here's another installment. enjoy 3

Cameron was next awoken to a rustling sound in an otherwise quite space, and then a woman's low hum directly to his left.

He was in a bed—a rather soft and luxurious one, at that—-and was covered in a heavy quilt. The sheets were so soft they could almost be satin. He was laid flatly on his back, arms by his side under the covers, in a position he'd never have laid in on his own.

His eyelids fluttered, and then he felt someone lift the blankets at the bottom of the bed by his feet and gasped aloud.

The quilt and sheets fell again. "Oh, my!" came the voice of a woman, her accent decidedly not Appalachian. "You're awake, you are! Are you feeling quite well, sir?"

He blinked hazily, trying to imagine what would bring a British lady all the way to his side of the pond. "Yes, actually. Ah, I'm sorry… is this a hospital?"

The woman laughed cheerily. "No, sir."

"I didn't think so," he muttered, "I'm way too comfortable to be in a hospital bed." The woman gave him another round of polite laughter and she tried to gather himself. He'd been alone in the woods, freezing and probably concussed. And now he was… not in a hospital bed? "Would you be willing to tell me where I am, then, please?"

"You're at the Phantomhive estate, you are!" she chirped, fixing the covers on either side of him as she flitted around the bed. She was wearing flats, he though, but the clicking of her footsteps was unusually sharp and clear.

And, of course, that didn't really answer anything for him. He'd never heard of the Phantomhive estate, but it sounded like it might be some kind of historical residence—which made no sense because then he definitely wouldn't be sleeping there. He supposed they could also be a wealthy family he'd never heard of, being from a totally different area—they had to be, to have a whole "estate".

"I see, thank you," he answered politely, choosing to err on the side of caution for a reason he couldn't exactly pinpoint. "Might I ask your name?" And who you are, please.

She made a surprised sound, as if this was an unusual question and not something people asked strangers upon every mew meeting. "I'm Mey-Rin, sir, the maid."

He was right, then. A rich family. Perhaps if he was anyone else he'd have thought it usual that an apparently private residence had a maid, but it was somewhat in line with his own life experience. Though Cameron strived for self-sufficiency, there would always be certain tasks which were better suited to a sighted person; as such, since leaving his parents, he'd always had a cleaner who came by regularly, and occasionally someone to help him prepare food. He wouldn't have called either of them maids, since the term felt a little old fashioned, but the idea of a family having outside help when necessary felt very natural.

"It's my pleasure to meet you, ma'am," he said, looking in her direction (which was easy because she was very loud now that he was awake and seemed to be a consistent source of racket). "I'm Cameron." He was itching to move past introductions to more important things, like how the hell he'd gotten there, but he didn't want to make a poor impression on people who had likely saved his life.

The maid suddenly developed a stutter, as if he'd done something terribly strange. "Oh, no, sir! Mey-rin is fine!"

"Cameron, then, or Cam," he returned smoothly. "Sir was my father."

"I couldn't possibly—"

Call him by his first name? What in the world? "Please," he asked sweetly, giving her a little pout, "you'll make me feel old."

"I—I—As you wish, sir—Mr. Cameron, sir," she worked out after a few long seconds of nervous sounds.

What a strange person, he thought. If she was American, he'd think that perhaps she was raised in the South, where people seemed to stick to formalities more rigidly. Obviously, though, that wasn't the case.

"I'm sorry, Mey-rin. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable." He paused in consideration. "Would you mind… do you have any idea how I got here?"

"Sebastian brought you in," she told him, and her voice took on another strange quality. "You were in a right state, you were. Chilled to the bone. That's why I'm in here, si—Mr. Cameron, changing the bed warmer."

It was unusually warm under the covers, but he'd never heard of a bed warmer before. Well, not this kind of bed warmer. He assumed it must be some kind of heated blanket or something, except he wasn't sure why that would have to be changed. "Thank you," he said, pulling himself up slightly to sit.

"Not at all, sir."

"Cameron," he teased.

"Cameron, yes, sir!" She sounded so flustered. It was a little cute, actually. "I'm sure Sebastian would like to know you're awake… will you be needing anything else?"

He was parched, and terribly hungry, but what came out of his mouth was, "No, thank you."

She head out shortly after, assuring him that she'd be back shortly.

In his first moments awake and alone, he checked over himself. He remembered his head absolutely pounding, but it was more or less normal. There was a soft bandage wrapped around his head, flattening some of his curls—his hair was soft. Someone had washed it, or rinsed it at least, when they were treating his head wound.

Beneath the covers, he was wearing a very thick pair of socks which were certainly not his. And once he noticed that, he also realized that his other clothes had also been changed. His shirt felt like 100% cotton, clean but not stiff and softened from use. The pants were the same. They felt a little small, but not too tight; the pants hit above his ankle. It seemed that he was borrowing someone else's clothes.

There was a rapping at the door and he looked up at the sound, carefully folding the quilt over his lap. Must be Mey-rin back. That was quick. "Come in," he said, feeling a little awkward admitting someone into a room at their own workplace.

The door opened, and he was immediately on alert; this wasn't Mey-rin. The sound of the shoes was just different, and this person had a longer stride. Their steps seemed measured and graceful, and they were incredibly quiet until they spoke. "The maid informed me that you were awake. It's good to see you in a better state, sir."

"Cameron," he corrected automatically, feeling the hair on the back of his neck raise in sudden alarm. That voice seemed so familiar—a silky-smooth baritone, perfectly pleasant and polite, its honeyed tones commanding his attention. And also British? "Are you… Sebastian?"

"Yes, I suppose I should introduce myself." The man sounded quite pleased. "I am Sebastian Michaelis, butler of the Phantomhive estate, where you are now." There was the sound of rustling fabric, brief and contained.

Who has a butler nowadays? "I see…" His fingers absently brushed the wound on the side of his head through the bandages. "Mey-rin said you brought me in from the cold… I… thank you." He couldn't say the rest of what he was thinking: You probably saved my life. I'd have frozen to death. But why am I here, and not at a hospital?

"Indeed. I found you not far from the manor. You seemed to have been there for some time, and in a bad way."

"I hit my head pretty hard," Cam remarked dryly. "Look, I'm sorry, but… what am I doing here? As opposed to, like, a hospital?"

"It was more expedient for me to take you back here," the butler explained, to Cameron's confusion. There was a hospital something like a 30 minute drive from the park gates and there were definitely no swanky manors closer than that. "And we were able to manage your condition just as well as any hospital in London, Cameron." His name slid of the butler's tongue so strangely, seductively, almost, and as Cameron's mouth went dry, he was stricken again by its familiarity.

"London?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, Cameron," the butler answered. "Are you quite alright? Do you know where you are?" He sounded concerned, but Cameron thought he could detect a mocking undertone. He felt so sick, suddenly. Maybe he was imagining it.

He swallowed. "Y-yes. Right. I'm sorry, I just got confused for a moment."

"I see," Sebastian answered. His voice had moved slightly closer, but Cameron hadn't heard him take a step. "A blow to the head could certainly do that. All will become clear as you recover."

"Right," Cameron agreed hurriedly.

A moment of silence passed between them, and when Sebastian seemed to have gathered that Cameron had nothing more to say, he went on. "You must be rather hungry by now. You've awoken just in time for afternoon tea, and my young master would have you join him." He was back to sounding all pleasant and formal, but Cameron was once again caught on something he'd said.

"Your… young master?" he echoed.

"Yes, the Lord of the manor, Earl Phantomhive." Sebastian seemed to have endless patience for his confusion, and Cameron's questions didn't seem to throw him off the way they had Mey-rin.

Cameron's head, though, was spinning. London? In a manor, with a butler and a freaking Earl? Did England even still have the aristocracy nowadays? And if they did, would they seriously make their staff call them things like "Lord" and "young master"? It seemed so surreal and wrong. Cameron almost would have thought it was one of his strange dreams, but…

He was still blind.

He could feel his heart rate picking up and struggled to control his breathing. He wasn't going to have a panic attack in front of some stranger. He had to get it together, and figure out what was going on. If the first step was to meet with Lord Phantomhive, then so be it.

Besides, it hadn't really sounded like an invitation. Underneath all that politeness, there was an edge.

"Of course," he croaked out finally, trying to sound like he wasn't falling apart and the seams.

The butler took it in stride. Cameron heard him set something down softly to his immediate left, and was suddenly aware that they were probably just a couple of feet apart. The man had an immutable presence, and Cameron felt like some kind of small insect. It was strange, since the man had been nothing but polite to him.

"Excellent. I'm afraid there isn't enough time to make yourself fully presentable, but we can't present you to the young master in your sleep clothes." Still so polite, but there was a hint of something else, as if he was telling a joke. Cameron even felt his lips twitch; it was a funny thought, showing up to meet with some well-to-do rich guy in nothing but his pajamas. "Will you need help dressing?"

"No," Cam replied immediately in sudden horror.

This time, the butler definitely sounded amused. "Very well. I've placed a change of clothes for you on the bedside table. I hope you don't mind borrowing a set of the gardener's clothing for now. We shall have to find something more suitable for you later."

"Of course not, thank you." Cameron answered, willing the flush off his face.

He heard something small quietly open and shut, close to the door now. "I'm afraid I must leave to prepare tea," Sebastian told him. "Mey-rin will be waiting just outside to escort you. Please alert her should you need any help."

"Thank you," Cameron answered again. He heard that rustling fabric sound, and then the door opened and closed. He could make out the butler speaking quietly to someone just outside and then the shoes of him walking quietly away on the carpeted floor. It was quickly inaudible as the butler left the area.

Cameron let himself slump for a moment. He'd been so tense. It was understandable, he thought, because something was definitely not right. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and took a deep breath. Unfortunately, he didn't have the luxury of sitting around and freaking out. He had to get up.

He shucked off the old clothes and folded them loosely—they didn't really seem all that dirty. And, much to his relief, he was wearing the same boxers he'd put on before trying to sleep during the hiking trip.

Okay. That was kind of gross, actually. How long had it been? Just one day, right?

Putting his disgust to the side, he pulled on the new clothes, which seemed to be more or less identical. There weren't any socks, and he had no idea where his shoes were anyways. In fact, since he'd never been in this room before, he had to make an educated guess as to the location of all the furniture and the door, his fingertips gently tracing the wall for good measure. In the end he reached the door without running into anything, and quietly opened it to go outside.

Mey-rin seemed to be standing just to the left of the door, so he greeted her as he stepped out of the room. "Mey-rin," he said politely, "hello again. Might I ask you where my shoes are?"

"Oh!" she answered, startled, speaking louder than was strictly necessary. "We've got some slippers for you by the foot of the bed, we do."

"Thanks," he said before carefully going back in. They were right where she'd said, and he slipped them on easily. It was something of a relief. He'd feel a bit classless, walking around in just socks to meet a stranger who'd been sheltering him for however long in their apparently British mansion.

"I see you've found them!" she said, chipper, as he stepped back out and closed the door behind him. "You're to have tea with the young master. Follow me, please!"

He heard her set off almost immediately. She had an… extremely recognizable gait. If Sebastian the butler had been graceful and light on his feet, she was the opposite. It sounded almost like she was running, except she wasn't moving that fast, and her footfalls were heavy and hard.

"Wait, please," Cam asked reluctantly after taking a few steps. This was an entirely new place to him, and it seemed like it could potentially be very large. What if there were stairs or obstacles? Unfortunately he couldn't take it for granted that simply by listening to her in fromt of him he could avoid falling or running into something. He needed a little more help than that.

She stopped, making a confused sound, and he swallowed. He swallowed. Usually he felt nothing asking for help in a situation like this, but for some reason, now, Cameron felt no small amount of shame. "I'm blind," he said finally, bluntly. "Could you walk slowly, please? And… warn me if there are any steps up or down or anything."

"Oh dear!" Mey-rin said. "I'm sorry, I am, I didn't know! Of course, sir, I'll help you on the way there."

The corners of his lips raised in a smile. "Cameron."

"C-Cameron," Mey-rin corrected. "We're just walking straight down the hallway for now."

He followed her through a veritable maze of hallways in much the same way before coming to a stop. He'd been right—the house was huge. And apparently they had tables with expensive displays everywhere—there had been a few close calls when the maid forgot to mention them.

"Ah, there you are," said Sebastian. "I was beginning to think I would have to go looking for you." He sounded mostly as he had earlier, but maybe a little annoyed, and his ire was directed and the maid who'd led him here.

"I'm sorry, sir!" she fretted.

And perhaps she'd have gone on, but Cameron cut in, looking sharply towards Sebastian. "She had to help me all the way here," he said. "I don't have my cane."

There was a pause, and Sebastian's voice was all honeyed up again. "I see. In any case, the young master awaits you. Mey-rin, go on to your other chores."

"Y-yes, sir!" she squeaked, and Cameron smiled at the sound of her clumsily retreating footsteps.

Behind him, he heard to sound of two heavy, wooden doors being pushed open. "Young master, are you ready to receive your guest?"

"Is he here?" Cameron's eyes widened. "Young" indeed—that was a kid. Like, a prepubescent boy. "Come in."

His anxiety spiked for a minute. It was going to be another time where he entered a room and stood around looking like an idiot because he didn't know what to do when most other people would see the obviously in front of them. He'd had plenty of those times but it wasn't really something he got used to.

As if he could sense his anxiety, though, Sebastian's voice pierced the veil of his burgeoning panic. "I present to you my young master, Earl Ciel Phantomhive."

Stomach churning, Cameron stepped into the room, pausing for a moment when he heard Sebastian walk by him.

"Please, sit," Ciel Phantomhive said. There was a quiet sound of something moving against the carpet, and it was with no small amount of relief that he realized Sebastian had just adjusted a chair and he was able to follow the sound to its source and be seated.

"I will return shortly with tea, my lord," Sebastian said. There was that rustling fabric sound again. What was he doing, anyways?

Neither of them spoke until the doors shut again. Then, the boy in front of him began with an easily assured confidence that seemed rare in children his age. "May I ask who I've been hosting this past day?" He, too, was all politeness. But Cameron thought he could detect something else in his tone… he just wasn't sure what."

"Cameron Rutherford," he answered promptly. "Only a student. It's… a pleasure to meet you. I appreciate your sheltering me."

"It's of no consequence," the boy said dismissively, which was pointedly not true since Cam was pretty sure he'd have succumbed to hypothermia eventually without help. "We Phantomhives are renowned for our hospitality."

"You live up to your name, then," Cameron returned politely. He loosely gripped the fabric of his borrowed pants, though; the pleasantries, as always, grated on his nerves.

And Ciel Phantomhive, it seemed, felt similar. He cut right to the chase. "How did you come to be here?" He'd gone straight to interrogation mode, and sounded completely different now: sharp, discerning, and direct.

Was it his intent to intimidate? Cameron wasn't really feeling that way. The whole situation was stressful and bizarre, and he was on edge. As far as he was concerned, Ciel was the least of his worries—although it did seem strange that this literal child was apparently leading this estate.

Still. "Excuse me?" he replied sharply. "I'm told your butler brought me here, for whatever reason. When I woke up I expected to be in a hospital."

When Ciel answered, he sounded dismissive, almost bored. "Obviously I know that. You know what I mean to ask. Your appearance was unusual in more ways than one. You arrived here by unnatural means. How?"

It was a startling accusation. Technically speaking, it was a conclusion Cameron had already come to on his own, because there was absolutely no logical way that he could have passed out in the woods in the United States and woken up in England unless this was some kind of bizarre coma dream. He hadn't really had time to process it, though, and thinking about it then all he knew that it was unbelievable. It couldn't have happened, it didn't make sense. But it didn't feel like a dream, and things weren't exactly progressing as if that were the case.

Even then, he didn't have the time to go through with it. There was a knock at the door.

"Enter," the boy said, sounding annoyed by the abrupt interruption.

The door opened again, and Cameron recognized the quiet sound of the butler's footsteps and the wheels of a cart rolling across the carpeted floor. He came to a stop in between Cameron and the young Earl. "Today we have a Ceylon blend with vanilla in the gilded silver set by distinguished silversmith Edward C. Brown, served with scones and finger sandwiches. What will you have, young master?"

"I'll have scones."

"And you, sir?"

Cameron startled, but was immensely excited by the prospect of food. The scones smelled amazing, and he thought he could also smell cucumber. Must be the finger sandwiches, he though. "Sandwiches for me, please," he answered, and because he didn't want to go grasping about for his food, he held out a hand, and quickly received a hot cup of tea and a plate, which he sat awkwardly in his lap. Is this bad manners? "Thank you."

"Sebastian, you'll stay here," Ciel ordered. Then, directing his attention back at Cameron, he continued, "You may as well reveal the truth of how you arrived at the place where you were found. You weren't in any state to have arrived there yourself. And, aside from that, we discovered many… unusual things among your possessions."

Cameron was stricken again by the strange familiarity of the butler's voice, and now of this situation. Perhaps the boy reminded him of someone… except that he didn't know many children. He gripped tightly at the handle of his teacup. "For example?"

Ciel made an annoyed sound. "Sebastian, retrieve his bag for me."

Apparently it was in the room, since the butler had only to take a few steps before placing the bag on the top of what Cameron assumed to be a desk or table between him and the boy. "Here you are, my lord."

They had yet to say anything about the strange things they'd supposedly found, but Cameron could hear the boy making interested noises even before the zipper was pulled. "I've never seen fastenings like these before," the young earl said as he opened the largest pocket.

"… A zipper?" Cameron said in disbelief.

"Is that what it's called?" the earl said. Then he made out a crinkling sound, and the sloshing of liquid as one of the bottles was set upright on his desk. "And this?"

Cameron blinked a few times. "I'm sorry… you must be kidding. The water?"

The kid sighed in frustration and Cam thought he could hear the butler chuckle quietly. "I know it's water!" the brat snapped. "I'm obviously referring to the container."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Cameron said smartly, "I've just never had someone pretend not to know what a plastic water bottle is."

"Plastic?"

"Yes, plastic," Cameron stressed, beginning to feel quite frustrated. "The material. Everything's made of plastic these days, how can you not know about it?"

"If I may, young master," Sebastian cut in smoothly. "I assure you, sir, that I've traveled far and wide during my lifetime and have never come across this material before."

Cameron's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Already, his tea was forgotten. "I don't know how that's possible. I'm sorry, you can't be serious."

He went ignored, and another pocket opened. "And what about this?" the boy pressed.

Whatever he was holding made no identifiable sound, so Cameron waited on a description, but none came.

"Well?" the boy said.

His irritation and confusion with this situation was quickly reaching its peak. "You're aware I have no idea what you're holding, right?" There was no response. "I'm completely blind."

The boy sputtered, and something hard fell on the desk. "Sebastian! You didn't—"

"Ah," the older man said in a measured tone. "I suppose that does explain why you had such a flimsy cane in the middle of the forest."

Cameron sighed in relief, almost involuntary. "I didn't lose it? Do you still have it?" he asked with some urgency.

"Of course, sir," Sebastian responded smugly. "If I failed to retrieve all of your belongings, what kind of butler would I be?"

"Sebastian, quit strutting your feathers," Ciel snapped. "Mr. Rutherford, I apologize. I wasn't aware of your condition. Hand him this."

A moment passed before the butler pressed something hard into his palm. For a brief second, Sebastian's gloved fingers made contact with Cameron's skin, and he felt a static shock. He flinched, fingers closing reflexively over the object. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "It's my phone."

"You mean to tell me that thing is a telephone?" the boy demanded.

Cameron laughed almost reflexively as he held down the power button. "Yes. You have a phone, don't you?"

"Obviously," Ciel replied sharply, "but it isn't anything like that one."

"The Phantomhive estate has its own phone, the very latest release from the Bell company," Sebastian explained.

"The Bell company? Like—"

"Sebastian!" Ciel was suddenly excitable. "Look, there's something on the glass."

"2:28 P.M.," read the voiceover on Cameron's phone. "Saturday, September 24, 2022. Battery is at 97%."

"What is it doing?" Ciel demanded.

Finally, a normal question. "It's the accessibility mode," Cameron said. "I have VoiceOver on since I can't see anything that's on the screen. It reads it all out so I can use my phone the same way most people do."

The butler hummed, low and deep. "I believe I understand the source of our confusion, young master. But first, I think that we should explain the situation to our guest. Mr. Rutherford, I believe your… VoiceOver just gave the date, yes?"

Cameron's stomach was sinking. He hadn't even tried any of the finger sandwiches yet, and now he didn't think that he could. "Yes…"

"And what was yesterday's date, if you would?" the man continued.

Cameron paused. "It… it was Friday. September 23."

"And the year, sir?"

"… 2022," he answered wearily.

"Impossible," Ciel gasped.

"It's certainly improbable, young master. But you of all people are aware that improbable things tend to happen on this estate."

"What's improbable?" Cameron interrupted.

"Mr. Rutherford," Ciel said with sudden solemnity, "today's date is September 24… and the year is 1889."

another longer one! this was almost super long but i decided that this was a good breaking point. on the bright side, that means you folks have another update coming very soon (: (:

hope you enjoyed! till next time~ 10.21.2023