Sebastian sharply recollected what the orphanage had first looked like as they crept almost-silently into the din of the factory. The windows were high and far between, dust and fabric particles floating through the air, only there was movement everywhere.
This first floor seemed to be the textile looms, huge, upright wooden frames with clacks as the weavers threw the shuttles back and forth tirelessly, rainbow after rainbow of color piling up as they waited to be carted somewhere else.
He watched Ciel watch with abject curiosity and horror, the faces of the young women no older than him weaving tirelessly. Some of them were missing fingers. Some were even missing their entire hands.
Ciel's footsteps were careful and cautious, and alongside his father's, deliberate, like he was trying to sound louder than he was, made a quiet shadow of father and child, chasing one another through the sounds of the weavers.
Sebastian noticed the way some of the workers halted, looking at the two, the Phantomhives, first, the dark man who followed only an afterthought. Humans were so dense, Sebastian marveled, none of them sensing a traitor in their midst, something less than human that walked upon two legs. No, there was no interest in the demon that hunted amongst them, only the man with the eyepatch, the tall, thin man who was much sallower now than the portrait of him that Sebastian knew hung somewhere in the building, and after him the smaller, calmer figure in his shadow, eerily beautiful in how pale, how washed-out, his skin was where it rested against hair far too silver for someone far too young. A man at the end of the room, which was less a room than the entire first floor of the building, stood and ascended the stairs behind him, which Sebastian saw once had a railing, but had since rotted away, presumably to alert the factory's manager of its owner's presence.
There was a second stairwell, much larger, set directly into the center of the building, which Vincent ascended now, smooth steps and long strides, his son and butler following dutifully behind.
Sebastian had to force himself to walk steadily, slower than Vincent as he ascended the stairs, not desiring to arouse any suspicion. He had begun to notice how quickly the workers' eyes had fallen from Vincent's face, as if fearing him, and knew nothing good could come of this.
They came out onto the sewing floor, where the horrible grinding sound of tireless machines was magnified tenfold from below, and Ciel cringed noticeably, following close behind his father as Vincent moved purposefully through the machines, not pausing to admire any of the work around him.
The foreman's office was set against the far wall, another stairwell right next to it, where another suited man was descending slowly, moving to open the door for the approaching men.
Sebastian watched him distrustfully. Vincent had said he hadn't warned the factory of his visit; why did these people seem so unphased by his appearance?
"Earl Phantomhive! So glad to have you visit!"
No sooner had the door closed behind them than a man was rushing forward for his hand, shaking his entire arm emphatically. The foreman smiled eagerly, though Vincent had pulled his hand free from his grip, flexing it haughtily.
"Turner, so...glad to see that operations are running smoothly."
The foreman gave another wide, sleazy smile, though it was now directed at Ciel."
"How you've grown since the last time I saw you, young man!" He chortled, though Ciel's mouth tightened to a thin line, and Sebastian saw him glance towards his butler nervously.
"I don't recall ever introducing you." Vincent said slowly, though the foreman was waving his hand carelessly.
"Photographs, my dear man, you're all over the papers! Anyhow, not important. To what do we owe the rare pleasure of an audience with you?"
Sebastian observed the room silently, watching the way the two men standing behind the foreman looked everywhere but at the intruders.
"It's almost time for the monthly papers, and I decided to come collect them in person."
Much to Sebastian's unease, the foreman laughed heartily, dropping into his seat behind the desk. He lifted a folder from the desk, holding it out.
"Of course, of course, why waste time on formality? I know you're just here for business. You always were such a businessman." The foreman settled his chin over his hand, though he was looking past Vincent, eyes on Ciel, who wavered as he stood, as if still partially asleep.
As Sebastian watched, the foreman caught Ciel's eye, and smiled darkly, quickly. He dropped the file onto his desk and leaned back.
He began talking idly as Vincent opened the folder, leafing through the pages.
Sebastian could tell that Vincent didn't know what he was looking for; he watched the pages as if they would simply tell him where the numbers didn't match, if they matched at all.
"Though, now that you're here, I would certainly love to show you just what kind of work we've done thus far, and I ought to ask, have you seen the new rabbit toy model? I know the schematics were sent over from India, so I can't be certain you've seen the finished product yet…"
"No, I haven't seen them, I had intended to have several hundred produced before releasing them, anyway, so it hardly seemed to matter once the shareholders approved the design."
"Oh, really, now, you must see them! We-"
"-Now hold on, just a moment, please."
The room silenced as Ciel's voice rose for the first time.
He had stepped in front of his father and was holding two sheets of paper, looking between them skeptically.
Vincent had stepped slightly back, surprised, as Ciel laid down one of the pages on the foreman's desk, who had leaned back in his chair carelessly. "These don't make sense."
"What do you mean, my dear boy?" The foreman asked condescendingly. "Getting to exercise your maths teaching?"
"You have a fabric budget of fifty pounds monthly, with the remainder intended to be rolled into the next month's advertising. Here, however, you've used thirty-five pounds of that budget for seven bolts of fleece. But those bolts were on the first floor; their prices are on their ends, they're only three and a half pounds each. Where is the remaining ten and a half pounds?"
"Ciel, now-"
"-Furthermore, you already have twenty pounds a month for transport, but none of that has been factored into your final report. There's more, of course, I'm sure I could find more if I had more time, but I'd rather like to point that out for a start."
"Ciel, that's enough. Give me those papers, now."
"Father, please don't tell me you intend to allow this." Ciel returned the pages to Vincent, though he did not back down, ignoring the dangerous look on Vincent's face.
"Ciel, these are matters beyond you. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course I know what I'm talking about, Father! I might say better than you do. Please don't tell me you honestly thought you did all that math written out on your own without remembering it!" Ciel finally burst out, though his voice, exasperated as it was, remained at a calm and moderated volume.
Vincent stood, shocked, as it seemed that he finally recognized what Ciel was meaning to say, and wordlessly, he lifted his hand and passed it across his only son's face.
He slapped Ciel with the full force of his body, and Ciel, who had not been prepared, and who was already a feebly built young man anyway, was knocked to the ground with the force of the blow.
Sebastian's body went rigid; he could not catch the boy as he crumpled, only force himself to watch and be horrified at himself as he realized that he cared more about Ciel's wellbeing than his future meal.
The only thing breaking the silence that followed the echo of the slap was Vincent's breath, labored and self-righteous.
Ciel did not move from where he had fallen, hands shaking as he looked up at his father.
His left cheek was quickly swelling, pale skin turning red, and though he did not cry, the look of utter disbelief in his eyes made the other men in the room turn away.
"All I ever wanted was a son to carry the family legacy. Why did I receive a disappointment instead?" Vincent snarled.
Ciel stood before he responded.
"You received both. You simply decided to assign those roles to us after one could no longer prove you wrong." He responded, before turning proudly and leaving the room.
Vincent stood in shock, watching the door swing shut.
He swallowed heavily, wrung his hands, and took a deep breath.
"Sebastian, get Ciel back to the manor. I'll deal with him later." He waved a hand, as if to seem careless, shaking though his voice was.
"Of course, my lord." Sebastian managed after a moment, and forced himself to turn away, wonder where Ciel could have managed to hide in a factory full of people.
As soon as he left the office, Sebastian noticed something terribly wrong.
The overwhelming din of the machines was silent. As he looked over the balcony, he saw that the floor below was empty, fabric draped over chairs where it was abandoned mid-project.
He felt his skin crawl. Ciel knew how to hide when he wanted to, making it difficult for even Sebastian to find him, and as Sebastian entered the factory floor, seeing even a pair of shoes that had been abandoned under their desk, turned quickly towards the stairs leading to the third floor, finding a hallway of doors, all closed.
"Ciel, it's not safe here." He called carelessly, wondering again how it was possible for his heart to pound when he wasn't supposed to have one at all.
In a storage room, through a maze of shelves filled with bolts of fabric, Ciel's small figure curled over itself in the sill of a small window, the only light source of the room. The smell of must and cotton hung heavy over the room, and when he heard the door swing open, saw the outline of a tall, lean man, knew he couldn't escape without explanation.
"Did anyone ever tell you," Ciel began, looking out listlessly, "that I had a brother?"
Sebastian did not move or speak. Ciel sighed, blinking slowly.
"A twin." He continued. "He was born first, supposed to be older. He was named Ciel; I was named Robin. The sky, and the bird who chases it."
The Ciel in the windowsill tucked his knees closer. "But neither of us was breathing, when we were born. There was only one midwife; she was so focused on getting me out that she couldn't properly get him breathing. So he died, so I could live."
Still, Sebastian did not move.
"So they gave him my name, because I had become the eldest son—the only one, now—and they buried him two plots away from where my mother is now. The space between is for my wife and I."
Ciel closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to his knees, red and stinging.
"So the manor's not an exact replica of the old one. The room next door to mine, it mirrors mine. My mother never recovered, that room was always a baby boy's bedroom. Now it's a tearoom nobody uses."
Finally sick of the silence, Ciel looked over.
It was not Sebastian who stood in the doorway.