**Trigger: Self-harm**
The demon had yet to fall asleep. A monitor playing a live video feed of the room was on the counter of the kitchenette of William's small apartment. Every so often William glanced up from the mountains of manila files and paperwork at his makeshift office space on the table to insure that Sebastian had not escaped, but currently the loathsome creature occupied with removing the gauze dressing from its torso.
It was a taxing job, but somebody had to cover for Grell and Ronald now that he had tasked the pair with getting all three of them off the hook from the department's internal investigation. The worst suspicion for the missing souls taken during the Campania incident and during the recent hash of murders at the dock and down in the East End fell on Grell as a result of the Jack the Ripper debacle. As Sutcliff's superior, William was included in the scrutiny for allegedly everything from negligence up to stealing the hundreds of souls himself for some unfathomable reason.
Why Ronald Knox decided to be included in their plot was lost on him. Perhaps he considered tethering himself to his boss and that loose canon of a reaper in the upcoming witch trial as an act of loyalty (oh the follies of blind devotion). Good thing Slingby and Humphries had enough common sense not to get involved, those two had enough to worry about.
As for Ronald, at least the reckless subordinate had proven himself useful lately. Unfortunately, he was currently overcompensating for all the times he had skimped on field reports by sending his supervisor a barrage of messages detailing their progress with the Phantomhive.
William's cell lit up for the eighth time that hour, vibrating violently on a trivet. He sighed; calling him back would afford him thirty minutes or so of respite. Begrudgingly, he dialed the number and waited for the reaper on the other end to pick up.
As was his practice, he did not waste time on salutations and began speaking as soon as the ringing stopped."What is it that you need, Mr. Knox?" he snipped.
"Ey, boss, just checking to see that you're not dead, that's all."
William tried to keep his building irritation in check. After all, professionalism was paramount. "I appreciate your concern. However, do refrain from phoning me unnecessarily. It has an effect similar to 'crying wolf', as it reduces the attention I may afford your more significant calls."
"Ahh, sorry boss. You know me and Grell just care for you too much." Ronald paused, as if he were expecting William to laugh, but William did nothing of the sort. "So we're over at the Midford's place at the moment, and it seems there happened to be right tussle last night. Good thing the kiddo didn't order your head on a plate for so much as a scratch on the bird 'till afterward, right?"
William hoped the aggravated sigh he unintentionally let out wasn't audible over the phone. "Yes, Ronald. That would be correct."
His attention shot over the monitor, to see the demon now sitting on the edge of the mattress, seemingly distressed. Honestly, couldn't the fiend simply come to terms with the fact that escape was impossible in its current condition? This pattern only ended with the vermin sprawled out on the carpet, sutures chewing through its abused flesh.
William rose from his place at the table, his death scythe materializing into the hand not holding the phone against his ear. His mind was set on giving the stubborn creature a lecture on not looking the gift horse of forced vacation in the mouth. Even though he meant to double cross the demon, some things were still unforgivable.
"I'm saying you need to watch yourself," Ronald continued. "All us in collections would be real broken up if something were to happen to you, and you know soon enough Little Miss Phantomhive is bound to get a paper cut or something. And with Bassy's orders you're basically a dead man walking … twice over if the department finds out about—"
"I am well aware of the risk to myself. However, on occasion there times at which loyalty to the dispatch must come second to other more important things. Know your place and try not to get your own self killed."
William hung up the phone on before Ronald could respond. He was already at the door of to room the demon was sequestered in. He slipped the cell into the pocket of his trousers, then swiftly undid the locks and opened the door.
"God have mercy."
...
The demon lies on the floor of the bedroom, shirt and waistcoat open to reveal a half-healed torso, necktie hanging off from it like a noose. Its gloves have been discarded in favor of clawing its sharp black nails over its throat, chest, and stomach. The gashes it makes are deep, severe enough to kill a man (were it a man) and possibly even disable a reaper (were it a reaper). But it fails to die and continues to harm itself like a brutish animal.
It rocks back and forth on its rear like a tortured specimen one would view at a house for the mentally ill, or in a pen at the zoo, as it carves rents in multiples of four. The wounds hastily seal themselves only seconds after blood would slip out from them, splattering on to the carpet.
The most disturbing aspect of the entire spectacle is that it doesn't scream or cry out from the pain; the only noises it makes are grunts from the effort required to cut deeper into itself.
It takes William a moment to process that the thing in front him is Sebastian, the demon that had bested reapers in combat with no other weapons than the clothes on its back and a few pieces of silverware. That this creature at one time had been the being that he had despised, as well as perhaps even reluctantly respected as an intelligent and capable enemy. There is nothing left of that person.
William digs the end of his death scythe into the ground to keep himself from collapsing. The smell of the iron-rich air and the familiarity of the act that he's witnessing brings up things he had long buried into the recesses of his mind. Everything about this makes him want to vomit.
"Sebastian," William hears himself say, the name itself no seeming to fit the addressee.
The demon doesn't respond, too lost in trying to rip itself—himself—to shreds.
"Sebastian, stop doing that!"
He doesn't. A noise escapes him, best described as a whimper. All of the sudden, his arms are pulled away from his body, strong hands preventing himself from hurting himself any more.
Sebastian jerks away, try to break free of William's grasp. His eyes are savage and glowing brightly. William holds him fast, knocking him on to his side and pinning his wrists together and to the ground.
"Stop. Don't fight me."
Sebastian meets William's gaze, suddenly aware of his captor's presence, pausing for moment, before redoubling his efforts to get his nails back to work shredding through flesh.
"Stop it! What exactly has gotten into you?"
He looks away, a foreign expression of shame crossing his face. "I … I have to get it out of me."
The remaining scratches on Sebastian's neck heal over.
"Speak plainly, demon," William demands, surprised his own frazzled mind is still able to formulate words.
"Th-the the cat! It's inside of me! I put it there but I need to get it out! I didn't mean to eat it—I promise! I swear … please do believe me … I need to get it out," he chokes out, his bare chest heaving as it presses into the carpet.
"What are you talking about? There's no cat."
"She brought it to me. She made me eat it—no, she didn't make me—I ate it. I ate the kitten … I didn't mean to, you must believe me, William."
William's face darkens. He had thought the demon incapable of lying. "There is no kitten. I would have noticed it and had it removed from my apartment immediately."
Sebastian stops struggling against William, the signature smirk forming on his face to mask his anxiety. "Is that so?" He breathes deeply, sorting through what is reality and what the contract had fabricated in his mind. "Ah, well then it appears I'm simply losing my mind."
William frowns, not releasing the other yet. "Explain yourself, demon. I thought it impossible for you to lie."
"I never lie, Spears. I admit to having something wrong with me. You must consider the severity of my condition if I am willing to disclose such things to you outright."
"Answer directly then: should I release you, will you attempt to hurt either of us?"
"I will attempt not to hurt either of us."
William applies more pressure to the Sebastian's wrists, making the lines of the contract standout even more from the lack of blood flow to his already pale hands. "You're prevaricating, and my patience in wearing thin."
"I will not hurt you more than what my master has requested of me." Sebastian clarifies a tad too merrily, "I have been ordered to obliterate you, should any harm befall Lady Elizabeth."
"Is that a threat coming from you, demon? That would be rich, seeing a minute ago, you were rather bent on julienning yourself," William scoffs.
The next thing he knew, William found himself flat on his back, Sebastian standing over him with the point of the forgotten death scythe resting on the reaper's throat.
"You'd do well not underestimate me in the future, William," he chides, buttoning his shirt and vest with his free hand. William snarls, both hands on the neck of the weapon in a futile attempt to move it away from a critical artery. "There is business I must attend to with my master, more specifically, inquiring why our contract has decided to manifest as a dishonest dead sadist with an unrequited fixation on her adopted brother. Worry not though, I shall return in time for the trial tomorrow."
William finds himself lifted by his shirt front and deposited gently on to the bed.
"Good day, Mr. Spears," Sebastian says, checking himself one last time to make sure his appearance is the best that he can manage at the moment. Satisfied, he turns to leave.
"Try to enjoy your time off," he adds over his shoulder, before exiting the room, locking the door behind himself.