Author's Note: Long time no see. It's, uh… it's been a long year. I have to apologize to you guys for all the times I was like "dudes I'm gonna update more often I promise, lol I'm garbage haha" and then immediately didn't update.
With that said, dudes I'm gonna update more often I promise, lol I'm garbage haha. Also my writing style has changed since I first adopted this story (yeah no shit it's been like three years) but I'm gonna do my best to maintain my original style.
Happy New Year! Here's to a year with hopefully more than two updates~!
Chapter Ten: Meet the Fam
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The manor is blissfully quiet, for once, and Ciel is all the happier for it. Ever since he'd given Sebastian the OK to acquire more servants, the house has been uncomfortably loud, what with everything being either set on fire or broken into pieces.
Chef Bardroy—like he can be called such a thing when he can scarcely bake a cake—is in the dining room, sitting on his hands and facing the corner. Sebastian has kicked him out of the kitchen and made him sit in 'time-out', something Ciel himself has experienced a number of times for getting too angry during his Latin studies.
Bard should consider himself lucky that Sebastian didn't bother to hit him. Ciel's hands still bear red marks where the damned dog had taken his pointer and slapped him across the palms. Or write lines! God, the sheer number of times Ciel's been required to write "I will not steal sweets from the cupboard before dinner" or, "I will not throw my books across the room" to please his butler is mind-boggling.
Either way, the 'chef' is still sulking in the corner, Mey-Rin seems to be managing through her horrible near-sightedness without shattering any of his good china, and Finny has not once underestimated his own strength.
Life is good.
But of course everything always inevitably goes to shit anyway, because he is Ciel Phantomhive and Ciel Phantomhive is not allowed to catch a break.
"AAAHHH! Oh dear, oh dear! Look out, look out, lookout, LOOKOUT LOOKOUT—"
But it's too late.
A teacart has already hurtled into the parlor with the bumbling idiot that is Madame Red's butler hitching an unintentional ride on the back of it, screaming his head off along the way.
Ciel pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to breathe. Inhale, exhale, release all the murderous intentions from your body.
God. Fucking. Damn it.
Every. Single. Time.
"OOH OOH, HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT!"
"I am so sorry, Finnian, I'm just so clumsy, here, let me help you." Grelle pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket and attempts to dab away the tea from Finny's shirt.
"No, I'm fine, really," Finny insists, backing away from Grelle and straight into the china cabinet, incidentally causing every single dish the Phantomhive family has ever owned to come crashing to the floor, where they all shatter irreparably.
Honestly, with the way things are going, Ciel won't be surprised if the servants manage to burn the house down again from sheer thoughtlessness.
As if on cue, Bard bursts in, flamethrower in hand.
"Mister Sebastian said I'm free from time-out!" He cheers, and flares the flamethrower for effect.
It's the last straw.
"I hate you all," Ciel announces imperiously, and sends Sebastian to fetch his coat and hat. He needs to clear his head. Take a walk.
Maybe take a drink, too, if he happens upon someplace with good brandy.
"Young master, don't stray too far. Remember we have a pickup scheduled at that shop."
Damn, damn, damn!
Fine. He doesn't need liquor anyway. True noblemen are able to clear their heads without the use of alcohol.
He sits in the garden and buries his head in his hands, wondering when his life became this hectic mess.
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Back inside the manor, the servants console a blubbering Grelle, who's taken it upon himself to aim a dagger at his own heart, posing with it dramatically.
"I'm so sorry, I don't know how to make it up to you! I-I can't do anything right! The only thing I know how to do is die!" He wails, and makes to plunge the knife into his chest.
"He hasn't managed to die right, yet, either," Bard stage-whispers to Finny, who gives him a good-natured punch on the arm that bruises almost instantaneously. Kid doesn't know his own strength.
Sebastian stops Grelle in the nick of time, holding the inferior butler by the shoulder.
"There's no need for that. Think of the mess you'd make. It would take hours to scour the blood from between the floorboards, and then I'd have to get the floor wax and clean the whole parlor, and the smell…" He looks thoughtful, contemplating all the various cleaning methods and getting lost in his fantasy of wiping Grelle's blood from the floor.
Grelle is, of course, taken with the expression immediately. He looks deep into wine-red eyes and falls a little more in love with him.
He stands there a while longer after Sebastian leaves, star-struck. "You're so kind, Sebastian!" Grelle murmurs to himself in an awed whisper.
He wipes the tears from his cheeks and moves into the kitchen, where Sebastian has begun leading the servants in how to prepare a proper pot of tea.
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Dean buries his face in his hands, massaging his temples with a groan.
"So who are all these new people? Geez, dude, if I had known that your life was this confusing, I wouldn't have asked to see it."
Ignoring the insult, Sebastian begins his explanation. "Those were our servants. Loyal to their deaths, they were." He's quiet for a beat before continuing. "The maid was named Mey-Rin. She was dreadfully clumsy, and she was quite…" Sebastian coughs awkwardly. "Taken with me. The chef was Bardroy, who was impatient and liked fire. The gardener was Finnian, who didn't know his own strength, and Tanaka was the young lord's steward before me."
"And who was the guy with glasses? He looked taken with you, too," Sam asks through a poorly concealed smirk.
Sebastian rolls his eyes. "That is Grelle. He's a bit of a pain. At that time, he was still Madame Red's servant, and she had entrusted him to us to teach him how to be better at his job."
No one misses that he used the present tense when speaking about Grelle. What exactly that implies, though, none of them are quite sure.
"Sounds like you had your hands full," Bobby comments after the silence has drawn on long enough to be considered awkward.
Sebastian just nods and turns back to the memories.
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"Young master, the carriage is ready for our departure, if you'd like to leave."
Ciel makes a valiant effort to steady his breathing before nodding and taking Sebastian's proffered hand, letting him be pulled up from the bench.
"It would be best for me to not be in the house, right now," Ciel agrees.
He lets himself be led to the carriage and helped up into it, glad for the quiet.
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"Just how old are you?" Sam asks as the horse-drawn carriage pulls away from the manor. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were older than Bobby."
Dean grins at his brother. "And everyone knows Bobby's older'n dirt."
"Ha-ha," Bobby drawls, folding his arms over his chest. "Let's make fun of Uncle Bobby, the guy who made sure our ungrateful little asses were clothed and fed since we were kids, who taught us our first exorcisms, who taught us how to fix cars and speak Latin and—"
"Damn, Bobby, can't a guy make a joke?"
"If you're quite done," Sebastian interjects. "There is still a considerable quantity of memory to go through, and the process will not be made faster by your incessant bickering."
"The process will not be made faster by your incessant blah-de-blah," Dean mocks in an exaggerated English accent.
Very mature.
"I have been through this experience several times before," Castiel admits, like he's divulging a great secret. "And never has it gone this way."
"You've done this before?"
Castiel nods gravely.
"Centuries ago, when Father wasn't being... oh, what was that phrase you used, Sam?"
"'Deadbeat dad', Cas."
"Right. When God wasn't being a deadbeat dad, and We were still under his control, there was a council of sorts; in those days, newborn demons got their memories searched by angels before entering Hell. It was really a very interesting process. I can go into further detail if you'd like, it's awfully intriguing, maybe a bit complex-"
Whatever Cas was originally going to say gets drowned out by the rumbling noise as the group is levitated several inches in the air, their feet moved forward by an invisible force.
As though being lifted by an elevator, they float along, following the path of the carriage as it goes to Ciel and Sebastian's unknown destination.
And Dean is freaked the fuck out. He hates flying, more than super demons and their bratty pets.
He definitely doesn't put his hand on Cas' shoulder for stability (and, in theory, if he hypothetically touched his angel friend's hypothetical arm, it would be, on paper if not in practice, very hypothetically macho and undoubtedly very heterosexual) and he definitely does not make a tiny high-pitched noise of terror.
What? No. He would never.
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"Hello, boy," The store clerk says amiably, eyeing the obvious expense of Ciel's clothing. "Did your father send you in for something?"
It could be worse, Ciel tries to tell himself. If he looked poor, it could be so much worse. Beggars get chased out of shops like this with sticks. Poor boys get beaten.
"Actually, my lord is here on his own business," Sebastian says as he steps in, holding a slip of paper between two fingers. "We placed an order some days ago, I believe. We've come to retrieve it, if you don't mind."
The flustered realization on the shopkeeper's face manages to quell some of Ciel's anger.
"Oh, you're here for that walking stick. I must confess, I'd been wondering who would have use for such a short cane."
No, it's back. The frustration is back.
A brief, nearly violent conversation later, and they're back on the way to the manor.
"That strength of Finny's is a menace," Ciel complains, fighting to be heard over the noise of the streets as they walk to their carriage. "How does one accidentally break a walking stick? It's such a pain to order a new one."
"Certainly. What a pity to go to all that trouble, too. You haven't had a growth spurt in years."
"Spite is ugly, Sebastian."
"Of course, my lord. Though I must remind you that anger is equally unattractive."
"Sebastian."
"Yes, young master?"
"Be quiet."
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"Oh. My. God," Sam wheezes, clutching at his chest.
"Who killed a unicorn in here?" Dean howls.
Sebastian clutches his master's unconscious hand in sympathy.
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Stuffed animals, streamers, cut-out paper hearts, ribbons, and all manner of cute things, all done up in a ghastly shade of pastel glitter pink, all over his beautiful mansion.
"What is this?"
Baby blue.
"Please, tell me it's not..."
Lavender.
"Tell me it isn't..."
Soft white rabbit ears on Finny's head and matching paw-shaped mittens, and forget that he broke Ciel's cane, Finny is innocent, God, he's innocent. A horrifying casualty of…
Of...
"CIEL!"
"Elizabeth. It's so good to see you."
Even though it isn't. He's being suffocated in bone-crushing hug, and he's basically choking on his fiance's hair.
"I told you, call me Lizzie. Oh, every time I see you, you just get cuter!"
"Lady Elizabeth," Sebastian greets, dragging Grelle behind him by what appears to be a large ribbon tied around his neck like a noose.
"Aw," Lizzie pouts. "But he made such a cute decoration for the salon."
"Right. A decoration."
"I was on the verge of death," Grelle chokes weakly from the floor. Everyone ignores him.
"Lizzie," Ciel begins, trying in vain to redirect Elizabeth's attention to more important matters.
"What are you doing here? Where's Auntie?"
Elizabeth clasps their hands together.
"I couldn't help myself! I snuck out to see you! Oh, isn't it exciting! It-It's like a romance, isn't it? Just like a play!"
"You know Auntie already disapproves of our marriage. Why on earth would you give her more reasons?"
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Dean whistles. "That's kinda messed up, isn't it? They're just kids, right? And are they cousins?"
"It wasn't uncommon during that time for children to get engaged and then marry when they come of age," Sam says. Dean fakes a yawn.
"Lady Elizabeth was the daughter of Francis, my lord's paternal aunt. So they were cousins. Though," Sebastian grimaces. "It was sometimes hard to believe that they were related at all."
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"Say! I've got a fabulous idea! Since the mansion looks so splendid and all," Elizabeth bites her lip and gives a girlish little squeal. "We should have a ball!"
"A ball? Elizabeth, I'm not so sure-"
"You'll wear the clothes I picked out for you, won't you, Ciel? Oh, and I'll go shopping with Paula for a new gown."
She closes her eyes and sways to imaginary music.
"Dance with me, Ciel, won't you?"
They spin clumsily for a moment before Ciel stumbles to a stop.
"Lizzie, I'm not sure that a ball right now would be the most practical of ideas, I have important business to attend to- associates to meet with, you know how it is."
"But Ciel, you never let yourself have fun anymore! I'll tell you what," Elizabeth coos, tugging Ciel into yet another painfully tight hug. "I'll go shopping, and by the time I come back, you'll be all warmed up to the idea of a ball. All right?"
Ciel sighs.
"If it makes you happy."
A delighted twirl later and Lizzie is nearly skipping away.
"Come, Paula, we've a dress to buy!"
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"The wisest option, I believe, would be to indulge her and then ask her to leave, my lord."
Ciel scowls at the mere idea of hosting a party, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms like an indignant child.
"I've neither the time nor resources to indulge her, Sebastian. I'm a busy man, you know."
"All she wants is a dance, young master. You can dance, can't you?"
Ciel looks pointedly at the papers littering his desk and not at his butler.
"My, my," Sebastian purrs. "This does explain why you play the wallflower act at parties. That won't do at all. It is called 'social dancing' for a reason, sir. A gentleman of your status is expected to dance, make light conversation with his partner, even. If you continue to reject such invitations, your reputation will plummet."
"And my reputation is your responsibility, is that it?"
"As your butler I'm required to educate you on such things, yes."
"What of a tutor?"
Sebastian draws his pocketwatch from the folds of his jacket and clicks it open. "There's no time, I'm afraid. With your approval, I will instruct you."
Ciel very nearly chokes.
"A-And what, pray tell, do devils know of dancing?"
"There's no time to waste, my lord. I would rather teach you what I know than leave you defenseless."
"Defenseless?" Ciel laughs. "You make it sound like a brawl!"
"Social interaction of this high status is war, my lord. Come now, put your hand on my shoulder."
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This scene would be funny, Bobby thinks, if it wasn't so damn creepy.
Sebastian is way too tall for Ciel to reach properly, so Sebastian's having to guide the boy to him and hold him in the proper place as they dance.
The pair of them are just so touchy.
Even now, Ciel's lying down, asleep, for all intents and purposes, and Sebastian's got his head in his lap and is alternating between holding his hands and playing with his hair and checking his forehead for signs of fever.
It's...
It's a lot to take in.
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"Your instinct for dance, my lord, is not so much lacking as it is completely absent."
"Well, if you weren't so bloody tall, then maybe I could be better!" Ciel snaps.
"More importantly," Sebastian says, tugging at Ciel's cheeks. "You would do best to get rid of that glum expression. It's rude to the lady."
Ciel tries to adjust his expression to something more pleasant, but only manages to look as if he's in pain.
"Honestly, young master, you're not even trying-"
And then Ciel strikes him across the face.
Sebastian doesn't react, but a red mark blooms on his cheekbone. He looks down at Ciel in mild surprise.
"Well now, we are tempermental today, aren't we?"
Ciel regrets his actions almost immediately. He shouldn't be angry with Sebastian. It's not his fault he's fucking tall and it's not his fault the walking stick salesman called him short and it's not his fault Finny shattered all of his mother's china this morning.
But that doesn't change the fact that he is angry.
"I can't bring myself to even tolerate you at the moment."
He storms out of the room because, Earl of Phantomhive or not, he is thirteen years old and he is allowed to storm out of rooms, sometimes.
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I had to cut this chapter short because I'm in a rush to get this posted before January 2nd and it looks like I'm going to be late anyway. Whoops.
Reviews are excellent, if you'd like to leave one. Thank you to Resistant Raisin for letting me adopt her story and letting me ruin it with angst and gay.
