Disclaimer: Nope. Ownership belongs to Toboso-sensei, the anime creators, and Shakespeare. Oh yeah~

Author's Note: Wow. I haven't felt like writing fanfiction in ages. Funny what a little ego boost can do. XD

Warnings: Oh, you know me. WTF-ness up the whazoo. Probably not my best work, either, since I'm a bit rusty, at this point. And it's my first time writing for Alois and Claude, so that doesn't help. In terms of spoilers, this references the end of the first season, and the first two episodes of the second. Sorta.

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"To be or not to be: that is the question

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep—

No more— and by a sleep to say we end

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to! 'Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep—

To sleep—perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause."

~ Hamlet, Act III, Scene i

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There is a box in the cellar.

Alois likes to play with the box— prance and dance and hum perky tunes as he spins in concentric circles, performing a one-child version of ring-around-the-rosy. The box makes for a very forgiving playmate, never caring that the boy may bump or brush or beat against it. That he may someday try to break it.

Someday.

But the box will never see that coming. Oh no. Alois makes certain that his every gesture is a surprise—no one will be able to guess if he'll strike. When he'll strike. The box will be like children playing London Bridge, always wondering when the suspensions will snap. Who will be flattened by ironwork today? Who will be crushed and drowned?

As the blonde considers this, he skips. As he skips, he giggles; as he giggles, he smiles; and as he smiles, the madness spreads.

"Ashes, ashes!" the Trancy heir squeals, kicking his little booted feet into the air. His empty fists swing as if clasped around a friend's. And—because this part of the poem is his favorite—he sings it again: "Ashes, ashes!"

The basement is full of ashes.

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"You promised to stay by my side."

"Indeed I did."

"You lied."

"I do not lie, young master."

X

"The basement is not full of ashes," Claude coolly corrects, standing somberly in the cobwebbed corner. Around his shaded head, woven buds of translucent thread have blossomed into white-silk roses. The spider-spun garden glimmers an endearing shade of pink in the wavering light of the candelabras. "What you are looking at, sir, is tea."

Mood swings are typical, Claude knows, in humans his charge's age. And so the demon is entirely unfazed when the chipper blonde's smirk suddenly melts into a scowl. Melts, even as his ocean eyes freeze over— becoming as biting and cold as miniature glaciers. "I don't want to drink tea," Alois proclaims with a snarl, clenching his sharp, pearly teeth. "I want to drink ashes. Phantomhive ashes."

He kicks his precious box—its hollow insides echo. And Alois briefly wonders (were he silly enough to kick himself) if his innards would resonate with the same sonorous emptiness.

The musing makes him laugh.

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"Then why did you leave me?"

"My master is the proud and haughty Ciel Phantomhive—an earl who fears nothing and no one. Who does not hesitate. Who shows no mercy. When one's master disappears, is it not natural that his butler should follow?"

"…I'd rather you lie than make excuses."

"My lord?"

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"Ashes, ashes!" the small nobleman croons again, returning to his exuberant twirls. "Ashes, ashes! Ashes, ashes! We all fall down!"

At the last possible instant, the little one grabs his butler's gloved hands; insubstantial though the boy's thrown weight may be, Claude allows himself to be yanked atop the large box, serving as its lid. Alois, in turn, makes himself comfortable within the coffin's plush insides.

Inevitably, the shadow that the demon casts falls upon the preteen's china face. His expression contorts. "We all fall down," Alois repeats impassively, lip curling backwards as his pale eyes narrow. "Like London Bridge. Then we all turn to ash. And when I lay me down to sleep, my soul is in the devils' keep… heehee."

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"No matter how I act, Sebastian, I will always be Ciel Phantomhive. That is something that nobody—nothing— can change."

"…as you say."

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"I'm not sleeping now, though!" Alois cheers, giggling frantically as he starts to squirm, rocking back and forth and bashing his fragile arms and legs again the sides of his casket. Nails screech; hinges whine. But though the heavy planks of cherry wood groan and shiver, Claude hardly moves at all. Instead, he watches somberly as the boy beneath him writhes in blissful agony, clutching his stomach as if wounded or cramping or laughing too hard. "I'm awake! And I'm going to stay awake, this time. No more sleeping… no more."

His porcelain brow furrows, infantine fury creeping over his pretty features. "He had his turn," the gentleman pouts.

"He did," Claude agrees. He pursues his thin lips, and—through the clinging gloom— his golden eyes flash. Glint. Like a spider's, jewel-bright and omniscient, cutting straight into his tamer's brain. "I will see to it that the item is retrieved."

A shard of Hope indeed. "That bauble is mine," Alois grumbles, tone brusque with conviction. But soon his snooty glare is drifting, back and forth and back and forth, just like the coffin when he thrashed about— wriggling as if caught in a web. "The chess pieces are mine. This life is mine—not his! I don't want to give it back…!"

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"You left me."

"I apologize."

"You broke our contract. My lost ring is proof of that."

"Our covenant remains. I bent the rules, perhaps. But I broke nothing."

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"You will not have to 'give back' anything, sir. I will see to that."

The Trancy heir chuckles once more, head jerking left and right and up and down within the confines of his padded box. His fists are flexing, and his stare is darting, and he seizes with snickers as he slams his skull against the velvet headrest. The pain helps hone his concentration, just as it does his servants'.

"Then get me back my dreams, Claude," Alois sweetly demands, manicured nails jabbing at his own face. Poke poke. Prod prod. Pain to sharpen the senses. "He's stealing them. He's taking my dreams. I'm not myself at night. Or am I not myself during the day?" The child cocks his head, torn between panic and puzzlement. In the end, he abandons both worthless emotions and instead embraces humor. "Haha, how funny! It's like a game! Who am I now, Claude? Who am I now?"

The obsequious butler arches an eyebrow. "You are Alois Trancy." There is no question in the retort.

Even still, his master's response is a coy leer. "Am I?" the blonde purrs. "Am I really…?"

Tiny toy fingers drift across a vested chest, teasing the buttons and tugging on watch chains.

"Why do we pray for our souls before bed, Claude?" the little one then inquires, his lilting voice roughened by a throaty, sultry husk. "After all, it's when we're awake that we give them away…!"

The boy screeches in a bout of wild hysterics, beaming maniacally as his spidery hands skitter-scatter upward, coiling around his servant's composed face and poke-poking, prod-prodding. His assault gains a rhythm, and Alois chants in time: "Away, awake! Away, awake! If I should fall down, we'll both become ash!"

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"You owe me a debt that is impossible to repay."

"Young master, I excel at the impossible."

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But all things are fleeting—love, life, happiness. The child personifies this.

"…you're playing with me," he accuses, frowning as he releases Claude's abused cheeks.

The butler does not so much as take the time to fix his glasses. "That is not my place."

Alois's grin dulls a fraction; his irises are clouded aquamarines. Even still, he remains calm. "It wouldn't be the first time you've undermined me," he dully reminds, elbows clattering listlessly against black-lacquered wood. His invasive teasing has come to an abrupt end.

Claude, at least, has the good grace to appear temporarily startled. "I believe you are mistaking me for someone else," he rebukes tactfully, albeit somewhat bitter.

For a moment, the Trancy's successor says nothing.

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"…I was scared, you know."

"Allow me to take that fear away."

"I didn't want to die."

"Give me an order."

"I order you to…"

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"…save me."

The whisper is weak, pathetic. Almost alien in its desperateness, and yet—so familiar. Inside of his head, Alois is kicking himself… and he fears the noisy void that is slowly forming. He does not want to share his life, and he does not understand why he has to. He is one who is two who wishes to be one… like Claude. Like Humpty Dumpty. Like…

"I don't want to be broken anymore," the blonde chokes, liquid sapphire dripping down his wobbling chin. And in that instant, he is brittle— weak. A doll that has been played with one-too-many times, and his cracks are starting to show. "All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put me back together, but you can. So hurry up and save me…!"

Twin arms ensnare the stoic servant; the demon uses the leverage to gingerly pull his master out of the coffin. He does not belong there, anymore…

"I already have saved you, your highness," the devil then breathes, and is privileged with permission to run his fingers through the boy's gold-spun hair. The ephemeral sensation of closeness is a comfort to Alois. It soothes him. Perhaps a little too much; by the time he notices the twinge in his right eye, he is already drifting towards weary unconsciousness. Tottering on the edge of What Dreams May Come, staring into the dark depths of insanity and nothingness…

And he falls.

Claude is privy to no such distraction—instead must tolerate the ring of fire that begins to smolder on the back of his hand. He does not need to remove his gloves to know which contract seal is now singed into his skin. "Who you are is something that nobody—nothing—can change…" he repeats softly, cradling his cataleptic charge.

As if in reply, the child gives a groggy groan… but the sound is not a response. Already, his lashes are fluttering—like a butterfly being devoured—as his far-away soul begins to tug on new puppet strings.

"Sebastian…?" the vessel inquires sleepily. "Is that you…?"

And Claude—though his own mouth remains pointedly shut—hears himself respond:

"Yes, my lord."

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Right, I don't usually do this—I feel it undermines your intelligence as readers—but season II has been confusing us all enough, so I'm gonna cut everyone a break, beat you to the punch, and explain "what the hell just happened." ;3

People have been hypothesizing lately (and probably correctly) that Kuro II's "Ciel sequences" have, so far, been "dreams." That is, Ciel really is dead, and what we've been seeing is him living out his afterlife, or something. I decided to play with the "dream" idea, but in a different way. In this fic, Ciel and Alois are the same person. More specifically, they're sharing the same soul. Why?

To make up for "bending" the contract, Sebastian agreed to grant Ciel an impossible request. Ciel's demand was to "save him," because he didn't want to die. But his body was in pretty bad shape, so Ciel's soul was transferred into a new vessel, Alois. (Perhaps Alois had died in that massacre scene, making this possible…?) Claude was then created as a "spawn" of Sebastian (maybe he budded? XD;), charged to take care of this new vessel. (That is my explanation as to why Claude looks like Sebastian's bespeckled love child. X3) But both Alois and Claude know that once Sebastian finds the ring, aka "the symbol of the broken contract," he won't need Alois anymore, because the original covenant will be "mended." (And thus, things can go back to the way they were before.)

As if that ring were a drain plug, Alois' soul starts slowly seeping back into Ciel once Ciel has the ring again. (Because let's face it—Ciel isn't all "there"/"complete" without his bling-bling.) In this story, it has hit the point that when Alois is asleep, Ciel is conscious. That's why Alois doesn't want to sleep, and why he's getting crazier. (Bad crap happens to your brain when you're sleep deprived.)

Of course, Alois doesn't want to give his soul away; he rather likes being alive. So when he found out about all of this (I'm sure Claude told him, at some point), he tries to take precautions… like finding/hiding the ring. (But because Claude and Sebastian also "share a soul," Sebastian knows where to find them, once they obtain the ring.) This would also explain why Alois wants Ciel's body—if he can destroy the "other vessel," he can keep his soul. (I also think this would explain why Alois is so desperate to always keep Claude nearby; he half-remembers himself—as Ciel— being abandoned at the end of season one. Also, it would explain Alois and Claude's more unusual contractship, based on "desire." If Alois is/was Ciel—especially a Ciel with more intense abandonment issues—he would "yearn" to have 'Sebastian' back.) And Claude, of course, is all for this, because he doesn't particularly want to be assimilated back into Sebastian, either. (Hence his apparent hatred for Sebastian, coupled with his inability to be as awesome as Sebastian. 'Cause, you know. He's only a "portion" of Sebastian, himself.)

…yeah, I'd be shocked if ANYONE got all of that from this crappy little one-shot. Hell, I think that explanation helped ME make more sense of my ideas, haha. XD; I hope it helped you guys, too. Not that it really matters, anyway, because the translation of "Hakoniwa Tonchinkan"has revealed that Ciel's soul was inside his ring the whole time. (Yeah. It doesn't make sense to me, either. I mean, I know Ciel said he could "hear the screams" of his forefathers in the ring, but this is just ridiculous. YOU DON'T GET TO USE HORCRUXES, CIEL. THOSE ARE COPYRIGHTED.)

Well, maybe I'm onto something, but the "vessel" Sebastian chose was the ring, rather than another person. Eh.

Ah well. It was nice to just write again, in any case. It's been a while. :3

Hope you enjoyed~!