth beside the bed, dipping it in cool water, and began to run it gently over the boy's face. His other guards had fallen asleep, at Sebastian's silent urging. There was no one else awake in the dark house.

Ciel noticed him. He did not seem surprised; but whether that was the fever or his true thoughts Sebastian could not tell. He asked only one thing of Sebastian, and that was the one thing Sebastian could not refuse.

He asked for Sebastian to stay with him.

Of course he would. He would stay until the end.

The end was racing toward him steadily, with the fluttering of the child's heartbeat and the way his searching breaths had subsided to faint, wheezing rattles. It would come before dawn.

The small moment of lucidity had faded; and every sign of consciousness. Sebastian sat on the chair pulled up to his bedside, and ran his gloved fingers through the child's sweaty hair. He had never gotten around to changing out of his butler's aesthetic. There was no hurry, after all. The child for whom it was all made would die soon enough, taken away by reapers. That brilliant, beautiful soul that was already turned toward hell.

There was some irony in the fact. Yet Sebastian couldn't find any amusement in the thought.

What was the point? What was the point of any of the desperate measures they had undertaken, if it would lead to this? The soul was freed, but it was freed only to die. The endless possibilities within it forever to be unrecognized. It put a bitter taste on the back of Sebastian's tongue, and it made his hands tremble. He watched his own reaction curiously, and waited, one hand holding a pocket watch that no longer had ordinary numbers on it, counting out the measured increments of the day: there was only one number left, at the very top, and that was zero. And the hands inched themselves steadily closer, as the boy's heartbeats flickered, and the dark drew deeper about them.

On the night of their first meeting, Sebastian had offered health as part of their deal, but the boy had valued loyalty more. Clever child.

There was no deals left between them: Ciel had broken every one they had.

And as the night winds hovered outside the window, their groping fingers reaching to get in, and the candle in its holder burnt down to a stub, Sebastian began to wonder…

If there is no deals left between us, might that mean there is nothing preventing me from saving him?

It was an odd thought. It coalesced behind the looming shadows of the chair and wound itself around his throat. A demon could not give without something in return. (Could not?)

A demon would never even think of it. It went against all reason and common sense. There was nothing to be gained from the action. Nothing at all.

But... was it truly impossible?

The thought itched at him. It tore itself up his chest. It teased him with the thought of not trying, of always wondering what would have been, if he had done so.

Have I not always done the impossible for him, if he has ordered it?

(But he has not ordered anything.) (Sebastian prided himself on anticipating his master's needs.)

(But he is not your master anymore—)

(And yet)

The curiosity was too great. Demons, of all things, were never immune to temptation. And the thought was… indeed… tempting.

The darkness began to flicker, into something even blacker and smoother than night, and a storm of feathers began to rise, sweeping their way dizzyingly about the bed, like a curtain. Tendrils of darkness reached out to every window and door, stopping up noise and light entirely, creating a vacuum of emptiness within the room. And within it all, the figure that still looked uncannily like a butler crawled with strange and impossible movements onto the bed, its clawed hands shredding the sheets as it clutched at them. Its glowing eyes were the only points of light in the darkness, and from all around it those darkened tendrils floated, almost aimlessly, as if on a calm sea. The pocket-watch, discarded on the floor, ticked one more time toward zero.

And the demon breathed in. It breathed in the foul, sickroom air, and the beads of sweat on the child's body. It breathed in the sickness that stank its way through the child's mouth, until the boy's eyelids began to flutter and he gasped for breath; two blue eyes cut their way through the gloom. He looked straight at Sebastian, the sudden thumping of his heartbeat the only telling of his body's natural terror, and spoke quietly.

"What are you doing?"

"Let me save you," the demon replied. It would go ahead regardless. But.

"Of course," the boy replied, although his face was twisted in confusion. "You know I have always been yours…" he breathed out, as the demon leaned down, and the rest of his words (to do with as you please?) fell away under the darkness that poured itself down his throat like air. The boy choked on it, and it spilled over the corners of his mouth like ink, but he didn't pull away. No: his hands scrabbled up to clutch at glossy-feathered hair, to twist his sharp nails into porcelain skin. While any sane being would be running, this boy leaned closer, his eyes open, and staring at the beast.

Not anymore, it thought, with a voice like a man puzzled at his own bereavement, and unrecognizable to itself.

/

There was something about those burning, slit-pupiled eyes that seemed to hold such sadness, Ciel thought. Sebastian ran a nail along the corner of his spit-strewn mouth as he leaned closer, the darkness of him holding fast about them so that there was nothing else in the world. The burning of the fever inside him had seemed to stretch to every part of his body, which tingled as if with a shock of cold water. Sebastian did not take his soul. He couldn't: it was impossible. Ciel was still alive, and every moment he felt more and more alive, almost dizzy with it. It seemed too much to be allowed, as though he might lose himself with any unhurried movement, as the feathers that spun their way about him scraped his skin like knives, letting out blood. Sebastian unbuttoned his shirt, and pressed his lips down his collarbone and onto his chest, sharp and soft kisses with the hint of fangs. He did not seem to know what he was doing anymore, but neither did Ciel—he was reaching with both hands over Sebastian's bared shoulders, trying to pull him closer to himself, until there was no space between them at all. He could hear his own breathing, panting and heavy but without a catch in it, surer every moment; and the hollow, growled rasp that spun its way from Sebastian's chest. He could taste a sudden tang of salt, and realized with a shock that he was crying. He didn't know why—he felt anything but sad; impatient and ecstatic and confused.

Sebastian's skin tasted like sweat. He could feel the press of a heartbeat under his hand, so seemingly human, its soft and steady beats unerring and measured. Sebastian leaned his head down beside him, cradling his face in Ciel's shoulder, and Ciel ran his hands down Sebastian's back, over and over, as he realized that Sebastian was trying to master his own breathing, which had turned hitched and ugly at some point. His breath was still hot and dry, whispering across Ciel's tears. Sebastian held him, gently, as though afraid that he would break, or as though he were afraid of breaking, and Ciel, who felt only sure and calm, allowed him. Around them, the feathers had stopped spinning, and hovered, gently, on the air, brushing past them with the softest touch along every limb, which made that tingling and waiting rise ever higher. Sebastian kissed him gently, unhurriedly, on the lips, and Ciel returned the motion, curious, feeling a wave of drowsy happiness that seemed to fill him with warmth. He thought that he must be blushing, which seemed such an odd reaction to have now, after whatever it was that they had just been doing, and Sebastian chuckled gently against him.

"Why did you come back?" Ciel asked at last.

"You have always had an appalling sense of self-preservation," Sebastian said. "Someone has to make sure you don't accidentally kill yourself, and to be quite frank, my faith in your other servants' abilities doesn't run to quite that level."

"Well. All right," Ciel said. It didn't really explain much, and yet it was enough, for now.

Sebastian lay down beside him, one arm still curled above him, his fingers holding Ciel's, and spoke. "That took… quite a lot out of me," he said at last. "More than I expected."

"What did you expect?" Ciel asked. "Does this sort of thing usually go differently?"

"I have to say I have no idea," Sebastian said at last. "I've never done anything like this before."

"Oh," Ciel said. He was still staring up to the ceiling, wondering at that, when he heard Sebastian's breath slow and even out, and when he looked over, he saw that the demon was asleep.

One of us ought to move, Ciel thought. Probably him, since this is my bed.

But on further consideration, there was nothing that couldn't wait.

.

.

.