William sighs and lifts another soul out of a metal briefcase on the floor. The light it gives off is splotchy and yellowing, nothing like the cool, pure human souls the Dispatch Department processes.
It's not like Dispatch officers have a reason to collect dead horses, at least not under normal circumstances. He shudders, knowing what he needs to do next.
He may never admit it, but he is grateful the demon passed out. Only so much pain can be wished upon enemies before it's now longer enjoyable. Although he probably ought to be more concerned about how long demons can go without breathing than he is at the moment.
With his free hand, he finds his phone and flips it open. He pins the device to his ear with his shoulder. The moment the line stops ringing, William begins speaking immediately to minimize the number of words he has to hear from the the obnoxious redhead.
"Sutcliff, you and Knox are going back into the field. As the subject is currently incapacitated, your task is to—"
"BY SUBJECT YOU DOOOOO MEAN MY BASSY right, William? You have him all tied up and ready for me like a birthday present, don't you? Why don't I just come over there and KISS HIM ALL BETTER for you dear? Hmmmmmm?"
William tries to ignore the sound of wet, squishy lips being pressed against the receiver. "Grell," William hisses. He puts his hand on the demon's jaw and pries its mouth open. He cringes when its limp tongue flops out.
"Oh, you know WHAT THEY SAAAAAYYYYYYY: a KISS from a pretty young LADY does WONDERS for a handsome, devilish—"
"GRELL!" William thrusts the soul down Sebastian's throat with a bit more force than he intended. It starts to breathe again. "You and Knox get to the Phantomhive Manor and have the child rescind the summon for his dog; it's no good to me in this condition. Do whatever he wants in return. I need this assignment finished as quickly as possible."
"OKAAYYY Will, whatever you—"
Click. His phone slips back into the pocket of his pants. William straightens his and suit and glasses. He gives the demon another disdainful glance. Now, he must wait.
It takes Sebastian a moment to recall where he is. Fatigue has spread from the his body to his mind, yet it hasn't managed to take the edge off the feeling that something is inexplicably out of place. Nor did it dull the sensation that his veins have been pumping acid through his system.
He was struggling to tread water in the cold, open ocean. His gloved hands were clinging to the gunwale of life boat he placed young master in. His lungs were shifting his broken ribs, making his breathing erratic. His life force was ebbing away …
Sebastian's irritation peaks. He already has done this dance with his master; he does not desire an encore. Neither he nor the earl is at sea. The Campania had sunk over a week ago and they have since returned to the Manor. He is in the Shinigami Realm, lying naked and unconscious on an operating table. William T. Spears is with him, trying to save his life.
No, none of that can be real. Ciel is most definitely in the boat floating beside him. He can practically smell the exhaustion and adrenaline running through the boy. Besides, Spears ever helping him is absolute ludicrous. Self-righteous bureaucrats do not play physician on half dead demons. The contemptuous reaper force feeding him must be … a hallucination? A side effect of the bizarre doll's bite? Undertaker's scythe? He does feel dreadfully strange.
"Sebastian, GET IN!" Ciel screamed, snapping Sebastian out of his trance. His master's order sent vitality through his body, enough for Sebastian to grab on to the offered hand and pull himself into the boat. The movement cost him dearly; his strength was just about tapped out. Blood was soaking through his shirt and vest. Soon he would have to channel or absorb power from somewhere else …
The dolls reached over the lip of the life boat with their dead hands. The raft lurched, threatening to capsize under the stress of the new bodies.
A hiss of pain escaped Sebastian as his weight momentarily shifted to his injured leg to snatch one of the long wooden paddles from beneath the life boat benches. He swung the oar into the chests of the creatures, driving them back.
A doll launched itself out of the water and latched on to Ciel. On instinct, Sebastian stuck out his leg and kicked the thing clear out of the boat. Just like he did that night. Exactly like he did that night. This is a memory.
Sebastian shudders. That confirms two things. First, not only is he watching his cinematic record; he's reliving it. He knows this tale; he fights off the bizarre dolls and the next morning they are rescued. At this moment, his young master is safe at home, carefully guarded by Tanaka and the others.
Secondly, he's dying. And going mad as well. There is no line to distinguish memory from reality. Illusion from truth. He hears himself yelling to Ciel between blows, struggling not to collapse on to the floor of the boat. He can't continue on through his strength of will alone. He calls to Ciel, begging his young charge to give him an order …
"You're in pain." It was a woman's voice: low, decadent, and familiar. She sounds clear, as if she were standing right behind him. "I can help you with that, if only for a little while."
The cinematic record warps around Sebastian. Ciel is torn from him and is whisked away into nothingness, along with the boat, the ocean, and the bizarre dolls. Sebastian falls to his knees on the dirt floor of a circus tent.
...
The pain is entirely gone for the first time in a long time. The bottom of a prosthetic foot presses down on Sebastian's shoulder, wrinkling his pristine butler attire.
He hears her chuckle. The tip of her toe moves to his sternum, then straight over his throat at a frustratingly slow pace. With a gentle flick, she kicks his jaw up so his eyes meet her own.
"Betty got your tongue?" Beast whispers. The former first-string member of the Noah's Ark Circus rests her leg on the inside of his thigh as she slips the sand colored scarf from her neck. She drapes it on him.
In one fluid motion, she has Sebastian flat on his back. The sole of her prosthetic is drilling into the demon's solar plexus. Beast grips the scarf tight around his neck with one hand. The other hand holds her whip.
"Impressive," Sebastian smirks.
She responds by pulling his leash taut until he starts gasping for breath. Beast holds him there for a moment, before giving him some slack.
"Considering the … multitude of intriguing characters I've … encountered in my lifetime, I never would guessed my … conscience would manifest as you," he manages to pant out.
She drags the leather tail of the whip over his face. "I'm a surprise to you? I was the last one you had, wasn't I? You were obviously mine. Doesn't that make us something special?"
Sebastian stares at her. She frowns, "I can barely say that with a straight face. I'm in your head for a reason, jackass." She tosses aside her scarf and whip. Her fingers start to undoing the demon's shirt buttons. "You need me."
Sebastian flips over, pining Beast to the ground with his body. His teeth pull the glove off his right hand, casting it aside. He reaches his bare fingers to the dark brown curl of hair covering the woman's ear and tucks it back behind her headband. He lowers his face to speak softly into the her neck."Madame, I assure you. I am not in need of your services."
"Agh! Shut up already." She frees her hand and applies pressure to the his bare chest, right over where Undertaker's blade cut through him. The pain returns briefly, hitting Sebastian like an avalanche (which, by the way, he has experienced) before subsiding. Beast kicks him across the room with her good leg, causing him to crash into her makeup table.
"You've been broken, in more than one way. And you need me to help you come to terms with that."
"I do not require your help," Sebastian spits out.
"I'm dead. You're stuck with me."
The end of the whip gives his clavicle a sharp lick. She stands over him, recoiling the instrument. The cut is shallow, but it bleeds profusely.
"If you don't need me, heal yourself. A little scratch shouldn't be that difficult for a man like you."
The blood rolls down his torso. Heat builds beneath the injury, burning to stitch itself together. Sebastian grunts, willing it to work. It's causing more pain than the cut itself. He gives it one final push before he gives up, depleted and humiliated. He growls deep in his throat. "I am unable."
"You're punishing yourself. You've displeased your master." She grabs his chin. "Should your insubordination continue, and your contract becomes no longer an effective way to bind you to his will, we'll need to find new ways to keep you disciplined. Your current method of coping benefits no one."
The cinematic record warps around them again. The tent walls fade, and he can make out William T. Spears' face standing over him, speaking into a small contraption.
"Looks like we're out of time. I'll be seeing you again soon, Sebastian." Beast plants a chaste kiss on his cheek before she blinks out off existence.
The taste of animal's soul hits the back of his throat. Sebastian gasps for breath as reality and the usual surge of agony rush to meet him.