The first part of this chapter takes place chronologically before the Chapter 1. Also, a reminder that in this work, the past is written in a past tense and the present is written in a present tense.

Ciel doesn't want to leave his bed; it's the first decent sleep he's had since being pulled out from the freezing water a week ago. He buries his head into a pillow.

"My apologies, sir, but as unwell as you may be feeling, I cannot allow you to remain in bed all day."

Ciel sits up, the familiar voice startling him. He snatches the eye patch from his bedside table and hastily holds it over his eye.

The butler continues, "Several matters have come to surface in your absence, as well as while you were resting. In addition, I have for you a letter from her Majesty. One of the Charles delivered it after you had retired for the night." He fastens the strings into a neat bow at the back of the boy's head.

"Tanaka," Ciel whispers, forcing down the bile he feels rising into his throat. "Where is Sebastian?"

The old man turns down the bed and passes his charge a cup of tea. His intention is clear and Ciel knows there's no use fighting him (were he Sebastian, the situation would have been completely different.) Ciel obediently drains the drink, scowling slightly that it isn't as sweet as when the demon makes it. Tanaka hands him the sealed envelope and returns the empty cup to the trolley.

The Queen could wait. "Tanaka, where is he?"

Tanaka begins to dress him. "I have given orders to the other servants to thoroughly search the entire estate for Mr. Michaelis—"

"He's gone, isn't he?"

The butler's hands pause at the last shirt button. "Yes, my lord."

Ciel reaches down to fasten the button himself. "Thank you for all you've done, Tanaka. Please see to it that the rest of the Manor is taken care of. I wish to be alone."

"I would advise against that, sir. It appears that Mr. Michaelis was removed from the servants quarters last night by force. It is best to say close to the members of your staff for the time being, in case the same intruders seek to target you."

"You needn't worry about me. I intend to be sought out." He draws his gun out from beneath his pillow; his face flush with anger. "By invading my home and making moves against me, they have insulted my family's name. Moreover, they have insulted me; and I will not stand for it!"

In his mind flashes his demon's face. He recalls every order he made that night, leaving Sebastian too drained to defend himself. Hot shame wells in his eyes. It's not that he cares for Sebastian; caring would imply that at least one of them is capable of such emotion. It's that young man had deluded himself into thinking that, with his cunning and Sebastian's strength, he would never be taken advantage of again. And he had been.

But he won't be beaten so easily. He stands and looks the butler of his late father dead in the eyes. "If I couldn't at least find and punish those who dare take what's rightfully mine, what kind of Phantomhive would I be?"

He burst out of his bedroom, and breezes down the corridor. He runs down the grand staircase, gun still in hand. Asthma could come and kill him some other time; not today. He throws open the front door, not caring that Mey-Rin and Snake have stopped working to gawk at him. He stops on the front lawn, tears off his eye patch, and yells at the top of his lunges:

"SEBASTIAN! THIS IS AN ORDER! GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW, YOU RAT BASTARD!"

Sebastian had been in the kitchen, preparing for the London Curry Contest. His mind welcomed the challenge to create a dish to Prince Soma's liking (the human palate, what an abstract concept!). The spices gave off a strong, pleasantly sharp scent, and the heat from the overworked stove was quite nice. He was … happy?

The memory is cut short and the demon slips out of his brief moment of lucidity.

The pain returns faster than the first time he regained consciousness. The contract flares up on his hand and resumes its torture. His voice is gone; his mouth hangs open to emit silent screams. His wings are excruciatingly numb and heavy.

The reapers are patching the even larger wound on his back, sliding the jagged edges together where they can and packing the gaping hole with layers upon layers of gauze where they couldn't. Their cautious fingers can't avoid every injury; even places he wasn't bitten, clawed, or impaled, sported bruises that went down to the bone. Each touch causes new agony to wrack through the demon.

"Mr. Spears, he's suffered enough. This is unethical," one of the younger reapers blurts out.

"It's a demon. Conventional ethics do not apply."

The reaper meets William's cold green eyes. "Are we any better than he, then?"

All sense of pride and dignity done away with, Sebastian desperately mouths one word to William: mercy.

The drug they push into him works fast. It spreads through his system and numbs the physical pain. The fire from the contract persists, and that alone is enough to keep the demon contorting in agony.

Their jobs complete, the reapers filter out of the room, until only William remains. He stands beside Sebastian's convulsing body. The dispatch officer pushes his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose with his death scythe.

To be entirely honest, seeing the demon's withering, pathetic form did give him a type of grim satisfaction. It's the only thing William finds marginally enjoyable about this assignment. He presses something cool and smooth to the demon's lips. "Eat."