In spite of the fact that the Phantomhive estate was populated only with a preteen boy, a semi-retired former butler, and four servants, it was undeniably the best-protected property in all of Europe. It had to be: multiple times a month, at least, multiple attackers sent by enemies of the Phantomhives would enter the grounds of the manor with the intent of harming its master and lord. But no matter how often they came, how numerous, or how skilled, they never succeeded. And they always met a sticky end.

In the past, one might have credited this trend to the Phantomhives' large and numerous staff, especially the security and armed bodyguards, who were charged with the family's protection. That, though, was such a different time that it may as well have been ancient history. In spite of its identical outward appearance, the manor and its staff bore little resemblance to the setting it had been under its former master.

In the present day, the truth behind the stronghold was a well-kept secret. Only two people knew the whole truth of it: Earl Ciel Phantomhive and his butler.

If anyone cared to dedicate any thought to the matter, they would likely be baffled. The incredible security that once existed had horribly failed its occupants, and it seemed that the new head of the family had decided to go in a completely different direction. What that direction was, no one could really say. Occasionally people would gossip about booby traps or noxious gas in the gardens that kept unwelcome guests from ever reaching the doors, but they could never really imagine the truth. The four servants were the foolproof security system. And one of them was rather special.

Three of the Earl's servants had all their senses on the alert for enemies, so they could use whatever skills were at their disposal to put them down immediately. But the fourth, the butler, was… different.

While Finnian, Mey-Rin, and Baldroy were utterly devoted to their young lord and kept their eyes (and ears, as it were) peeled for trouble, that butler almost seemed to have a sixth sense. If a kidnapper or assassin drew too close in the night, he knew before any of the other servants possibly could. It was if he could hear them from a mile away, sniff them out while they were still approaching from the woods, feel their ill intention before they had any sense of being watched at all. It was unnatural, one might say. Supernatural, even.

One would be right.

A demon like Sebastian guarded his prey viciously, and in a way, the contract between them gave him power as much as it took away. He was an ancient being, stronger than any human and most things inhuman, but he was at his young master's beck and call, subject to his every demand. In exchange, however, the boy's very life and soul were his. His power spread across the grounds, stretched far and wide like a spider's web, and Ciel Phantomhive was at the very center of it. If so much as a thing was out of place anywhere that the demon's influence touched, he would know.

That night, there was a disturbance—a rather unusual one.

Sebastian was well accustomed to finding overly confident men armed with guns or knives traversing the outskirts of the city or through the fog of the forests to threaten the manor. The Phantomhives had always had many enemies, and his young master had made just as many more in his short time as head of the household. For all of their power and reputation, though, the Phantomhives had always been human, and nothing more. They went head-to-head with humans in the underworld, and thus made human enemies. It wasn't the business of Phantomhives to trifle with the occult.

So when a pulse of energy not unlike what would occur if a demon or a reaper were to travel between realms blew through the manor and grounds from some distance away in the nearby forest, he took particular note. At first, he considered that it could be just that, and a coincidence, completely unrelated to Ciel or his safety. But he swiftly reconsidered that even though all of their intruders before had been mere humans, they had encountered that filthy sample of a reaper not too long ago. He detected none of his own kind, or any noticeable signature of power at all, but he would be remiss in his duty as a butler not to investigate. And if he was one thing at all, that was one hell of a butler.

It was so cold.

That was the first thing that Cameron felt; he was damp, and the air seemed absolutely frigid. He curled in on himself, shivering like a leaf, and thought of almost nothing. He felt only the vaguest sense of awareness: he could feel the cold, hear birds chirping, and smell something… kind of dusty and metallic?

He shook hard against the cold. Why was he cold?

Before he could begin to wonder much else, he tuned into another thing. His head was pounding something fierce. It was a kind of pain he'd never felt before, and didn't compare to any migraine or hangover he'd ever experienced. He groaned, gritted his teeth, and reached a hand up to his head, gently feeling around. His fingers carded briefly through his hair before catching in what seemed to be a knot, coated with something slightly warm and sticky. He brought his hand down and smelled it immediately. Blood—he'd hit his head. On what?

Consciousness seemed to return quickly after that. He was aware that he was on the ground. That made sense—Cameron recalled that he was supposed to be camping. But he wasn't on a mat or in a sleeping bag, and his pack was behind him, still slung over his shoulder. He could hear no one else—not breathing or shuffling—and he was certain that his friends wouldn't have just dumped him on the forest floor with a head injury and abandoned him.

He tried to get up—which really was a bad idea, and he stopped immediately. But his ribs felt really uncomfortable, and he realized that his cane had somehow got wedged beneath him. Trying not to jostle his head, he lifted his torso just enough to move it out on the way, slipped his arm out of the backpack strap, and settled on his back. That, fortunately, didn't hurt anything that wasn't already, and in a more comfortable position he was able to collect himself just enough for intelligent thought.

He was on the ground. He was alone. He wasn't in his sleeping bag, and when he'd been trying to sleep he hadn't had his backpack or cane. His shades were on his face, too, albeit slightly displaced.

Okay. So clearly he'd gotten up at some point and collected his things, and moved away from his sleeping area. Cameron could feel crisp dead leaves and dried grass underneath him, too, all so far gone that it crunched with each minor adjustment. They'd set up camp in a patch of ground so pristine that it may have been cleared intentionally by the park authorities. There hadn't been much in the way of clutter or vegetation there. Obviously he'd traveled at least some distance to get wherever he was now… but he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. His heartbeat seemed to throb within his skull with the effort, too, and he quickly gave up.

Instead, he focused on digging through his backpack. It had been neatly packed as well as he could recall but it all seemed to be in a jumbled up mess. The water bottles had been rearranged, for one thing. He pulled one out and drank eagerly, suddenly aware how dry his mouth was. That was one problem solved, but he now had to contend with the cold.

And it was cold—really cold. Cam knew it hadn't been so chilly the night before, and he'd checked the forecast before the trip. It wasn't supposed to dip below 60°, but it felt to be at most 45 or 50. It was lucky there wasn't much of a breeze.

The most he had in his bag was the change of clothes he'd had for the next day. It was just other set of shorts, a blank tee, and a flannel he'd roll up to the elbows. Not exactly enough to deal with the kind of westher he was stuck in right now. Absolutely not the weather he'd expected from the hourly two-day forecast. And that made him wonder how long it had been. No way had he been out there for two entire days, right?

And it was getting colder by the minute. God, this is bad.

He pulled out the extra flannel even knowing that it wouldn't offer much in the way of protection and draped it over his bare calves. The skin there was starting the feel almost numb. What do I do? What do I do?

If you got lost in the woods, you were supposed to stay put, right? That way the rescuers could find you. And there had to be rescuers, dammit. He'd been with a decent sized group of friends on a well-traveled loop. They'd notice he was missing. Maybe they already had. And… well, they had to know he couldn't exactly wander off on his own.

So what had happened?

He tried to relax. His stomach churned, his head ached, and his skin prickled. But he suddenly realized something—he could taste alcohol on his breath. He'd been drinking. He was pretty sure the party members hadn't been planning on that. Landon was a recovering alcoholic and they never drank together. And he hadn't brought his own alcohol. Maybe they'd branched off in a smaller group to have a few drinks and Cameron had fallen and hit his head. He just couldn't understand why everyone was gone. Surely in that case someone would have stayed to watch over him?

He shivered. It really was getting colder. The feelings of desperation he'd had before were increasing dramatically. This was bad. Really bad. And instead of feeling better as the time elapsed, he was actually feeling worse: he was colder, tired, and less lucid. He could barely feel the skin on his face. Fuck.

"Guys?" he called weakly. "Are you out here?"

His breathing grew short and fast, his heart hammered within his chest, and his mind was going haywire. The only answer was the birdsong. And as he began to descend into a panic, even that went quiet.

While Sebastian had decided to investigate, he could also sense enough to know that it wasn't a pressing matter. If whatever had caused the disturbance was any serious threat—an entity of his caliber, for example—or if it had ventured too near the estate and into his territory, he would have dealt with it immediately. As it was, there was no sign of any danger after the initial disturbance. This gave some weight to his initial thought that it may be an unfortunate coincidence. As such, he'd elected to wait until he had a moment of spare time to check on things.

So it was actually several hours later when Sebastian finally decided that everything was in enough order for him to justify a brief errand. Afternoon tea had been served, dinner preparations were well underway and out of reach of the idiot Baldroy, and the servants were well-equipped to defend the place if necessary for less than half an hour.

He expected to find nothing. It would be easy enough to find the general area where the disturbance had occurred. The output of energy had been significant even from a distance; something like that would leave its mark, as it were. In all likelihood, though, whatever had been at its epicenter had already left. In that case, it was worth remaining alert, but as long as it had moved away rather than closer to the manor and his young master, it was of no pressing concern.

One thing he was learning during his time with this master, though, was that things rarely went according to his expectations. It was part of what made his current contract so… entertaining. Or perhaps "troublesome" was a better word.

It seemed that this day was no exception.

Sebastian arrived near the site of the incident quickly. As he'd anticipated, it was easy to locate simply by following the still-fading energy near to its source. Rather than only examining the general area, though, Sebastian was able to identify the exact spot where the disturbance had happened—only because someone was laying inside of it.

His interest had been peaked once again when he sensed a single soul as he drew closer to the location, and even more as he realized that the soul and the height of the energy deposit seemed to be together. This made very little sense—no human alone was capable of causing a disruption of the severity he'd felt that morning. And if anything else had been present, it should have left traces. Instead, there seemed to be nothing else in the immediate vicinity.

And this only held true when he came upon the site. Sure enough, there was nothing and no one in sight except for one unconscious human, lying dead center in a perfect circle of dead, yellowing grass.

The person appeared to be an adult male, deathly pale with dark hair and a smattering of freckles across their white face. His lips were blue, slightly parted, and although he clearly wasn't awake, his eyes were open in thin, white slits. He was dressed rather strangely, and not for the weather, in short cotton trousers and a pair of worn-looking shoes, each one black with a white checkmark on the outside. His plaid shirt may have been long-sleeved and appropriate for the cool, but the sleeves were rolled up and buttoned below the elbow. He wore no hat, but had a pair of gold-framed glasses with dark lenses hanging off of one ear, as if they'd fallen off.

Perhaps most importantly, the person smelled strongly of his own blood, and as Sebastian grew closer he realized that the darkness of his curly hair might well be in part because of a head wound.

"How troublesome," he mused aloud. "I suppose it would be unacceptable for some vagrant to be found in this condition so near to my master's home. Perhaps I should dispose of you." It was, of course, of no use; the young man was completely unconscious, and there would be no begging or fear. Anything could happen to him in this state and he'd never know a thing about it.

Discarded at the unconscious man's side was a bag, already opened, with several other pockets that appeared to be secured by some kind of slide fastener. Deciding that he would be negligent not to search the bag for any more signs of a threat, although the human itself seemed benign, Sebastian reached inside the open pocket to find a set of clothes, a vial marked with a medical label inside of a bag with several syringes, and a few flimsy, crinkling bottles of water. The bottles and bag were both made of a thin, smooth material with which he was completely unfamiliar, but after deciding they were harmless he put them aside.

The other, smaller pockets came smoothly open, and initially their contents were no more interesting. There were two alternate styles of the shaded glasses, both in hard cases, and a small, flexible cup, perhaps 2.5 centimeters in diameter. It, too, was nothing he'd ever seen before. He slid them back into the pocket and opened the final, smallest one, where the most intriguing item was.

It was a thin, sleek black rectangle, of which one side seemed to be made of smoothly polished glass. It had a few buttons on the side, none of which seemed to do anything, and as he turned it in his hands he also noted several holes on one of the thin edges. It was somewhat heavy for such a small thing, comprised mostly of metal, and he quickly determined that this wasn't the type of item a vagrant would likely be carrying with them. This, he kept for safekeeping and used the slide fasteners to close the bag again.

The final item of interest was a long, white walking stick with several segments and a red tip. Like the bag and the rest of the human's clothes, it wasn't fashionable by modern standards, or any with which Sebastian was familiar. It didn't look to be supportive, either, given that it seemed to be foldable at the segments, and the bottom wasn't flat, but a small, white ball.

He frowned. Initially, the discovery that it was a lone human at the epicenter of the energy deposits had been something of a relief. This human, however, was clearly out of place. "How strange," he said to the man's unconscious body. "Perhaps even strange enough to alert the young master."

At this, he turned his examination to the young man himself. He plucked away the glasses before rolling him onto his back. The man's head rolled lazily to the side, and he quickly confirmed his earlier theory about a head wound. It appeared that he'd narrowly avoided a blow to the temple; there was bruising already, spreading as far as his cheekbone. His pulse was a little slow, due perhaps to the cold, but his breathing was steady.

It was likely that he had a concussion, and would be able to explain the strange quality of his appearance upon his recovery. To confirm his theory, Sebastian used a long pointer finger to slide open each eyelid, and then withdrew in shock, letting them fall closed. It couldn't be, he thought.

Slowly, he checked again. There was no thrill of warmth when his gloves touched the stranger's skin, or anything different at all. The eyes showed no reaction to the light whatsoever; they remained still, pupils dilated, rolled into the back of the head. More importantly, Sebastian recognized those eyes. Perhaps at first glance, they would seem to be a deep brown, not too unusual for a human. But upon looking any longer, as Sebastian was, it was impossible to avoid noticing that they were, in fact, a deep red, warmer even than mahogany. He could imagine that they glinted like rubies when this man was awake, could imagine a mischievous grin on that youthful face, and felt with a sudden certainty what he had to do. He could scarcely believe that he'd come across these being after so many centuries wandering the earth—and here he was, at such a strange time, in such a strange way.

He sighed and gathered the light, freezing form of the young man into his arms before gathering the things left on the ground. "How unfortunate; I wasn't expecting you," he said indulgently, running his gloved fingers along the man's stubbled jawline. "I'm afraid we're unprepared for guests. I suppose we have until you wake to make do."

The man groaned in response, eyelids fluttering. It was the first sound he'd made since Sebastian had found him lying on the frozen ground.

"I really must get you in from the cold," he commented. "What were you thinking, going out in this weather? Perhaps it was different when you departed."

"Hmm?"

"Oh, dear," Sebastian said thoughtfully. "I think it's for the best if you aren't awake for this."

The man's eyes opened wide on their own accord and darted towards Sebastian's face, staring vacantly away from his eyes as he lifted his head. But this wakefulness didn't last long. The last thing the stranger would have been aware of, aside perhaps from the view of his rescuer's face, was the touch of soft fabric on his uninjured temple before he fell deeply asleep once more.

Only then did Sebastian set off.

lol so much for a two day wait, huh? good thing i have no readers yet ;)

another update coming soon, regardless. Sebastian is hard to write so that was kind of the hold up here.

this should be closer to the normal chapter length. see ya next time xo 10.13.23