A/N: Replies are at the end :) This is the concluding chapter with Sebastian's POV: it covers the rest of the events and E1 of the anime. Next chapter, we're back to Ciel!
Chapter Eleven: Sebastian. Transitioning. Part 2.
The descending twilight sent the majority of the passers-by hurrying to cafes, carriages, or their houses, leaving the streets half-deserted. The winter coldness was increasing steadily, growing sharp and unpleasant, but his Master was stubbornly waiting behind one of the street corners, peeking around it occasionally.
"I could simply steal those coins from him without him even noticing," Sebastian offered mildly, and his little lord sniffed and then frowned at him.
"No need," he said brusquely. "I'm going to do that myself."
"The Earl of Phantomhive is going to steal from someone?" Sebastian gasped in fake outrage and was rewarded with a slight twitching of the boy's lips.
"Having my butler steal for me would be equally unacceptable," he noted. Despite the warm coat, he was clearly cold. The tip of his nose had turned bright-red almost an hour ago but it looked like none of Sebastian's arguments would work here, not when they were investigating yet another case on the Queen's behalf.
"No," the boy continued, "he's going to give me some of those coins himself. Then, we will order an expertise, and if they are indeed fake, like the Queen believes, we will let the Scotland Yard know. We're bound to get acquainted with them at some point, anyway."
"How are you planning to make Lord Jameson share his coins with you?" Sebastian arched his eyebrow, genuinely curious. His Master had an intricate mind, but to force a Lord suspected of forgery to give away some of the allegedly forged coins? It didn't seem possible even for him.
A mysterious, cunning smile graced his Master's lips — such a rare and beautiful sight.
"Even if he is the forger we need, he is not completely despicable," the boy stated. "He participates in charity and from what we've learned, he's compassionate."
Sebastian considered these words but they still didn't make much sense to him.
"So what?" he wondered. "Are you planning to pretend that you are raising money for someone? Or that participating in his own capture is a form of charity?"
Snorting, the boy shook his head.
"You are hopeless at times," he uttered wryly, shivering when a particularly strong surge of wind assaulted him. "Honestly, for a demon…" Suddenly, his demeanour changed, and the excited light entered his eye. "Here he is!"
Sebastian took a careful look, locating their target effortlessly.
"Be that as it may—" he started but his Master interrupted him.
"Slap me."
"Excuse me?"
"Slap me," the boy repeated impatiently. "Obviously, not hard enough to break my neck, but enough for it to leave traces. Slap me, right now!"
Sebastian stood thunderstruck, staring at his Master in frozen shock.
Hit him?
He had imagined killing this boy in thousands ways, thousands times. He imagined breaking his bones, tearing him to tiny, bloody shreds, even devouring him alive, drinking in his screams and sobs. But those were fantasies only, and if they grew into actual impulses, Sebastian always managed to suppress them — for now, at least.
Hitting him, though, using such a human way of inflicting violence? It was disturbingly real and it didn't sit well with him. Not at all.
"Don't just stand there!" his Master hissed furiously. "Be quick!"
Still, Sebastian hesitated, and the boy growled before pressing his fingers to his marked eye.
"Hit me, Sebastian. This is an order."
This so-called order was composed in the most abysmal way, leaving Sebastian with numerous openings he could use against this foolish creature. But the boy kept glaring, waiting, and Sebastian raised his arm and slapped him, even though everything in him protested against it.
This was not his idea of violence. When the time that would allow him to hurt his lord came, he would do it differently. Very differently.
The boy let out a surprised noise as he staggered under the impact of the blow, and then blood began to seep from between his lips. Sebastian stared, flabbergasted, refusing to believe his eyes. When his Master spat a small white tooth into his hand, looking equally stunned, Sebastian's eyes widened and something toxic and bitter swirled in his stomach.
He thought he had hit the boy with moderate strength. His blow wasn't supposed to make him bleed, and it was most definitely not strong enough to knock out his tooth. How could he have misjudged his strength so badly?
The boy was the first to broach the awkward silence.
"Well," he said, "it's even better this way. It will be more realistic."
Before Sebastian could say anything, his lord threw the tooth on the ground, smeared the blood across his mouth, shook off his hat and stumbled towards Lord Jameson.
Sebastian watched how he disappeared behind the corner. Then he bent down, picked up the discarded tooth and looked at it as the toxic knot within him tightened.
He disliked feeling like this. He disliked hurting his Master when it wasn't his intention.
What was the reckless child even thinking, ordering something like that? Any other demon would have used this opportunity to pummel him to death, interpreting his words as the permission to kill him, taking his soul and leaving his drained, bloodied body on the ground.
Why hadn't he?
The thought flashed through his mind, but thinking about it required analysis that Sebastian wasn't willing to undertake right now.
Instead, he hid the tooth in his pocket and tuned in to hear his Master, trying to understand his plan.
"Attacked?" Lord Jameson was saying, sounding troubled. "Poor child! Were you travelling alone?"
"Y-yes," his Master's voice trembled so realistically, Sebastian grimaced in distaste. "I was supposed to get home but… they took all my money. I cannot even afford a carriage! I apologise, I know it's bad manners, but could you help me, please? I just need to get home. I promise I will return everything to you the moment I arrive to my manor."
"Of course," the man assured him, and Sebastian could hear how he began to count the coins.
He couldn't help but marvel at the boy for his bold ideas, and yet… and yet this mediocre case wasn't worth his tooth. Why was his lord so obsessed with solving each case assigned to him to such degree of perfection? This was what Sebastian found most troubling. Was he truly so loyal to the Queen that even his own safety paled in comparison?
The Queen. A fascinating human, truly, whose viciousness and greed had achieved more than most demons could ever aspire to.
Sebastian had his own suspicions about her and her possible involvement in the tragedy of Phantomhives. Numerous hired men and women that attempted to break into the manor and attack his Master even before the news about his return reached the underworld, their sheer number and the persistency of their attacks could mean only one thing — the Queen or her representatives were sending them. They were the only ones with enough power to keep hiring this many assassins for one, allegedly defenceless child when only a selected few knew about his survival. Moreover, as soon as the attacks stopped, the letter with invitation to the palace arrived.
The tasks assigned to his Master were also dubious at best. Without Sebastian's assistance, the boy would have been dead in the first days of his work. A woman like the Queen could hardly be that oblivious and guileless.
However, the boy would never listen to him without evidence, and Sebastian himself wasn't invested enough to start his own investigation, especially since the Queen, even if he was right, had the murders executed by someone else. As his Master liked to say, he was a pawn, nothing more, so he would let his lord make his own moves.
Moreover, what a pleasure it would be to bathe in the boy's turmoil and pain if the Queen was indeed the mastermind behind the deaths of his parents and his torture. Someone he was trying to serve so devotedly, someone who he deeply respected, turning out to be his biggest enemy. The shock and denial that would fill his eyes, the way his lips would tremble, genuinely this time, from the betrayed, uncontrollable tears... His soul would undoubtedly darken to the most impenetrable shade of grim grey, and after killing the Queen as per their contract, Sebastian would gladly tear it right from the boy's chest, deliberately piercing his heart with his claws and holding it until its last, dying twitch.
A warning bell rang in his ears suddenly, putting a stop to his dreams and making him straighten and look around.
Someone was watching him. Again. Had probably been watching him from the moment he and his Master arrived here.
Smiling slightly, Sebastian glanced back at the boy, who was approaching him with a self-satisfied smirk on his bloodied mouth.
He had an idea of who their observer could be.
He just wasn't sure what he wanted.
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The boy was so consumed by his satisfaction at having completed another case that he never raised the question of his broken tooth. He still seemed upset about Sebastian organising a birthday party for him but he didn't care about being hit like that.
Sebastian didn't understand him. The way his Master was acting was absolutely inconceivable. He could punish him for the wrong flavour of tea but he ignored the instance of Sebastian overestimating his strength and harming him?
His confusion left him strangely unsettled, and this unsettledness amplified when he and the boy were having a Latin lesson. Upon checking his answers, Sebastian immediately noticed a small mistake in translation... and paused.
A few days ago, he would have gladly punished the boy. Now, he wavered.
He'd experienced the same unexplainable hesitation back when he realised that his overuse of strikes had made his Master's hands flushed and trembling. He'd chosen against hitting him then and he felt equally reluctant to do that now. The emotions he experienced after slapping the boy were still fresh in his memory and for whatever reason, he wasn't willing to relive them.
Sebastian glanced at the pointer, then at the boy. Then at the mistake he'd made.
Well. It was rather minor. It didn't really warrant punishment. The boy had made a remarkable progress over the last months and Sebastian rarely had to correct him.
Perhaps it was time to choose another form of punishment. Physical one had stopped being satisfying.
"Everything is correct," Sebastian lied, carefully putting the sheet of paper aside. His Master beamed at him and he found the sight quite sore.
He would make today's dessert out of the darkest and bitterest chocolate, Sebastian decided. And he would refuse to remake it.
In these circumstances, it was a sufficient punishment.
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The process of finding more servants for the manor was deeply entertaining. Discussions and debates with his Master, the search process, consultations with Lau and stalking of the potential candidates were more engaging that any task Sebastian had ever been assigned. He was proud as he finally managed to locate those who his Master approved of, but this feeling began to wane as soon as he took them to the manor.
Mey-Rin was a bland, annoying fool who couldn't make a step without tripping, but overall, she was harmless. Finnian, on the other hand…
Sebastian liked the idea of hiring someone with Finnian's backstory, but when he actually saw this strange boy in the company of his Master, his satisfaction shattered.
What had he been thinking? Finnian was clearly dangerous. One wrong touch, and the body of his Master would be crushed.
Not that the idea seemed unappealing, but it was one thing to harm the boy himself and another thing entirely to let him be harmed by others. Particularly as Sebastian treated his butler duties with utmost seriousness and allowed the thoughts of harming his Master remain just that, thoughts, or plans for the distant future, when their contract would come to an end.
"Good," his lord approved, smiling in a way that Sebastian couldn't define as either genuine or fake. "Now add another one."
"Young Master!"
"Quiet!" the boy glared at him, silencing him effectively, before focusing on Finnian as he was attempting to hold his hand.
No, Sebastian didn't understand him at all.
The boy hated being touched, even casually. Even by his relatives. He had disliked Sebastian's touches as well at first, and only months later, he seemed to grow used to them.
Sebastian revelled in the knowledge that he was the only one who the boy willingly let close to him, but when he was doing things like this? Granted, his Master was evidently engaged in another manipulation of his, wanting to earn Finnian's loyalty, but as a butler, Sebastian couldn't approve of his chosen tactic.
When the boy's hand was forcefully pushed to the very floor and he gasped, Sebastian decided that watching passively wasn't an option. He snatched his Master from his spot and pressed him close, jumping away from Finnian.
As he'd expected, his efforts weren't rewarded. Instead, his Master kicked him right in the shin before hissing, "Let me go!"
"But—"
"Let me go this instant, it's an order!"
Reluctantly, Sebastian complied, and was forced to spend the next hour as a witness to his Master's utter recklessness. Finnian possessed power that could break the boy's arm in a way that no one, not even Sebastian would be able to fix properly, leaving him a cripple. He had to understand it yet he was still risking.
His stubbornness knew no boundaries and while it was fascinating at times, it was also extremely bothersome.
When this appalling initiation ceremony finally came to an end, Finnian moved to his Master and pressed his head against his shoulder, and Sebastian sneered. It would work better if Finnian wasn't towering over the boy. As it was, he looked ridiculous.
"Thank you," Finnian whispered, and Young Master raised his hands, patting him on the back carefully.
The gesture drew Sebastian in and he stared attentively, memorizing each movement.
He'd never seen anyone being comforted before, not like this. If he had, then he must have considered it irrelevant and removed it from his memory.
His Master was notably hesitant in applying his caresses but Finnian seemed to enjoy it — his body relaxed and he began to emanate a repellent brand of happiness. Perhaps this was what Sebastian himself could use on the boy during his nightmares?
Intrigued by the idea, Sebastian replayed the scene he had just witnessed to make sure he remembered every crucial bit.
He was looking forward to testing it.
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The case of murdered children who had been violated before their deaths was a gift that Sebastian hadn't expected this soon. His lord remained strong and reserved, like always, but Sebastian could sense his real emotions, could see the anxious flashes of darkness in his soul. The case was affecting his Master. If not for the trick Sebastian had learned back at the beginning of their cooperation, that every light touch helped to ground the boy, their first meeting with the Scotland Yard would have ended in embarrassment.
His lord endured everything stoically, but when the night came, the things he had to be thinking of during the daylight came to the surface.
Sebastian had to admit that he had lost the sense of time, too busy with liquidating the results of their so-called servants' activities, so when the boy's screams reached him, they almost took him aback.
His Master'd had many nightmares over the time Sebastian knew him, but he had never called his name before — not like this. The terror and despair in his voice were so piercing that for a moment, as he was moving towards his bedroom, Sebastian thought that something might be wrong. Could anyone have gotten into the house?
When he flew in, though, all tension left his body. There was no one in the room with the boy. He was perfectly safe. However, he kept jerking in his bed violently, screaming Sebastian's name with increasing despondency, and it was unusual enough for Sebastian to rush to his side.
He had never seen a nightmare so strong. The fact that the boy was calling for him was undeniably pleasing but Sebastian couldn't enjoy it sufficiently, at least not yet.
"My lord," he called, stopping and then kneeling next to the bed. "I'm here."
To his consternation, the boy didn't appear to hear him. His face twisted in an anguished grimace and he only choked out again, "Sebastian!"
"I'm here," he repeated, at a loss now. What was he supposed to do to break his Master from the nightmare?
Fortunately, at this very moment, the boy moaned and opened his eyes, blinking in disorientation. And then he did the most unexpected thing.
Before Sebastian could open his mouth to say anything, his Master threw himself on him, wrapping his arms around his neck and hiding his face in his shoulder, breathing harshly. It was so highly out of character for him that Sebastian froze, his mind blanking out, unsure of how to react.
"Kill them," the boy muttered. "Kill them, Sebastian. Kill them all."
"I already did, Master," he replied uncertainty.
"Good." The boy breathed in deeply, shifting closer, as if trying to meld with him. "If they return, you will kill them again, yes?"
"Of course. I will do anything to protect you. Until the very end."
Another sigh. Another attempt to melt against him.
The feeling that overcame Sebastian this time was fragile and hopelessly unfamiliar. The boy's arms felt overheated around his neck, his body shuddering but continuing to seek comfort from him, and something gentle, hesitant, and possessive came to life within his chest, making his eyes flare brightly.
Only now did he remember about his vague plan. Carefully, still bewildered by his reaction, Sebastian mirrored the touches he'd memorised, stroking the boy's back lightly. For a moment, he got no reaction, but then his Master began to relax. With a trembling sigh, he pressed even closer, so close that Sebastian could physically sense the wild heartbeat pounding against his ribcage, and a new surge of the same strange feeling washed over him, this time reaching even those parts of his body that had remained immune to it before.
Then, just as suddenly, the tension returned to the boy, breaking the peculiar stillness around them.
"Don't touch me," he hissed, pushing Sebastian away so vehemently, as if his touch burned him.
Confusion and something else, something dark and acidic, slammed into him, and his heart constricted in a way Sebastian had never had to endure before.
Was his human body failing in some way?
There were no other alarming signs, though, so he ignored the unpleasant sensation and gazed at the boy coldly.
He tolerated his accusations, knowing that they were valid yet unable to accept it and mean it. Since he failed to find an explanation for his strange reaction, his puzzlement turned into more familiar hostility, and when he looked at the boy again, he wanted nothing but to crush him.
The ridiculous child terrified himself over the shadows of the past that could never hurt him again, waking the entire house with his pathetic screams, and then tried to tell him that he was an embarrassment? How human of him, trying to shift the blame onto someone else.
The night had passed, but the hissing animosity in him hadn't. When his Master recoiled from the tablecloth stained with the spilled wine during his breakfast, staring at it as if it was his nightmare come to life, Sebastian twisted his lips in a sneer.
"Come, now, Young Master," he drawled. "It is merely wine. Surely you don't expect it to pose any danger to you?"
The boy stared at him wide-eyed, with a hurt expression, and Sebastian felt how his lips parted further in a half-satisfied, half-mocking smile. The urge to humiliate the child more, to watch him break filled him with vivid, predatory interest, but before he could press, Baldroy snapped, "Hey, don't talk to him like that!"
Taken aback, Sebastian stared at him, wondering how the only servant he was personally interested in, the one who his Master hadn't even wanted to hire, could come to his defence so rapidly.
As a demon, he was annoyed, his already dark mood souring even further. As a butler, though, he thought he should be pleased. After all, the point of hiring those morons was to protect the Young Master, so it was good to know that they already treated their responsibilities seriously.
Still, irrational anger continued to burn in his veins, demanding to be let out, and when the boy told him about his plan, Sebastian smiled slowly.
He already had an idea.
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Frederick Lyndon was a slimy and nausea-inducing human being that didn't deserve to breathe the same air as his Master, and Sebastian would enjoy tearing him apart, but first things first.
His Master was holding on admirably, Sebastian couldn't deny it. However, he was confident that this resolve was going to snap very soon, and he anticipated being the one to push the last pillar from beneath it. For all his attempts to solve the case himself, for all his creativity in devising a special approach to the task, the boy was still haunted by his shadows too intensely to withstand the test Sebastian had prepared.
He would fail. He was already failing, glancing around uncertainly and forgetting the role he'd willingly assumed, and watching him fall to pieces in the daylight, not during the nightmares where Sebastian couldn't follow him, was captivating.
He only hoped that it would be worth it. He was displaying an ultimate restraint in letting Lyndon ogle his Master — even the darkest, mostly dormant part of him, which urged him to kill the boy on more than once occasion regardless of the contract, disliked it.
"As your servants are away, I could leave him with you for several days," Sebastian suggested, absorbing the splash of shock and horror he could sense within his Master. "Maybe a change of places will make him more organised."
His gaze didn't leave the boy's face even for a minute, waiting for the moment he was craving. It was close, he could feel it — a dark, ugly spot was rapidly blooming in his Master's soul, and his breathing was becoming irregular.
Give me an order to back away. Admit your defeat. Give up.
Nonetheless, the boy remained silent. His body was shaking slightly, his heart beating deafeningly, but he refused to say a word.
He couldn't be seriously considering playing along?
"I'll be going," Sebastian uttered slowly, and the boy glared silently but said nothing.
That hateful feeling of unsettledness returned, breathing fuel into his smouldering annoyance. Sebastian waited, refusing to move until he had the boy's answer, but when it arrived, he suddenly wished he hadn't heard it, after all.
"I will do my best to please you, Count Lyndon." His Master glanced at him coldly, his voice challenging, and Sebastian almost made a step back, stunned. "You were leaving, weren't you? Master?"
He couldn't mean it. Would he actually agree to stay with this man alone, for an unidentifiable amount of time? The boy who had panicked when he saw the spilled wine today, who woke up screaming and flung his arms around Sebastian's neck so pathetically, in a desperate attempt to find comfort?
Comfort that he clearly hadn't found, but it was another matter entirely.
To Sebastian's turmoil, his Master looked more and more confident by the moment. His eye was full of darkness and spite that Sebastian was helplessly drawn to, but there was also deadly determination there — determination he couldn't fight.
So he left, hoping that the boy would change his mind but not expecting it any longer.
The moment the door behind him closed, Sebastian jumped onto the roof and stretched against its surface, listening to the sounds within the house intently.
What a confounding and unpredictable creature his lord was. If Sebastian had suspected that his plan would fail, he would have hardly attempted to implement it. The idea of leaving the boy alone with Lyndon turned his stomach, filing his mouth with a thick bitter taste that was downright unpalatable, and Sebastian swallowed, trying to get rid of it.
He could hear the short conversation his Master had with the murderer before he was left alone. A quiet, jerky sound of footsteps — the boy must have stumbled towards a bed or an armchair. A sigh, then another one, louder and wetter.
He was obviously fighting to control himself. So much strength and dignity in such a small human being... what a perfect, flawless soul.
Sebastian closed his eyes, focusing on the scent of the boy's emotions. His fingers curled around the Phantomhive rings that were still in his possession and he squeezed them, briefly envisioning their history and the string of owners who passed them to one another, until both rings started to belong to his Master. The last of the Phantomhives.
His distaste faded slowly, growing into powerful, obsessive curiosity.
Would his lord be able to pass the test completely? What would he do if Lyndon proceeded in his advances?
This was quite an intriguing game, he thought, to see whose resolve would waver first. Would the boy call for him or would Sebastian feel compelled to interfere before any order was given?
When he reopened his eyes, he knew they were burning bright red.
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"You wouldn't mind if I sat next to you, would you?" Lyndon purred, and Sebastian had to struggle to stay put.
It seemed like he was going to lose this game, after all. This hideous day kept rewarding him with one revelation after another, and the new one disclosed the undeniable fact that his Master was more stubborn than Sebastian himself.
The idea that any human could surpass him in anything, be that cruelty or stubbornness, seemed absurd, but Sebastian wasn't in the mood to lie to himself.
The enthralling boy would rather die than lose in any game, even the one he hadn't started. And wasn't it what pulled Sebastian in from the start? His fierce, grim determination, his vicious thirst for victory?
He would have gladly let the game go further, raising the stakes — the problem was, even the thought of Lyndon touching the boy infuriated him.
The boy's panic smelled sharp and pungent, but no words escaped his lips as Lyndon moved to take the place next to him. Sebastian couldn't see what was happening, but he could hear how his Master's heart started accelerating to a worrying degree, pounding harder and harder, and his patience snapped.
In a flash, Sebastian shifted within the house, grabbing Lyndon by his throat and flinging him across the room. Vaguely, he sensed that he had taken his true form partly, and he wondered when it happened. Back when he jumped into the house or when he saw Lyndon in the dangerous proximity to the boy?
The boy himself was still panting, his skin abnormally white and glistening faintly with sweat. Upon seeing Sebastian, he shuddered and relaxed, dragging his feet on the couch and curling into a small ball.
This was the display of weakness Sebastian had been craving, but strangely, it brought him neither pleasure nor triumph. His Master had proven himself entirely today, once again, intensifying Sebastian's hunger for his soul twofold. Despite his nightmares, despite the memories that attempted to break his core, he kept overcoming them all. Sebastian could only imagine what a stunning man Ciel Phantomhive would have become one day if he hadn't signed his death certificate, gifting him with a right to kill him.
Kneeling, Sebastian took the boy's hand in his, briefly shutting his eyes in pleasure at the contact. His Master's skin was cold and wet from terror, and Sebastian wanted to lick all traces of sweat off him, to feel his essence in his belly, an appetiser before the luxurious meal that was waiting for him in the future.
"Your rings, Master," he murmured, gently putting them on the boy's slim fingers, where they rightfully belonged.
His Master looked like he was about to pass out, but he still managed to question him coldly, burning him with his gaze, spitting fire and defiance even though he was barely holding on. When he finally said, "Break every bone in his body. Don't leave even one whole," Sebastian's heart swelled with delight and admiration.
Rather enjoying this new sensation, he kissed the boy's hand, inhaling its scent, before pulling away and promising, "Yes, my lord."
Breaking bones of any creature was pleasing, but toying with a man like Lyndon was particularly satisfying. Sebastian was careful to snap the smallest bones first, smiling when Lyndon's pleas and moans turned into unending, hysterical screams. When he moved to larger ones, he turned back to the coach to make sure that his Master was enjoying the show, and to his astonishment, he found the boy sleeping.
How could anyone possibly fall asleep to such racket? Wasn't the boy haunted by the nightmares — how could he find the screaming of someone being tortured to death comforting enough to relax so entirely?
More than that, Sebastian could see a small smile on the boy's lips. A smile that fascinated him more than anything else that happened today.
Lyndon jerked beneath his feet, trying to move away, and Sebastian stepped on him.
"Where do you think you are crawling, Count?" he asked lazily. "We are not finished yet."
Lyndon wheezed, staring at him in blind horror, and Sebastian increased the pressure, breaking the collarbone.
Without his Master's attention, toying with this insect quickly became rather bland.
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With Lyndon's case closed, they all returned to the manor, but it seemed that the boy's intensified nightmares had followed him. He screamed every night, but unless he called his name, Sebastian refused to come and wake him. He had already tried to offer comfort and was rejected, so until he devised a new plan, he wasn't going to assist without an order.
Still, the longer the nightmares continued, the more tempting the idea to come up with a solution seemed. Sebastian found himself thinking about it during various points of the day, studying the supposedly helpful literature in his free time. To his annoyance, unless he was willing to drug the boy, there was no advice offered, which brought him back to where he was from the start.
A good butler couldn't give up so easily, though. He didn't deserve to be called a servant of the Phantomhives if he couldn't help his Master sleep peacefully.
The back caress he had seen his Master administer when dealing with Finnie had worked to a point, albeit not entirely. However, since it was the most effective tool Sebastian knew of, he decided to focus on it.
He spent the next days watching the servants, wondering if their interactions with each other would turn out to be helpful. They were idiotic enough to get themselves into trouble every hour but they always remained cheerful, no matter how harshly Sebastian reprimanded them.
Soon, he decided to focus his efforts on Mey-Rin. Bard got sullen or angry, not upset, while Finnie broke down crying and ruined half of the manor in his hysterics, making everyone stay away from him. Mey-Rin was the only one who listened to Sebastian's diminishing remarks and was moderately upset about them. Her attempts to please him were partly entwined with a scent of desire for him, which presented a perfect opportunity. A few more stress-filled weeks and she would break down, and since she didn't cause destruction on the scale of Finnie, either he or Bard was bound to comfort her.
Satisfied with his choice, Sebastian doubled his efforts. He would give Mey-Rin an encouraging smile, watching how she blushed, and then he changed his attitude abruptly, stalking her around the house and criticising every move she made.
After a week, when the boy's nightmares decreased sharply, Sebastian finally got what he wanted. After another harsh remark, Mey-Rin cried right in front of him and Bard, and in front of Young Master who hid himself under the table with a cookie, clearly hoping that Sebastian couldn't sense him.
Foolish child. Sebastian would recognise his scent and his heartbeat even if there were miles separating them.
When Bard hastened to Mey-Rin and wrapped one of his hands around her shoulders, Sebastian stared at him attentively, watching every slide and stroke. It all took no longer than fifteen seconds and Mey-Rin seemed to calm down immediately, sending Bard a grateful smile.
That was it? Three main movements.
Sebastian replayed them in his mind several times, trying to determine what was particularly comforting in such a simple combination. He hadn't found an answer but in the end, it didn't matter.
He knew what to do.
Now he just had to assist his Master in getting a nightmare.
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Creating an illusion with smoke was laughably easy. Sebastian blended in with one of the corners of the room, watching curiously how his Master tried to control his panic, backing away and breathing in and out slowly. Recalling how his other Masters reacted to illusions Sebastian had created for them, the yells and the begging, Sebastian felt his lips quirk in a smile.
Only his lord could demonstrate such stunning restraint in the face of a disaster. The only times when he lost control was in his dreams, and Sebastian fully intended to change that. He would not tolerate any weakness in someone he was serving, not again.
As he had planned, the nightmare came this very night. His Master didn't scream, but his soft gasps and the violent pounding of his heart could be heard even on the other side of the house.
Grinning, Sebastian let his panic grow before finally entering the room.
The boy didn't notice him even though he was no longer asleep. Breathing hard, he was sitting on the bed, his eyes closed, and Sebastian touched his back gently with one hand, pressing the other against his hair and sliding it down to his neck, squeezing it just like he'd seen Bard do.
The effect was instantaneous — all tension bled out of the boy's body and he leaned into him, accepting his touches. Then he looked up, blue eyes wide and startled, and alarmingly, Sebastian's heart skipped a bit.
What was it? Another physical process of humans he wasn't aware of?
A shadow of uncertainty flickered in his Master's eyes but he said nothing, not moving away, as his heart began to calm. Satisfied, Sebastian repeated his motions, feeling how they soothed the tremors that were still running through the boy's body.
Humans were indeed easy to control, even such uncommon ones as his Master. A few strokes, and the nightmares were forgotten.
A swell of smugness formed in Sebastian's chest, making his smile widen.
He should have tried this technique months ago.
The boy was very still in his arms. Sebastian patted him again, a warm, lazy swirl of condescension filling him at his success, but the next second, a strange sound tore from his Master's chest.
Frowning in puzzlement, Sebastian stared at his face, trying to categorise this sound, but the boy repeated it, and after a moment, an astonished realisation came.
His Master was giggling. Giggling like Lady Elisabeth, giggling like Madam Red and Mey-Rin on occasion.
Was this a side effect? But Mey-Rin hadn't had a similar reaction. The sound of his Master's giggling was considerably more compelling than that of others, but it was still highly out of character for him. This wasn't normal.
The boy's shoulders shook more visibly and then he began to laugh, falling on the bed and trying to mute the sounds by covering his mouth.
Sebastian didn't have sufficient knowledge about all human peculiarities but he did know when he was being laughed at.
This wasn't a side effect. The boy was laughing for a specific reason — laughing at him. As if Sebastian had done something that warranted such mirth and mockery.
An outrage hissed in him and Sebastian stiffened, narrowing his eyes warningly.
"I'm glad you're feeling well again, Master," he growled. The boy tried to look serious for a second and even opened his mouth to say something, but only more laughter tore from his lips, making him pull his feet towards his chest helplessly.
Thin threads of darkness began to separate from his body, attempting to reach the boy and strangle him, and Sebastian pushed them back with an effort.
"Is something wrong with you again?" he acquired, his voice brimming with tension. "Should I bring you anything?"
"No," the boy gasped. "Just leave. I'm going to sleep now."
Sebastian nodded stiffly and hastened to escape before his true form came to the surface entirely.
What an arrogant, spoilt child! Sebastian rarely let anyone's opinion of him affect him, but his lord seemed to possess a unique ability to make him feel deficient. He rarely reacted in the ways Sebastian expected, confounding him at every turn. He had done everything exactly the way Baldroy had done it and the boy seemed to react positively at first. What changed afterwards?
Snarling, Sebastian let his nails lengthen into claws, plunging them into the couch and shredding it angrily.
He had never displeased his Masters before. He served all of them dutifully until the moment he didn't. Yes, he twisted and even abused their orders; unless perfect obedience was initially stipulated, he turned their lives into hell, making some of them beg him to kill them. But when he fulfilled his direct duties, his performance was flawless. No one had ever complained.
No one but his current Master.
Sebastian stared at the torn piece of furniture and his mood soured further. In a second, he replaced the coach with its perfect copy, and the sight soothed his anger a bit.
His Master was entirely uncommon, that much was true. And disregarding the reasons, Sebastian had made him laugh, which was an achievement by itself.
The boy had truly laughed only twice: when Sebastian had been running beside his horse, hoping to soften his miscalculation, and today. Even though this second time, he laughed at him, it still meant something. And while annoyance was still pulsing through him, colouring his vision in occasional splashes of red, Sebastian couldn't help but admit that he liked the sound of his Master's laughter, perhaps exactly due to its rarity. It was clear, piercing, and refreshing, and earning it was almost as difficult as finding a suitable solution for his nightmares.
Comforted by the thought, Sebastian headed towards the kitchen, bringing the boy's laughter to memory over and over again.
If he'd managed to achieve this, then he was still a good butler. And once he determined how to address his lord's nightmares without being laughed at, he would be a perfect one.
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It appeared that his little lord wasn't capable of living long without engaging in one of their games. Since they had no guests who required special treatment and no criminals to eliminate, he decided to devise an actual board game and fill it with his deadly traps.
Sebastian found the idea intriguing.
Having finished cutting the bits of old newspapers, he joined his Master in preparing the board, his mind rapidly sorting through multiple possibilities. The task turned out to be even more engaging than he'd believed, so in the end, it wasn't surprising that he'd missed the boy's curfew.
"Those pieces of paper you've cut," his Master murmured sleepily. "I bet you've made at least one mistake in measurements."
Sebastian sighed, glad that the boy's state didn't let him see his irritation. Why did this child have to be so insistent on finding a flaw within him?
"Why would you think that?" he asked.
"I don't think that. I know. Check them yourself, right now. It's an order."
Well, who was he to refuse?
Immediately after leaving the bedroom, Sebastian returned to the living room, stopping at the pile of small pieces of paper he'd been cutting for over an hour.
0.7 inches long and 0.4 inches wide. A simple task that required nothing but a perfect sense of measurement.
Pointing it out to his Master tomorrow would be overwhelmingly satisfying.
He focused on his work, carefully reassessing each of pieces. There were about forty of them left when his eyes fell on the next bit… and widened in disbelief.
0.7 inches long, like needed. And 0.5 inches wide.
No. That wasn't possible.
Sebastian checked again, all the while knowing that it was senseless as his eyes couldn't lie to him.
Why had they lied as he was cutting them, then? He'd completed more than a thousand of them perfectly, but he had somehow butchered one? And how could his Master know?
Deeply resentful, Sebastian rolled the flawed piece into a vengeful ball and threw it into the fire. Then he replaced it with a newly cut perfect one.
His Master didn't need to be informed of everything.
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Devising the end for the game was challenging in a way Sebastian hadn't been prepared for. He lingered for almost half an hour, considering various scenarios, wondering if he should depict the ending he himself was imagining for his Master and himself, masking it as a part of the game half-heartedly. Would that be too bold? Would it anger his Master, make him seethe with rage, or would it terrify him, covering Sebastian in a blanket of that delicious, raw smell?
How many options. How many intriguing concepts.
Today, Sebastian preferred the three of them. The first one entailed piercing the boy's stomach with his claw, thinly, so thinly and swiftly that he wouldn't even understand what's happening. The pain wouldn't come right away — it would be a wave, unhurried but intense, making his Master's movements sluggish and uncoordinated until he collapsed on the floor under its force. Bleeding internally, dying and staring at him with his wide blue eyes, horrified and suffering… and when his heart would be giving its last, chaotic thumps, Sebastian would finally approach, forcing him to his feet despite his pained gasps and extracting his trembling soul slowly.
He could also stay with the boy after their contract ended for a while, lulling him into a sense of false security. His Master would be relieved even if he tried to hide it, growing more hopeful every day, and Sebastian would still attend to every need of his with utmost attentiveness. He would also begin to put poison into his food every morning, watching carefully for the effects to become visible. Slowly, perhaps painfully so, the boy's body would start failing him, and with his allergies, these effects would be far more distinctive. He was smart, so he would understand what's going on sooner or later, but even if he tried to escape, Sebastian would follow. The hope would die every day, replaced with despair and hopelessness, and Sebastian would remain by his side till the very end, absorbing his Master's fading strength as he fought for every breath.
Poisons, especially of a demon kind, were vicious. He could have almost a whole year with the boy after their contract, watching him fade away, vomiting blood and turning into weakened, suffocating cripple whose relentless pride would be broken to nothing, who would beg Sebastian to kill him.
Poisons were good for other things, too. A special kind of it was Sebastian's third option, and it fascinated him most. With its help, he would be able to affect the body of his Master from within. He would confine him to a small place and he would focus on his brain, destroying one cell after another, turning a bright, sharp mind into a ruin. This was something he had never done before, which made this option especially inspiring. Would the boy understand what was happening to him? What would his face reflect? How bitter would his soul become, what kind of spices would it be enhanced with?
"How much longer are you planning to stare at the board and do nothing?" his Master's annoyed voice startled Sebastian out of his reverie. Bowing his head apologetically, he focused on the blank space again.
On second thought, he didn't want to spoil the fun before the time came. No, he would draw something neutral, something promising. Like a carriage full of dead people, prepared to be whisked into hell.
That would be fitting because even after having his wish come to life, his lord was going to lose.
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Going to Lord Randall's residence at night was mildly entertaining. The man spluttered and raged, sending him scandalised glares, but Sebastian withstood all that with a smile, waiting until his Master's letter was read. Then he left, smirking at Sir Commissioner's incessant curses and trying to imagine what his Master could have written to warrant such reaction.
He realised that something was wrong the moment he stepped into the manor. Based on his heartbeat, Young Master was still awake, and there was someone else in the room with him. His seal didn't burn, though, so Sebastian was more perplexed than concerned. A quick scanning of the house showed that Bard was missing from the servants' wing of the house, so he had to be the one to keep the boy company.
What possessed him to do that? Sebastian certainly hadn't left any orders of this kind. And if his Master needed something, couldn't he have simply waited for his return?
Frowning, Sebastian moved to the room, listening attentively. Bard was blabbing about his military experience, describing the way he'd tricked his superior, as if it was something so relevant that it had to be shared with the boy when he was supposed to be sleeping.
Had his lord had a nightmare?
Raising his hand, Sebastian was prepared to knock when his Master's laughter, quiet and genuine, broke through the room, freezing him on the spot.
For a moment, his ears filled with this rare sound, absorbing it greedily. Then the understanding that he hadn't been the one to evoke it settled and redness flared behind his eyelids, sending his heart skittering.
Sebastian slammed the door open before he could comprehend the abruptness of his action, and his eyes immediately flickered towards Bard, who was sitting on his Master's bed, so at ease, as if he belonged here.
His breathing turned unusually harsh and shallow, his hands curling into fists, and all these incomprehensible reactions were so alarming that Sebastian forcefully shut them all down, stilling his malfunctioning human body.
Bard jumped up belatedly in a laughable attempt to defend his Master, pausing and then saying something, and Sebastian stared at him, sensing how a white-hot shock of rage, possessive and volatile, surged through him.
"Bard," he said finally, knowing that the hissing of the darkness touched his voice despite his attempt to speak calmly. "Leave. Now."
Instead of following his order, the insipid human backed away, stepping closer to his Master, and Sebastian narrowed his eyes, feeling how despite his attempts at control, his body tensed, readying itself for one, deadly jump.
"Sure," Bard stammered finally. He stepped away from the boy and a part of tension left Sebastian unexpectedly, even though the anger remained. "Have a good night, Master. Sebastian."
Bard shivered as he passed him, throwing a quick, confused glance in his direction, but Sebastian didn't look at him any longer. His world narrowed to the boy sitting on his bed, staring at him in astonished incredulity, as if he wasn't sure what had gotten into him.
Sebastian wasn't sure himself.
He began to approach, knowing that his control was still close to snapping, and the boy had the audacity to ask, "Is something wrong?"
"Not at all, my lord," Sebastian replied, forcing his lips to stretch in a smile. His Master flinched, as if he found the sight scary, and rage spiralled up again, filling him with a vindictive impulse to grab the boy by the hair and throw him across the room, hard enough to break all those fragile-looking bones.
The boy's laughter was his, be that the laughter he'd earned or the laughter denoting his mistake. The right to stay by his side when he had nightmares also belonged to him, and he wouldn't tolerate anyone else interfering, not even the boy himself.
Smoothening the bed to remove all possible traces of Bard, Sebastian straightened, the smile still glued to his face. The knots of darkness were unfolding, sliding towards the boy, not strong enough to gain a shape that a human eye could recognise but lethal nonetheless, and Sebastian knew that if he didn't leave the room right now, he would do something he would later regret.
"Another nightmare, Young Master?" he asked conversationally. Without waiting for an answer, he added, "I'll bring you some hot milk. You shouldn't be awake at this hour."
The boy's lost, hesitant face made the lividness within him snarl, and Sebastian turned from him abruptly, walking towards the door.
Rage burned through him as he was preparing the milk. It growled and swirled as he returned to the room, watching his lord drink his offering.
He had followed Bard's example back in London and he was laughed at. He had spent months on trying to find a solution. How could someone who didn't know the boy at all succeed where he failed? Was he supposed to tell ridiculous jokes now?
A thin ray of warmth split the darkness in Sebastian's mind only when his Master fell asleep, not saying a word about the fact that he remained by his side without being ordered to. Sebastian watched him, slowly regaining his sense of peace, and after three and a half hours, he smiled, much calmer.
'I will kill you,' he thought gently, his eyes not leaving his Master's face. 'I will be the last thing you'll see.'
Hopefully, all confusing reactions would stop with the boy's heart.
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In the morning, both the boy and Sebastian pretended that nothing had happened. Bard was the only one who threw wary glances at him, and considering that neither Mey-Rin nor Finnie risked approaching him, Bard had obviously shared some of what he'd witnessed at night. All servants looked like Sebastian was going to start yelling at them any moment, and while amusing to a degree, it was mostly frustrating.
As if he ever needed to raise his voice to instil fear and inspire obedience.
"Mr. Damian?" his Master said thoughtfully, staring at the letter.
"Yes. He is the owner of a Poseidon Company — we have signed a short-term contract with him, enabling him to manufacture stuffed animals for Funtom Corporation."
"I remember," the boy set him an annoyed glance. "Is what this letter says true? He is in the process of selling off the company?"
"He is indeed. And after receiving the reports on his operations, I believe we can expect him to pay us a visit and attempt to obtain more money before disappearing without the trace."
"Well, if he does that, he will disappear without the trace," the boy put the letter away, scowling at it. "We will have to find a new associate. Can you check the backstories and pick a reliable one?"
"Is this a question?" Sebastian raised his eyebrow and smirked, getting another annoyed glare in response.
"No," his Master said shortly. "It's an order. I want this person found by the end of the week."
"Consider it done," Sebastian bowed, his head already filling with possible options.
A part of him hoped that Mr. Damian would try to seek out his Master. It'd been a while since they'd had the last game and Sebastian looked forward to dedicating a day to the implementation of an elaborate trap. His Master liked to devise detailed scenarios of torment, and being who he was, Sebastian enjoyed bringing them to life.
The boy had quite an imagination.
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Mr. Damian showed the utmost discourtesy by announcing his intention to visit the Phantomhives on the day he was supposed to arrive. Disgruntled at the lost opportunity to prepare everything meticulously, Sebastian went to wake his Young Master, wondering if he already had a plan, but to his surprise, entertaining Mr. Damian seemed the last thing on the boy's mind.
Ignoring the feeling of being taken aback had become an integral part of him by now. Smiling as if he hadn't expected anything but for the boy to drink his tea, Sebastian turned to leave, only to have a dart thrown at him.
That was new.
Catching it, he lingered for a moment, trying to figure out what it meant. Another test? Or an invitation to play darts?
"How was that?" Sebastian inquired, glancing at his Master with a strange but already familiar fondness. Perhaps this was a hint as to what his lord was planning for Mr. Damian? Turning him into a target for darts?
"Let us leave the fun and games for later, shall we?" he added. The boy just looked at him, grave and vaguely displeased as always, but…
"Yes," he allowed. "I agree, Sebastian."
At last.
The boy was planning something.
The answer came two and a half hours before Mr. Damian was due to arrive. After requesting a dessert and being denied, and issuing a perplexing order to take down the Phantomhives' portrait, his Master finally turned to face him with a small, eerie smile, startlingly similar to the one Sebastian himself often wore.
"So," he drawled, "I was thinking to make today's game into an actual game."
"Darts?" Sebastian guessed, but his lord just frowned.
"Why would you think that?" he asked. "No. I meant the game you and I created. Mr. Damian is going to choose his own fate based on the movements he'll make. I'll be playing against him. You'll be listening."
Unsurprisingly, excitement shone inside him with intensity, and Sebastian felt how his lips parted in an anticipatory grin. The boy's smile also widened and they shared a moment of quiet, gleeful amusement.
"Understood," Sebastian said. "Shall I kill him at the end?"
A small crease marred his Master's forehead.
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "Fraud is a mediocre crime and I'm still not sure of his intentions. Ultimately, it's going to depend on how much he annoys me during our meeting."
Sebastian bowed his head, hiding another smile.
He hoped his Master would be extremely annoyed.
How intriguing this day was turning out to be.
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"Lose your legs in the Forest of Confusion," his Master announced, and Sebastian committed it to memory, his mind flaring with vivid ideas.
Mr. Damian gasped, the odour of his confusion and anxiety creeping through the several floors at once.
"It's your turn again," his Master's voice sounded so genuine and innocent that if Sebastian hadn't known him, he would buy into this performance, forming an entirely wrong opinion of the boy. "I'm out for a turn, after all."
Mr. Damian, of course, couldn't boast of the same. The odour weakened, changing into relief, though his anxiety remained partly, and when he laughed, it sounded tense and unnatural.
Understandable. Mr. Damian was wary of the boy despite the smugness and contempt he clearly felt for him. Young Master had been playing a psychological game on him for over an hour now — he shifted between abrupt and attentive, harsh and carefree, dismissive and interested, and Sebastian could sense how their guest was slowly losing his patience, growing angrier and disturbed by the minute.
"Your body is burned within the crimson flames," his Master murmured, quietly and thoughtfully, and Sebastian grinned, pleased that the scenario he had drawn himself was going to be used today. Mr. Damian's gasp sounded louder this time and the smell intensified anew as his anxiety grew into irrational fear — fear of the boy he was playing against.
It was perfect, it had to be perfect, but one thing stopped Sebastian from enjoying every second of this game.
His Master was upset by something. While he tormented Mr. Damian skilfully, he seemed distracted at times, his thoughts elsewhere, in the places Sebastian couldn't hope to reach.
The inability to understand the boy's thinking process was intolerable and more fascinating than all the mysteries Hell hid in its depths. He was rarely in an agreeable mood but the degrees of his general dissatisfaction varied, and Sebastian could only guess what it depended on. The nightmares? The cases or the lack of them? What was happening in his head now, what caused his sour mood today?
And this mood certainly wouldn't improve after he saw the ruined garden and the meal Sebastian was going to serve.
Sighing, Sebastian glanced in the direction where his Master was and then moved towards the kitchen.
He had to control what the servants were doing. They had already ruined a meal — Sebastian couldn't let them destroy it entirely.
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His Master showed admirable restraint when he saw the garden. Nothing at all was reflected on his face — he proceeded to take his place, holding his head high, though he did send Sebastian a livid glare when Mr. Damian wasn't looking.
"Tonight's dinner is a Beef Tataki-don prepared by our own chef, Bard," Sebastian introduced and grimaced internally at the shocked gaping of both Mr. Damian and his Master. He was fairly sure that he would win their guest over — several persuasive lies, and he would accept everything told to him in a desperate attempt to be considered a part of the sophisticated society.
His Master, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. No sweet lies would persuade him that this Japanese dish was a worthy dinner for English noblemen.
"Is this dinner?" Mr. Damian stared as if he was being offered poison and with his peripheral vision, Sebastian noticed how his lord stiffened, insulted. Then he began to eat, using chopsticks so masterfully, like he had a vast experience with them and like he was served this very meal weekly.
Quickly masking his surprise, Sebastian focused on Mr. Damian and then on Mey-Rin, but his thoughts stayed on his Master unwaveringly.
He had no doubts that the boy was displeased with his presentation of a meal and yet he chose to pretend that everything was fine as long as they had a guest, even if the opinion of said guest meant nothing, considering the end that was waiting for him.
His Master demonstrated quite a fascinating sense of solidarity with his staff. Sebastian couldn't help but wonder how far it could go.
When Mey-Rin's hand slipped and she began to pour the wine onto the tablecloth, Sebastian thought that he was going to get an answer to his question sooner than he'd expected. He watched, feeling unusually tired, but the sharp inhale from his Master, the way his body froze sent sparks of adrenaline through his veins, breaking him from his immovability.
Of course. The spilled wine. They had gone through the exact replica of this scene recently, during Lyndon's case, and the boy reacted painfully, like he did during his nightmares. Sebastian could only guess what he was seeing — drawing comparison between the wine and the blood? The place where they had met had a ritual table covered with it. Was this what his mind conjured?
How humanly weak. But at the same time, Sebastian couldn't let the scene repeat itself — as a butler, he had to make sure that his Master looked his best.
In a flash, moving so quickly that no human could notice, Sebastian snatched the stained tablecloth from the surface, careful so the glasses and the plates remained untouched. Mr. Damian continued to devour the meal greedily, not even seeing the changes that had occurred, but Young Master relaxed palpably. A moment, and he resumed eating, the stupor dissipating as suddenly as it had appeared.
"He really is talented," Mr. Damian noticed approvingly.
"He only did what was natural as my servant," the boy dismissed. He sounded cordial but Sebastian caught a shadow of tension in his voice. Was he relieved that the disaster had been averted or angry that Sebastian had almost let it happen?
He could always assess his lord's mood by using an expression that tended to both amuse and infuriate him.
"It is as my Master says," Sebastian agreed. "I am merely one hell of a butler."
The boy did react, turning to look at him, but his expression remained unreadable.
Well. Not much of an answer.
The dinner continued, though the darkness surrounding the table began to thicken, and interestingly, it was coming not from Sebastian but from the boy himself.
At some point, when Sebastian was smoothening the napkin, small fingers snaked around his wrist and tapped against it. At first he frowned in confusion, but a second later, he recognised the rhythm of the tapping.
The silent language he and his Master had developed a while ago, after their first case. The language no one in the universe knew but them.
'Have you heard everything?'
Carefully, Sebastian bent down, pretending to adjust the plate, and touched the boy's knee.
'I have, my lord. Everything is already planned.'
'Good.'
Mr. Damian noticed nothing.
The clock continued to tick away the remaining measures of his life.
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Like Sebastian had expected, his Master didn't appreciate the Italian tea. His grim mood continued to grow, and a small, cold smile touched his lips only as he said, "Be diligent until the end, as befits the hospitality of the Phantomhive family."
"Yes, my lord," Sebastian swore. His eyes flared in hungry anticipation but faded back when his Master's face darkened again as he immersed himself into some distant thoughts.
What was wrong with him? Was it connected to his demand to have the portrait of his family taken down? The game was boring when the boy's attention wasn't focused wholly on it.
He had to spice things up.
"Would you like a bet, Young Master?" Sebastian offered, and was satisfied to see a return of light into the blue eye.
"A bet? What kind of it?"
"Whether Mr. Damian is going to survive what will be done to him."
The boy frowned.
"You're going to burn him, aren't you? How could he possibly survive it?"
"Ah, but burning can be done in many different ways." The boy shivered and Sebastian smiled wider. "However," he added, "in our case, he might indeed die. I was thinking about the oven."
"The oven!" his Master's jaw dropped in a quite unappealing way. "What do you think he is, a pie? He's not going to die if you lock him in an oven!"
"I'm saying he will. So, do you accept the bet?"
The boy studied him suspiciously, probably trying to imagine the ways in which Sebastian could be trying to trick him. Silly child, didn't he know that being locked in an oven could be as deadly as being directly set on fire? He clearly had no idea about the temperature there.
"I accept," the boy said finally. "The head of the Phantomhive estate cannot back down from a challenge. However, I have a condition. He has to be alive and capable of leaving the manor by himself after you're done with him."
It was Sebastian's turn to think. Leave it to his Master to complicate the already complicated plans.
Then again, this was what made the game all the more exciting.
"Agreed," he uttered slyly. "If I win and he dies on his way to the nearest carriage, you will help me bury him."
"What?!"
"Of course, you're always free to refuse to participate."
"No," the boy snapped immediately, and Sebastian's lips twitched. "You are on. But no cheating and no twisting my condition. It's an order."
"Yes, my lord."
"And if I win?"
"Naturally, I will bury Mr. Damian myself."
Huffing, his Master rolled his eye.
"That's hardly a prize," he said. "No. If he lives, you won't kill him — let him tell the underworld about what happens to those who cross me. As for you… you will tell me your true name."
Shock seized his stomach, twisting it in a curious, testing way. Sebastian stared, temporarily incapacitated, as his brain scrambled to make sense of this request. How could the child possibly be this audacious? Demons did not give away their true names, not for anything in the world. The power and intimacy it presupposed was startling and no one in their right mind would enter a bargain like this.
His Master caught on his hesitation and his eye flashed in triumph.
"Of course, you're always free to refuse to participate," he mocked, and Sebastian clenched his jaw tightly.
It didn't matter. He wouldn't lose.
"No," he replied, trying to sound calm. Then he mimicked, "You're on."
A slow, cunning smirk was what he got in response.
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With their bet, Sebastian lost half of interest in Mr. Damian's torture. What he was fixated on was his direct demise that had to happen outside of the house.
That didn't mean that he wasn't enjoying the torment itself, though. Creating an illusion and placing his Master's voice over it was amusing, and seeing how their guest's face crumbled in horror and blind panic was almost as delicious as his screams that shook the walls when Sebastian twisted his leg in the opposite direction.
The servants didn't follow Mr. Damian — perhaps even they understood that a game of some kind was ongoing.
The brainless creature had facilitated Sebastian's task significantly by readily falling for a trap and crawling into an oven willingly, even being as courteous as closing the door behind himself.
Well, then, all he had to do now was control the time and the temperature.
Mr. Damian was let out when a bigger part of his body was burned. He limped to the door as quickly as he could, panting and wheezing, his eyes almost white from shock and pain, but as he reached the park, he began to slow down. A few more minutes, and his body would give away entirely; a few more hours, if he was lucky, and he would be dead.
Mr. Damian yelled, desperately and loudly, and his yell was followed by Young Master's satisfied laughter. Sebastian's mouth quirked upwards.
'Give it time, my lord,' he thought wryly. 'It's not long now.'
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Their guest died at half past midnight, between the trees in the park surrounding the Phantomhives' manor. Feeling the delectable satisfaction brewing in his blood, Sebastian entered his Master's bedroom and approached his bed, squeezing his shoulder slightly.
Normally, he wouldn't have interrupted the boy's sleep, but he supposed it could be counted as an extraordinary circumstance.
"My lord," Sebastian called deceptively sweetly. "Wake up."
"Sebastian?" the boy blinked sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong? What time is it?"
"Half past midnight. I'm afraid Mr. Damian has just died outside the manor and now I require your assistance."
His Master stared at him in confusion before the realisation sank in and he started shaking his head in childish denial.
"It can't be," he moaned. "He was alive! I heard him scream!"
"It was then," Sebastian shrugged, trying to keep his expression blank, even though a strange tickling sensation slid under his ribs, pushing laughter up his throat. "Now he's dead. People rarely survive burns of that kind, especially if they are not treated."
"You cooked him in the oven!" his Master nearly shrieked. "How could he get deadly burns from it?"
"My lord, I will gladly demonstrate it on you. If you agree to get into the oven—"
As he thought, his Master's eyes flashed before narrowing to dangerous slits.
"Don't even think about it," he warned. "You have a contract to fulfil."
"So do you. I trust you remember the conditions of our bet?"
Growling, Young Master threw the blanket off and stood up, glaring at him.
"Fine," he snapped. "Dress me and let's go."
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All Sebastian's predictions came to life with absolute accuracy.
His Master didn't react to the sight of the burned body much — his noise twitched, a somewhat haunted look entered his eyes, but it was all gone in an instant.
His Master also hated digging. By the fifth minute, he was breathing heavily, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead, his clothes stained beyond salvation. It was a good thing that Sebastian had picked the least expensive outfit or he would be forced to subject the boy to a visit to a tailor.
In addition, his Master didn't make a sound of protest after they left the manor. He admitted his defeat with dignity and was honestly completing his part of the bargain.
None of his previous Masters would have done the same.
Sebastian watched fondly as the hole in the ground got deeper and as his lord continued to dig even though his hands were already shaking from exertion.
A pathetically weak body but a stunning strength of spirit. A combination as unique as the boy's soul was, so dark and so light simultaneously, compelling in its contradictory nature.
"You said I had to help you bury him, not do everything by myself," the boy finally uttered, rubbing his forehead with his sleeve. "Don't just stand there."
"If you insist," Sebastian agreed and his Master snorted.
"I do not insist. If you didn't want to do any work, you had to mention it in your conditions."
"Fair enough. Although perhaps this experience will show you that burying an adult is a daunting task."
"You're a demon! Don't tell me you have difficulties with digging a grave!"
"I might, at least when you forbid me to use my powers."
Sebastian realised that this sounded like a complaint and an admission of his imperfection too late — the boy was already gaping at him in disbelief.
"You are still strong!" he exclaimed. "Or do you lack the appropriate human skills? I can always organise a practice session with the Undertaker for you."
Sebastian blinked, surprised at the suggestion, before laughing quietly.
"Thank you but I believe I will manage myself," he said.
For a while, they were silent, digging together. When the grave got deep enough, Sebastian asked, "Would you prefer to carry him by the legs or by the hands?"
His Master's face scrunched up in disgust but once again, he did not complain.
"By the legs," he replied belatedly and approached the body, looking at its ruined shoes.
"You wish to avoid seeing his face up close?" Sebastian wondered, squeezing the burnt hands and waiting for the boy to grab the legs.
"I don't particularly care," his Master said, wrinkling his nose but taking the body by the ankles obediently. "I don't like the eyes of the dead, though."
This admission was surprisingly open for someone as reserved as Ciel Phantomhive, so Sebastian had to lower his head to hide his bemused expression.
Then again, the boy was always far more honest at nights.
Maybe he could use it to his advantage.
When Mr. Damian disappeared under the pile of dirt, his Young Master sighed tiredly but his eyes looked oddly satisfied.
"I want to mark this grave," he muttered. "Bring me a stone. The bigger, the better."
Sebastian nodded and went in search of a suitable rock. When he brought one back and planted it in the middle, his Master touched its surface lovingly, a grim smirk still reflected on his lips.
"Maybe we should create an engraving later," he added. "Something inconspicuous."
"You are positively bloodthirsty today," Sebastian drawled, responding with an equally sinister smile. "Fine. But that would be tomorrow. Right now, it is time for you to take a bath and go to sleep."
"I was sleeping," the boy pointed out. "You woke me up."
"I won't wake you up again this night. That I can promise as your devoted butler."
The boy snorted rudely but didn't say anything. By the time they returned to the manor, his eyelids were already drooping, so Sebastian had to hold him during the bath so he wouldn't fall down and embarrass himself.
When his Master finally got into bed, he fell asleep immediately. Sebastian covered him with a blanket, adjusted his pillow… and froze.
Someone was observing him. Someone who had no business being here — the same stalker he had already sensed several times. He'd done nothing before, but the intruder had crossed all boundaries by entering Sebastian's direct territory.
It was time for a friendly talk.
Sebastian left the room unhurriedly, as if he hadn't noticed anything, but as soon as the door closed, he dashed outside, towards one of trees.
His source of annoyance was indeed standing there, on one of the branches, studying the darkened windows of the house. Sebastian crashed into him viciously, knocking him on the ground, then throwing him against another tree. His guest fell and hissed angrily, his golden eyes flashing red.
"Leraje," Sebastian greeted coldly, watching how the demon got to his feet, flinging dirt off his green jacket. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
"You noticed me, then?" Leraje's lips twisted in an ugly, condescending grin. "Finally. I was beginning to wonder if your intuition is gone… Sebastian Michaelis. Picking this name for yourself — do you think this is funny?"
"My Master picked my first name. I only came up with the last one."
"You always turn everything into a joke," Leraje spat, narrowing his eyes in clear distaste. "You sicken me. Someone like you doesn't deserve your position."
Sebastian laughed lowly.
"Were you stalking me to tell me that?" he asked dryly. "You could have come up with a new wording, at least."
"I didn't come for that."
"Then why? What do you want?"
Leraje said nothing and Sebastian's eyebrows rose.
"I can sense that you currently have a Master," he noted. "And yet you dedicate your time to watching me. There is also something strange about your contract — it is only half formed."
"My Master doesn't have a wish yet," Leraje replied, looking at him with intensity that Sebastian found atypical.
"You entered a contract with someone who doesn't have a wish?" he sneered. "Such soul cannot be of a high quality."
"You are concerned with quality now? Although seeing how many efforts you're investing into your current contract, I'm not surprised. I've watched you for a while now. Enough to say that you're being unnatural."
Sebastian had never particularly minded Leraje's amusing attempts to insult him, but this made him stiffen. Undoubtedly sensing it, Leraje's lips split in a contemptuous smirk.
"You are turning into a lapdog," he said. "You are embarrassing yourself and us, by association."
"You will never be in a position to tell me how to behave myself," Sebastian noted mildly, though the darkness in him swirled, itching to attack Leraje and to finally silence him after all the centuries of petty arguments and jealous attacks.
Leraje had quite a respectable position himself but his envy towards those of higher ranks had never let him enjoy his existence. He spent all his time either in search of ancient artefacts or by bothering others, always striving to reaffirm his status. He and Sebastian clashed more times than Sebastian could count and usually, he regarded these encounters as entertaining. He had complex relationships with the majority of demons; few were on friendly terms with him but he always commanded respect. No one but Leraje was bold enough to bother him so steadily, and Leraje himself was hardly a serious opponent.
Now, though, Sebastian wasn't sure what to think. Leraje was looking at him like he knew something he didn't, and the sneer on his face appeared far more malicious and intense than usually.
"We'll see," Leraje said finally.
"What do you want?" Sebastian repeated, annoyed now. "Shouldn't you help you Master figure out their wish? Why are you wasting time on stalking me?"
"Oh, my Master is going to find his wish soon, have no doubts about that," Leraje promised darkly. "As for why I am here… it's none of your business."
"It is my business when you step into my territory. This area belongs to my Master. I am tasked with removing the intruders and right now, you are one of them."
"I have no interest in your Master."
"That would be a first," Sebastian drawled mockingly. "You always wish for things that don't belong to you."
"And you are always breaking the rules. I have seen you with your Master and I have seen your Master. He keeps your feather. You keep his tooth. Revolting, the both of you."
A sense of unease settled, spreading an uncharacteristic anxiety through Sebastian's body and making the lines of his darkness combine, forming into his true shape.
A feather? Leraje had to have been watching them for longer than Sebastian had thought. How could he have not noticed?
"Well," he said, trying to sound calm, even though hostility inside him flared with new force, "we all have our peculiarities when we're contracted. You collect trophies as well, don't you?"
"I do," Leraje agreed, "but I suspect that our reasoning differs. Regardless, I don't intend to discuss it with you. I've seen and heard everything I needed. Be assured, I won't enter your territory again. Not in the nearest future, anyway."
Sebastian bared his teeth, but before he could do anything, Leraje soared high into the air with a derisive laugh, blending with the darkness.
Well. That was… unsettling.
Sebastian shook off the traces of his true form, waited until the sensation of foreign presence disappeared entirely, and returned to the house.
Leraje had never been a worthy opponent. Sebastian sincerely doubted it was about to change.
And yet, a dark foreboding had already taken roots, and no matter how hard Sebastian tried, he couldn't dislodge them.
A/N:
Crockett Rocket, thank you, I'm so happy you enjoyed Sebastian's chapter! It was challenging but I loved writing it. I think Sebastian can be objective with his self-assessment, but he will never admit his imperfection to anyone else :D Well… unless by accident!
22rubens, thank you, I'm thrilled you've enjoyed the update! I could write quickly because I basically had a work-free month… it's coming to an end now, though :( At least for a while. I'm glad you liked Sebastian's POV — he's an asshole but he does have his moments. I think he has a sort of OCD when it comes to being perfect, and since Ciel can see it and is incredibly demanding, poor Sebastian is destined to hard harder and harder :D
pbs, thank you so much, that's a really high praise! It's more difficult to put notes on this site but yes, I've been planning to have some chapters from Sebastian's POV from the start. They will be rare — basically, created only when we cross some threshold. For example, now we've covered all pre-canon stuff and entered the territory of S1. This part was the last, so we'll be back to Ciel until at least Book of Circus. However, I'm relieved and happy that you liked it! Hope you enjoyed this second part as well!
James Birdsong, thanks so much! It's great to see you back!)
Guest, oh, thank you so very much, I'm both excited and relieved that you enjoyed Sebastian's POV! He's a challenging character to write because his mystery is a part of his appeal, so I'm happy that you've enjoyed this glimpse into his thoughts. Hope you've liked this second half as well!
Kannl, thank you! All reviews are precious to me and I'm so delighted that you've enjoyed Sebastian's POV. Writing his thoughts was surprisingly easy but still challenging because I wasn't sure how it'd be received. So I was really glad to hear your words!:)
Guest, thanks! This is really the best praise, I'm so happy Sebastian seemed realistic!