Chapter Text
It's December 1st 1885, when Ciel runs excitedly into the dining room, his two giant blue eyes blinking excitedly. "Mama! Papa!" He beams, "Thirteen days to go before my birthday!"
"I know Our Little Miracle!" Rachel beams, holding out her arms as her son leaps into them. Rachel spins him around, twirling him high above her head. "Who's the cutest little man in the whole world? It's you! Oh yes it is!"
Vincent, who's grabbing a champagne bottle from the cabinet in the same room, grins, "He sure is! And guess what my lad," Vincent says, bringing the bottle over, "your Mama and I are celebrating something else this week too."
"What?" The almost-ten-year-old Ciel asks, as his mother puts him down on the table. He sits there sweetly, swinging his legs off the edge like the cutie pie he is.
"Your Papa made sure a very bad man named Black Hat won't hurt anyone anymore today," Vincent tells, in a very gentle, small-child-friendly way. "Your Papa chased after Black Hat for a very long time, like a cat after a mouse! He was one of the top bad guys in all of London," he gives the sanitised version of events. “Isn't that wonderful Our Little Miracle?”
Ciel is too young to really understand what his parents are saying, but the smiles on his parents' faces tell him this is a good thing, so he giggles. Vincent laughs along and tickles-attacks his son.
It seems like only a moment, a mere breath of time, before it's Ciel's actual 10th birthday on the 14th of December, 1885. Vincent takes his son upstairs and asks him to wait in his room whilst the final surprise touches are added to his party room and birthday cake downstairs. The adorable little munchkin is eagerly waiting, when, from downstairs, he hears terrible crashing, smashing, and screaming begin. Terrified and yelling for his Mama and Papa, Ciel ran downstairs, just as his manor caught ablaze. The tiny dot of a boy battled through the flames, yelling for his family. He's rushing to the dining room, where his party was supposed to be held, and sees it.
The same dining room he shared with his parents for all his meals, the same dining room that is filled with so many wonderful memories, is now filled with nothing but fire, and he sees his parents burning. He sees their bodies, in their clothes, burning away into nothingness.
Ciel is screaming as the flames of the fire close in around him. His childhood innocence dies in those flames as pure, horrified fear fills his eyes.
Vincent Phantomhive jolts awake, his body sore as he slowly sits up. He has to ground himself in a moment. Upon his concrete wall, he has chalked out a makeshift calendar. He sighs when he realises it's December 1st, 1889.
In thirteen more days, he'll have been 'dead' for four years.
Moving with the aching bones of a 90 year old man, Vincent slowly climbs atop his bed and bangs on the bars of the tiny vent in the otherwise solid concrete walls. "Rachel?' He croaks out, his voice barely audible as it's nothing but a dehydrated squeak. Vincent clears his throat as best as he can, and tries again, "Rachel, my love!" He manages to yell.
Vincent cannot see through the vent. It sits right under the ceiling. If he stands on his bed on tip toes and lifts his arm as high as it will go, he can bang on the bars that cover the vent. This, mixed with yelling on his already sore throat, is his only way to communicate.
"I'm here, my love," Rachel's voice assures gently, her voice weak and exhausted sounding as her husband's own does.
Vincent sighs in relief, glad beyond reason that his wife has survived another night in this hell hole. "How are you today my dear?" Vincent asks, craning his neck up as high as it will go, looking up at the vent so his voice will hopefully travel further.
"I'm…still here," Rachel can be heard heaving a sigh so heavy it echoes.
"I know my love, I know," Vincent sympathies. "Oh my Rachel, I had the worst dream. I was our son, on the day of the fire. I saw everything through his eyes. I can't imagine how scared he must have been."
"I know," Rachel squeaks, sounding as if she's on the edge of tears herself. "All I ever do is hope and pray that he's alive and ok…somewhere." There's a pause, a scared, thoughtful kind of pause. "Do you believe he survived the fire Vincent?" She asks, her voice practically begging.
"Of course he did, of course he did," Vincent says, very firmly. "He's safe, alive, well cared for, and is with his aunt and uncle Midford. He'll have grown up beside his cousin slash future wife Elizabeth all these years. The two of them will be having a great childhood right now. Full of love, laughter, and safety." He says this with such firm confidence that, for a second, he almost believes it himself.
Rachel can be heard sniffling on the other side of the wall, "yeah, I don't believe that either."
Vincent feels his heart shatter a little. He knows without seeing her that his beautiful wife is dealing with the same destruction.
"We mustn't love hope my love," Vincent tells her, softly.
"It's December 1st again Vincent. That means it's thirteen days shy of the four year anniversary. The whole world thinks we died in that fire, and sometimes, I wish we had," Rachel releases her woes.
"Don't talk like that my love," Vincent soothes.
"Well it's true," Rachel's tears can be heard falling now. "To think, it was this time four years ago we were telling Ciel about Black Hat, do you remember?"
Vincent nods even though his beloved cannot see this, "Yes, I dreamt about that too. We believed that Black Hat was dead."
"All those police reports, the Coroner's report, the judge's official ruling of confirmed death…to think Black Hat could have faked all that."
"It wasn't even that he faked them. They were all legitimate papers, made and signed by official, trusted people. That's where we went wrong. We assumed Black Hat couldn't have possibly paid off that many people. Imagine being able to have a real death certificate made up when you're alive and well. Now that's having connections in high places," Vincent sighs.
"We should never have underestimated him," Rachel sobs, "Now, he's faked our deaths with such precision and…we've just been in this damn dungeon so Goddamn long Vincent! I haven't seen the sunshine, or you, or my precious Ciel, in what feels like an eternity."
"I know, my love, I know," Vincent does his best to sound comforting, "Every day, I understand more and more what Black Hat meant when he said that 'death would have been too gracious' for us. We were a thorn in his side for so many years…he had to repay us for all that pain." Vincent leans his head on the cold cement of his cell wall, closing his eyes painfully. "If we ever get out of here, I'm giving up being the Queen's WatchDog for good. Do you remember how Ciel used to want to own a toy shop?" Vincent smiles fondly at the memory, eyes still closed. "If we ever get back to him, I want to open one for him. I don't care if running such a small business like that destroys the entire Phantomhive fortune. I just want you and my son. We can live in a cardboard box, for all I care. It seems so stupid now, to think I was ever concerned with things like wealth or status or power. I don't care about being a Phantomhive, I just want to be Vincent, husband to you, and a father to our Ciel."
"Somebody will find us, someday," Rachel manages in a whisper.
"To find something, you'd have to know it's lost. Everyone thinks we're dead, and they think Black Hat is dead too, so they wouldn't even look into him, let alone look for him," Vincent huffs a heavy sigh. "Which means they aren't looking for us either."
"We mustn't lose hope, my love," Rachel repeats her husband's own words back to him. "Isn't that what you just said?"
"Yeah, I guess I did just say that," Vincent wilts, peering gloomily around his tiny cell. "And yet.." he trails off.
"I know, my love. I know," Rachel coos.
Just then, Vincent hears the soundproof metal slider between their vents snap shut, and, no matter how loud Vinent yells, his wife can't hear him anymore. He learnt this within two hours of arriving here four years ago, so he no longer bothers.
He knows their time to speak for the day is up. Decided by their cruel puppetmaster, Black Hat, lurking somewhere high above.
Vincent sinks against the wall, falling into a seated position on top of his bed. He stares around his cold, empty cell. He calls what he's sitting on a bed, but it's just a slab of concrete with no soft furnishings of any kind on offer. His cell, which is in a basement under a basement, under a normal looking building, is both literally and metaphorically ice cold. He has a hole in the ground for a toilet and a cold tap that only works when one of his captives turns the water on, which is usually for one hour a day. He either drinks then, or he doesn't drink at all until the next day. His food is nothing but rotten leftovers that make him ill every time he eats. This slop arrives under his door when his captors feel like it. He can go for weeks without so much as a crumb. He's beaten by one of the henchmen at least ten times a day, though. His cell offers no other furniture or ways to entertain himself. It's a void, grey, hopeless existence of non-stop pain.
Vincent does believe his son is alive, but alive in what state is the question that scares him so.
Black Hat assured them that if Ciel survived the fire (and that was a big if, Black Hat made sure to strain), that Black Hat already had men waiting to kidnap him as well. Black Hat then spoke of all the terrible things that would happen to Ciel if that were the case. Beaten, starved, abused, and neglected just like his parents, then sold to the highest bidder as some kind of sick plaything. Or worse, as a paedophile's sex toy. Black Hat did not hold back on describing what that would be like for poor Ciel. What a horrible, hopeless life that would be.
The horrible, hopeless part of Vincent can't help but imagine his precious son, who could be anywhere in the world by now, living in conditions like the ones he and his wife now exist in. It causes Vincent a level of agony no physical torture could ever achieve, to imagine that his son might be in conditions that match, or are even worse, then his own. Black Hat knows this all too well, and tormets both Vinent and his wife regularly by loudly describing what’s probably happening to their Ciel right now as he stands outside their locked cell door. Hat does this whenever he sees fit.
Vincent lies down on his concrete slab of a bed, eyes closed as he faces the ceiling, and prays;
Dear God,
Despite my grim circumstances, I have not lost faith in you. Please, if you haven't already, send an Angel to care for my Ciel. The kindness, most loving Angel you have.
Amen.
From somewhere far, far, far away, VIncent is certain he hears a demon roar with mocking laughter.
He must just be imagining things though.
****** December 14th ******
There's only a tiny spot of sunlight that comes peeking through the ventilation fan spinning at the top of the back wall of Vincent's cell when December 14th, 1889 dawns.
That small spot of sunshine seemed to physically mock Vincent in the beginning, shimmering like a possible escape plan, but, as Vincent learnt the hard way, its such a tiny gap Vincent couldn't even get his hand through even if he could reach that high, which he can’t, because the fan is practically in the ceiling and all the 'furniture' in his cell is bolted down so Vincent couldn't even stack things to stand on if he wanted to. Vincent has considered every possible escape plan, and none of them are possible. Today, Vincent has his head against the cold concrete wall, especially miserable because he knows his son is turning fourteen today. It's Ciel's birthday again and Vincent can't be there. This also means that it's officially been four years that they've been apart. Another year of Ciel's life that his parents have missed.
There's a clink and the grumbling of a man's voice. "Food," announces a guard, as the small food slot at the bottom of his cell door pops open. Vincent looks up and is able to see the guards foot and knee as he kneels down, as the guard slots Vincent's slop through the slot.
"Hurry up, the boss wants a meeting," says a secondary guard, whose feet come over. That second pair of shoes kicks at the first guard's ankle and the first guard, still in his kneeled position, goes toppling over. As he falls, there's a clack, followed by skidding, and Vincent looks up to see - an actual miracle - a pocket-size razor has dropped from the first guard's pocket and now skids into Vincent's cell.
Vincent doesn't dare breathe. The first guard is yelling at the second guard for kicking him but Vincent can't even hear the words. He's totally focused on staring at that razor.
The guards then slam the foot slot door and walk away. Leaving the slop - and the razor.
He hasn't noticed that he's dropped his razor.
Vincent's heart rate jumps. He knows exactly what he needs to do, and he also knows it won't be long till that guard notices his razor is missing.
He needs to act fast.
Vincent snatches up the razor, holding it close to his heaving chest, a mixture of hope and terror making his heart slam as he looks at the razor as if it might be a dream. "Rachel my love!" Vincent calls, hoping the slot between his cell and his wife's is open, but the chances are slim. The time that the puppet master opens that slot changes every day. "Say something if you can hear me!"
"I can hear you Vincent!" Rachel yells back, in yet another minor miracle.
"The guard dropped a razor my love!" Vincent is beaming, "it's in my cell!"
"That's…lovely, dear!" Rachel calls, unsurely, clearly uncertain what a razor has to do with anything, or why her husband would be happy about it.
"This will be our escape, my love!" Vincent is glowing.
A beat of a pause, "Vince, how does a razor help my love? Even if you managed to squeeze your hand through that tiny food slot, the only thing you'd manage to stab is a guard's toes, through their shoes no less."
"I'm not going to use it as a weapon against anyone but myself," Vincent tells. His voice was bright with glee and excitement, but now he lowers it to a serious level, "Rachel my darling, I need you to believe me right now.
What I'm about to say is going to sound completely insane, but I vow that it's true, alright?"
"...Alright," Rachel says, cautiously.
“Firstly, do you truly believe there’s a God?” Vincent asks. He and his wife always talked of Angels and miracles to CIel, but in a way that most parents do to their children; as if it's just another fairytale.
“Well…” Rachel struggles, then sighs, “I used to, but these days I find myself wondering why we’d still be here, if there was a God.”
“There is one,” nods Vincent, “and Angels and Demons are as real as you or I too. I know because….because my family has always owned a demon.” He says ‘owned a demon’ like most people say ‘owned a dog’.
Rachel pauses for a very, very long moment, then, “Vincent, sweetheart -” she says in a very gentle voice that’s warming up to say, ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this but that can’t be true’ and Vincent knows it.
“My love, these four walls have yet to drive me insane. I know my own mind, and I know this to be true. Please my love, please have faith in me.”
Vincent can hear Rachel taking a very long, deep breath, "ok," she manages, “I…I believe you.”
She doesn’t sound 100% sure, but who could be? At least she’s willing to listen and hold the faith, which is more than most people would do if their loved one began insisting mythical creatures (like a demon) were real. “My forefathers, my father, grandfather, and for many generations before that, have always had demons working for them. A demon can help you to accomplish almost anything. They are extremely powerful creatures who can make your dreams come true, but for a price. They often take your soul as payment, but other times you have to sacrifice someone dear to you, or worse, you’ll be expected to do both. Demons have ensured that all my forefathers before me suffered horrible, horrible deaths. Demons are the explanation behind both the Phantomhive's success and their famous gruesome deaths.”
“I….see,” Rachel says slowly.
“You still with my love?” Vincent asks.
“I'm trying,” Rachel says unsurely.
“That's all I ask,” Vincent nods even though Rachel can't see this, “you see, I watched all this happen to both my grandfather and father. From a young age I understood that their ‘assistants’ were truly demon's. I watched them go die so, so horribly,” Vincent tells. “For every good thing that a demon does for their master, they bring about one tragedy with it. They're nothing but a curse to their master and anyone near their master. They make you believe they're worth it, they get you drunk on the power they can offer you, but they're only in it for themselves,” Vincent finds himself spitting these words with revengeful rage now, “there's nothing worse that can happen to a person, then to call upon a demon.”
When Vincent is done, he's a little breathless. Rachel gives him a moment in silence before quietly asking, “what does this have to do with the razor?”
Vincent gets struck with a sense of feeling a touch embarrassed. His rage against demons made him forget his original point.
“Right. Yes. Well my love, a year ago, hell, perhaps even a month ago, I'd have said that being free of even this hellhole would not be worth inviting a demon into our lives but….” He sighs, “we're not getting out of here Rachel, and nobody is coming for us,” he's especially harsh as he adds, “we are going to die in here.”
Rachel remains silent as these words hang in the air for an awful moment.
“But,” Vincent breathes, “a demon could get us out of here and home to our Ciel in five minutes. All I'd have to do is draw a pentagram in blood.”
“That's what the razor can do. Draw your blood, and therefore summon us a demon?” Rachel asks.
“Yes my love.”
“But the demon will want payment. You said they usually take souls, or something equally awful,” Rachel points out.
“I plan to offer the creature Black Hat’s soul, and the soul of every guard in this prison of ours. Hopefully, that should clear our debt.”
“What if the demon doesn't take that offer?”
Then I’ll offer myself, so you can escape, Vincent thinks. But he doesn't want to panic his wife, so he says, “I know demon's, it won't be able to resist such a good deal. Five minutes of its time for at least the 100 souls that are in this place? It’ll be drooling over that.”
“Are you sure?”
No. “Yes.”
“Vincent….I'm not sure if I believe any of this. I think this cell has gotten to you my love. I think you need to put the razor down and forget all about this,” Rachel stands firm yet speaks so gently.
“Let me show you,” Vincent practically begs, “I swear I won't hurt myself badly. I'll just cut myself shallow, just enough to draw blood for a pentagram, then I'll tear my shirt and bandage myself. If nothing happens, then I've lost my mind but I'll be fine. But if it works, we'll be free.”
The wheels in Rachel's head can practically be heard turning, “you promise me that you won't hurt yourself badly? Because I need you here with me Vince.”
“I vow it, my love.”
Rachel can be heard swallowing, then, “do it.”
Vincent smiles,"Thank you for trusting me, my love," he says.
With that, he slashes into his left forearm and presses his right hand on the cut, allowing his right hand to become drenched in blood. Using his blood soaked fingers as paint brushes, he paints a pentagram on the concrete floor, just like he watched his father do before him. As soon as the pentagram is drawn, Vinent keeps his promise, tears his raggedy shirt and bandages his wound tightly. He does this all he powerfully calls out, “come forth, oh demon," in Latin. Thank God he still remembers how to say that in Latin. It only works in Latin.
Instantly, with an audible crack like lightning, a swirling mass of darkness appears, swirling and twisting like a tornado, shaking the concrete walls of Vincent's cell. A voice like a horrified scream speaks in garbled awfulness:
W̲ͥḩ̡̦̮̫̱͗͋̽e̛ͪ͗ m̪͍̹̺̭̝̙͆ͤ̃ͧ̋̑͢͡ͅo̴̧̟̘͕̒ͩ͘͘rt̨͙̦̉ͬ̅̽a̷̢̛̘̱̱̺͓̫͔̞̰̟̋ͭ́͋͂̑͟͟͡͞͠_̹̭͙̭͆_͚͠_͖̱͗̈́l̨̨̯̘͍̦͎̦͍̳͖͚ͦͮ̽ͬ̌ͩͬ̔ͥ̂ͧͭ̔ͣ͑ͮͫͣ̌ͯ͗̀̓̄͜͝͝_͑͛ͤ f̨̛̞̬͚͉͐͌̋̆̏ͫ́ͨ͞͠ơ̸̰̤͍ͮͬͩͤo̲l̸̹̞̫̾͠ w͇̣̬̼̗̐ͦ̆̓̽̅ͭḩ̵͉͍̼̰̤̳͆ͩ͑ͧ͑ͩ̚ọ̴̑̽ͫͯ̐ͣ͘͝͝ s̆̇_̴̴̢̛̫̫̣͙̟̬̰̠̦̭̦̼̭͍̀̓̈ͨͥ̎ͯ̂ͭ̀ͪ̀͐ͮ̃̔̋̂̐̕͘p̖ͨ̎́ͣͫ͂i̸̸̴̴̸̧̨̛̤͖͔͎̰̖̩̣̯̬̖̥͓̹̞̠̱͉ͬ̅̿ͣ͗ͫ͆̅̀̀̓̅ͬ̇ͭͯ͘͢͞͠ͅt̸̴̢̛̛̪͓̯̦̞̍̋̌ͯ̎ͣ́ ừ̢̗͍̜͔͋ͤ̎̒͋̑͜ͅōn_̨̢̛͈͕ͫͫ̆͢_̦̖͖̻͕̱͖̬̍̀̇ͤ͗̕͘ͅ
It's a sound so horrific that it makes Vincent's ears begin to bleed. He cups his ears and shakes, but still stands up straight and strong, baring through it. “Demon! Come forth, I have a deal for you!” Vincent commands.
The swirling vat of darkness solidifies slightly, “English, is it? How dull,” remarks a voice that comes from the shadow with no clear way to be able to speak. “What do you wish, mortal?”
“My wife and I are trapped in these wicked cells,” Vincent explains. “Free my wife and I, take us to our son Ciel Phantomhive, and, in return, you can devour every soul in the building. There are at least 100 sinners here for you to feast upon. If that's not enough, our main captor, Black Hat, is an extreme sinner. I shall sacrifice him to you as well.”
The smoke growls hungrily, “I prefer my master's soul.”
Vincent panics slightly, as this is what he was worried about, but he doesn't let this show. He holds steady. “You'd turn down a 100 sinners for one?” he asks, like this would be a very silly thing to do.
The smoke pauses, then shifts, “Hmm. Deal.”
Vincent smiles, “then let's do this. Your form is unimportant. Look like anything, for all I care.”
The black smoke forms into a generic Victorian era servant, who bows low, “master,” he bids, an evil smile on his lips and a dark twinkle in his eye. He pushed the concrete, steel-hinged door with only the slightest tap and it explodes, flying backwards and crashing through a stone wall.
“Hey!” Hearing that awful noise, guards come running.
The demon steps out of the cell (now with a massive hole where the door should be), smiles at the hoard of guards running towards him, and moves quicker than Vincent can blink.
In less than half a minute, the pool of blood reaches Vincent's feet. He smiles.
Watching The Demon knock everyone within an inch of their lives (so It can eat their souls later, he can't take them if they're dead), is very cathartic. Once everyone (including Black Hat), is down for the count, The Demon smashes through several walls, chains, locks and bolts before they finally emerge into the sunlight. It's so bright It's blinding. It's so old it's biting. It's so loud it's deafening.
It's…outside.
Vincent is sure that, under different circumstances, he'd be consumed by the amazement of seeing so many things right now. Like the sun, the sky, the buildings, the grass, just by being outside for the first time in four years. He should be amazed by seeing his wife again, or amazed by how he doesn't actually know where he is right now.
But he notices none of it. Not how the world looks, not even how his wife looks. All he cares about is one thing;
“Take us to our Ciel,” he orders The Demon. He won't bother naming the thing.
“Yes master,” bids the demon.
The Demon whistles and a carriage appears out of nowhere. The Demon opens the door for them and the Phantomhive's climb inside. The Demon whistles again and the carriage begins going as fast as a very-much-normal horse can pull it.
“Where is he? Where's our Ciel?” Rachel asks, desperately. “Is he OK?” her eyes are full of tears, “oh Vincent, what if this…thing,” she eyes the demon, “is taking us ‘to our Ciel’, meaning a graveyard?”
Vincent squeaks. He hadn't thought of that. He swallows his fear, and speaks, “demon,” he tries to sound calmer then he feels, “where - how is our son?”
“Ciel Phantomhive is alive, well, and living at Phantomhive Manor,” the demon says, “he's running your stupid business now.”
Rachel looks hopeful, but Vincent says, “prove it,” so the demon tisks and waves a hand. Today's newspaper appears from midair. Inside the business section, which the paper is already folded open to, is an article about the stocks soaring for Phantom Company. There's an accompanying photograph of Ciel, standing outside of the Manor. The photo is labelled as ‘world's youngest business tycoon; Ciel Phantomhive.’
Rachel snatches the newspaper. She's a refined woman who would never usually snatch, but she can be forgiven this time. She holds the paper close and stares at the photograph, which is dated as having been taken just yesterday, like it's the first time she's ever seen a photograph. “That's my baby? He's gotten so big!” tears well up in her eyes.
“He really is running the business now? He's only 14!” Vincent admires, “wait, how did you know this? Do demons read newspapers?”
The demon shrugs, “I knew your kid was alive and running the family business the second you said his name because he's talked about in...certain circles. Trust me, you don't wanna know what kind of circles he's known in. You asked for proof of what I said and knew, well, there ya go.”
“He's alive, Vincent,” Rachel whispers, tears of joy escaping her eyes.
“And at the manor,” Vincent breathes a sigh of relief, “are his aunt and uncle living with him?” In response, the demon just shrugs.
Rachel is chewing her lip and peering out the window, “where are we now? How long will it take to get home to him?”
“Near the coast of Spain,” says their demon, boredly, like he's not really interested in answering. “So a few hours.”
“Spain?!” Vincent gags, “we'll have to take a boat then! A few hours he says! It'll take us half the day to get home!”
Rachel squeaks in dismay at this. Vincent takes her hand and pats it, offering her the best comfort he can. The demon, meanwhile, smirks. “I can get you there faster,” the demon smiles, evilly. “I can get you back to your precious Ciel in seconds.”
Rachel looks to Vincent with hopeful, questioning eyes. Vincent chews his lip, “there is no good without bad with a demon. He'll only make something awful happen in return if we get him to do this.”
“What's the worst thing he can do to us, Vincent?” Rachel asks, tiredly. “We've already lost everything. Everything except for each other and our Ciel.”
She has a point there.
Vincent considers his next move carefully before taking several deep breaths, “demon,” he pulls down his ruined top, exposing his newly printed pentagram on his collarbone, his half of the contract they now hold with the demon, “this is an order. I don't care what else you do, who else you hurt, or what else you damage, but you are ordered to never, in any possible way, harm myself, my wife Rachel, or our son Ciel. Am I understood?”
“Yes,” the demon smiles with his eyes flashing as this order sinks in, “master.”
“Then,” Rachel squeezes her husband's hand, “take us to our son.”
The demon clicks its fingers. The horse detaches from the carriage and the carriage begins rocketing down the streets of Spain at speeds too fast for passerby to see, but, inside the cabin, everything feels still and steady. Vincent can see the world blurring past at high speed outside his window, yet the cab is as stable as a rock. Such is the power of a demon.
“I hope that we can keep this under control, my love, and that whatever repercussions this demon brings us, we can weather it,” Vincent tells, “because there's truly nothing worse that can happen to a person, than to invite a demon into their lives.”
*****
There's a soft layer of snow on the ground and the three idiot servants; Mey-Rin, Finny, and Baldroy, are running around throwing snow at each other and laughing their heads off. Ciel is sitting on a chair, his legs wrapped up in a blanket and an overhead tarp has been set up above him to shield him against the snow. He's sipping a hot chocolate and enjoying watching the three of them run around like the nutcases they are.
“I know!” Finny stops running around to light up with inspiration, “let's do a snowman family! One for each of us!”
“Yeah that's a great idea! Wanna join us young master?” Baldroy grins over at Ciel.
Ciel scoffs and shakes his head. Undeterred, the three idiots begin rolling up a snowman's bottom. Ciel watches them like a parent watching their kids; a mix of amused, annoyed by the noise, and with a sprinkle of fondness in his heart.
It's his birthday again. He's 14 today. The staff know better than to try to throw him any form of celebration by now, but they always try to make it a fun day, all the same, one full of laughter and smiles. Nobody mentions that it's his birthday, just as they were ordered not to, but they do all go to an extra effort to make it a good and happy day for Ciel all the same.
Some tiny forgotten speck inside Ciel appreciates that, appreciates them.
Not that he'd ever admit this, of course.
No, only one person gets to see the softer side of Ciel, and that someone isn't even a person.
Ciel climbs out of his chair and heads to the front garden, away from the back-garden based idiots. Naturally, Sebastian is waiting for him because Sebastian anticipates everything. Such is his way. Ciel's mouth twitches in what could be, when seen by morons, be misinterpreted as a smile forming.
Sebastian lays out a blanket he pulls from thin air, displaying his demonic power, and Ciel kneels on it. He doesn't need to tell Sebastian that he wants to build a snowman with him because Sebastian just knows. So, neither of them speak. Neither of them need to. Ciel can instruct Sebastian either words or movement. He doesn't need to say silly things such as ‘scoop me some snow from that especially big pile over there’. He doesn't even need to point to it. For the quickest of eye flashes, he just looks at said pile and Sebastian drags it obediently over for use. It's not one sided though, this near telepathic communication. Sebastian pauses with a certain look on his face, but otherwise silent, and Ciel nods equally silently. No one in the world would ever, or indeed, could ever, guess that Sebastian just asked if the left side of their snowman bottom ball was looking a tad saggy, and that Ciel agreed it was, followed by them both fluffing that exact side up at that exact same time.
Nobody speaks their language. Nobody but them. It's their world. Their words. Their place.
It's here, where Ciel is home. Not the manor, nor any room in it. But here, in moments he shares with a demon, of all things.
Here is where he discovered what it means to feel at home.
Home is safety, and assurance. It's the promise that, no matter what happens outside of Home, Home will still be OK. It's the promise of unconditional positive regard. It's the promise of never feeling unsure or scared again. Who knew that a creature from Hell, of all places, could bring that.
“What a magnificent piece,” Sebastian admires, as they finish their snowman. It's the first time any words have been exchanged in over half an hour.
“It is rather, isn't it?” Ciel agrees proudly. There's a glow, like a mini fire, roaring within his chest. A glow that feels like he's a child again. A glow of pure, innocent fun without any adult worries. A glow Ciel felt only when his parents were still alive, and was sure that he'd never feel again.
But, of all things, a demon has changed that.
It's taken a long time. Almost four years of consistent work on Sebastian's part, for Ciel to feel this way. To everyone else, he's still the same cold-blooded, rock hard Earl with no sense of empathy that he's been since his parents died. Nobody gets to see any emotion from him other than displeasure and smug pride when he's winning.
It's a creature from the depths below that gets to see Ciel do such silly vulnerable things like laugh, cry, and even be silly. Ciel thought he could never be silly again, but Sebastian's persistent love has worn down all his walls.
“We should take a break and get you warm,” Sebastian recommends. “We can come back later, if you wish. Perhaps we can even make snow angels, hm?”
“Surely they'd be snow devil's for you, hm?” Ciel teases, as he steps off the blanket Sebastian laid down for him.
Sebastian chuckles and bends down to pick this blanket up. As he does so, Ciel gets a childish urge and - rather than hold back as he once would - picks up a handful of snow and blasts Sebastian in the side face with it.
Logically, Ciel knows that Sebastian would take a speeding train strike to the head without flinching. He's a demon, after all, but, because Sebastian always allows Ciel to play like a normal child, he reacts accordingly; by crying out in horrified alarm and falling to the snow covered ground, looking stunned by Ciel’s ‘attack’.
Ciel giggles like the child he's supposed to be, the child he was meant to be. “Attack!” He cries out, rushing to Sebasian’s side, he bends down, and, in a frenzy, shoves and kicks all the snow he can manage onto Sebastian's face and body. The demon flails, coughing and ‘choking’ on the snow.
“Oh no!” He cries drastically, “he's burning me alive!! Someone please help me!!!”
Ciel launches into a giggling fit, yelling out battle cries like “I shall bury you yet!” And “nobody is coming to save you, oh foul one!” between giggles as he shovels the snow. He does this until his weak constitution catches up to him, causing him to become tight chested and begin coughing.
“Whoopsie,” Sebastian sits up, takes out an inhaler from his jacket pocket and gently inserts it into Ciel’s mouth, “deep breath my lord.”
Ciel sucks in air as deeply as his struggling lungs will allow, and Sebastian fires off the inhaler with a press of the button with perfect timing. Ciel's lungs fill with the medication, and he feels them expand gratefully. He lets out a much easier breath as the inhaler is removed, “there, much better, do you need a second dose?” Sebastian asks. Ciel shakes his head. “Good, shall we break for hot chocolate?” Sebastian smiles.
Ciel can't quite explain what happens next. It's as if all the good times he's had with Sebastian, all the tender loving care the demon has shown him, and all of Ciel's grateful feelings combine in that moment so Ciel lets slip an, “ok, Papa.”
Both demon and master freeze, thunderstruck.
Ciel burns burning bright red with shame as he turns towards the house, having heard himself, he goes to scurry away like a startled squirrel when-
Sebastian places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Master,” he says, gently. “You could call me by that name, if you wished.”
Ciel has his back to the demon. He doesn't turn around. He begins to quiver, but not from the cold. “You are my servant, nothing more,” he says, his practised harshness returning to protect him, as it always has .
“Yes, forever your servant,” Sebastian agrees, “but I can be many things at once. You are an Earl, you are also a child. I can be your servant and a parent to you. One would not not stop me from being the other.”
Ciel feels himself weakening, his mask slipping again, “it certainly hasn't so far.”
Sebastian says something, he simply waits, as if he knows there's more.
And there is.
“No not doubt my intelligence. To think that I do not recognise what you have been doing all these years would be foolish. There is no doubt that you have been raising me. You crossed the line from mere butler to being my parent years ago. Butlers do not encourage their masters to cry when they need to and hold them through their nightmares,” Ciel recites, “however, to ever admit that I looked at you, felt towards you, as if you were my parent…” Ciel trails off.
“You feel as if you were betraying your real parents?” Sebastian sees right through the young Earl, as always.
Ciel says nothing, but his fist balls painfully tight against this truth.
“My lord. Recognising me as your parental figure would not weaken their role, or dilute their memory. You can simply have three parents. If you wish, I can be Papa and Vincent can be Father or perhaps even the other way around! Besides which, you'd hardly have to call me by that title all the time. It would be whenever you needed to. I have no intention of replacing your parents, and I know that you do not intend to replace them with me, but we, you and I, can extend and renew the family you'll always have. Or we can forget this conversation ever happened and continue as normal. Regardless, I am, as ever, yours, and yours only. Your possession, I shall always be. Whatever else I am, is up to you.”
Ciel can hear his own heart beating. It's making him a little dizzy, “Do…do you want that? Do you want to make the unspoken spoken?”
“You ordered me to never lie, so yes, I do, because I've come to see you as my son,” Sebastian admits.
Ciel's breath catches.
“But, I shall never push my opinions onto you. I'm happy just as we were. So, whatever you decide is more than alright with me,” Sebastian adds.
Ciel closes his eyes. His heart is banging in his ears now. “I would not be betraying or replacing them,” he says, more to himself than anyone.
“No,” a smile can be heard in Sebastian’s voice.
“I'd be adding a new member to my family, not replacing the old ones,” Ciel recites.
“That's right my lord.”
“And I wouldn't expect less of you, as my butler and servant. You'd be expected to be both parental to me, when I'm a child, and submissive to me, when I am your master.”
“In my humble opinion, I have yet to fail in doing that transition on command. Now we are simply making it official.”
Ciel, for Sebastian's eyes only, smiles. “You're right,” he opens his eyes, and turns around to face him, “Papa.”
Sebastian lights up like this is the greatest thing he's ever heard, “son,” he replies.
Ciel lights up now, and opens his arms. Sebastian knows his signal well and lifts Ciel into his arms. Seating Ciel on his hip, the demon snuggles the small boy of 14 years in close. As the two snuggle into each other, sharing the warmest embrace of Ciel's life, he feels, for the very first time in four long years, Ciel feels like he just might be able to let go of his grief. Thanks to Sebastian, he’s gotten much better, he’s even gotten back to playing, but he’d be lying if he said he’d fully healed. He thought he needed to hang onto that grief, to keep his parents with him, to lose his grief would be to lose them.
But, perhaps, just perhaps, it’s ok to let go now.
“Let's go have a hot chocolate,” Ciel smiles and breathes out for what feels like the very first time, “Papa.” Sebastian smiles back, and gently places Ciel down. They've both reached the doorway and Sebastian is opening the door for Ciel.
“I don't suppose we'll be informing the staff or any guests of my new title, proud of it as I am?” Sebastian asks.
“Naturally. That is between us, and us alone. You shall always be Sebastian, nothing more, to the rest of the world. Papa is reserved for when we're alone,” Ciel confirms.
“Very good, my lord,” Sebastian smirks, “or perhaps I should say ‘my boy’?”
Ciel smirks back, rather enjoying himself, and this moment.
When.
A horrible SCREE-ZSLAM! Sound makes them both whip around.
Screeching into their snow-bitten front garden comes a carriage that's moving at blinding speed, despite having no horses to pull it. The horseless carriage screeches to a stop with literal smoke arising from its wheels.
Sebastian and Ciel haven't even have time to comprehend this; when two swamp creatures come stumbling out of the carriage.
Filthy, stinking, wretched, dirt-coated beings that call out in raspy, dehydrated voices that hardly sound human at all. They're both hairy enough to be bears. One haz a beard and the other had long hair down to its ankles. They're both covered in enough dirt to put a professional mud fighter to shame. They're wearing rags unfit for even the homeless. Their stink wrinkles Ciel’s nose and brings stinging tears to his eyes. He gags. Then, the inhuman sounds these creatures are making become somewhat coherent.
These beasts are yelling for him. Yelling for Ciel.
“Ciel!” they gasp. One sounds vaguely female and the other somewhat male, but their voices are so raspy and dehydrated that it's hard to tell. They both hurtle towards Ciel and the small teen flinches as if he's being charged by wild lions.
Sebastian, calm as ever, steps in front of his master and gently stops the two monsters with a single tap of his gloved hands on their chests, “please detest from touching my lord,” Sebastian instructs, “and whom - or indeed what - are the two are you supposed to be?”
The two creatures look right past Sebastian, peering around him as if he's not there at all, “Ciel!” speaks the bearded one, “it's us, Mama and Papa, we're alive!”
Ciel doesn't even twitch. He just raises a disapproving eyebrow, he waves a dismissive hand, “get these lunatics off my lawn,” he waves a dismissive hand.
“Yes,” Sebastian smiles, “my lord.” He places one hand each on the dirt monsters and gives them a gentle push, “come along now, do not make me force you to do so.”
The swamp creatures are forced to begin marching towards the exit gates at the Manor, whilst Ciel walks in the opposite direction, into the warm manor, knowing that Sebastian has this handled.
“No, please! Ciel! It's really us!” yells the non-bearded beast. “Black Hat faked his death and has been holding us captive for these four years as punishment for ruining his criminal empire!”
Ciel pauses in his walk. Only four people know the name Black Hat; himself, Sebastian of course (because Ciel told the demon all about the stories his parents would tell).
And Ciel's parents themselves.
Not even the police have a name for the mysterious outlaw.
Ciel doesn't turn around. He doesn't flinch. He just stands there, his back to the creatures, “Wait,” he calls. He hears the demon stop his walk, but still holds the monsters back. “Let them speak,” Ciel instructs. He can feel Sebastian waiting, so Ciel speaks again, “anything else to add, beasts?”
The swamp creatures quickly seize this opportunity.
“Your favourite toy was the Noah's Oak!” yells the bearded beast. “There were only three made in the whole world.”
Only four people know about the Noah's Ark toy; Sebastian, the annoying Elizabeth, and her parents. Who obviously wouldn't do this.
“You're asthmatic!” cries the non-bearded one. Ciel's eyes slide thoughtfully.
Again. That's something only Sebastian and Ciel's last remaining family (his aunt, uncle and the annoying Elizabeth), are trusted with.
“You were our miracle baby,” says the bearded beast. “We used to call you Our Little Miracle.”
“Before you, I had four miscarriages,” says the non-bearded one.
All the moisture leaves Ciel's mouth.
“And we had a huge black dog named -” begins the bearded one.
“Sebastian!!!” Ciel yells.
Everything seems to stop, as Sebastian and the swamp creatures fall into awaiting silence.
Slowly, Ciel turns around, like the hand on a clock. With no sense of hurry, Ciel picks up a cane from the doorway and makes his way over to the animal-like beings. He doesn't rush himself. He walks with his proud strides on his cane and clicks in his heeled shoes. With his head held high and his back straight. Not in the way anyone else would greet their possibly alive parents after four years, he's sure.
Ciel comes to stand behind Sebastian. He stares long and hard at these stinking animals. He locks their eyes, their huge, pleading eyes, and searches their souls.
“Only my parents know that my mother had miscarriages,” Ciel says, very very calmly. He peers up at Sebastian, “I didn't even tell you about that.”
“No, sir,” Sebastian agrees, looking quite thoughtful himself.
Ciel looks back at the animals, “how could you know that?”
“Because it's Mama and Papa, baby,” says the non-bearded one gently, “I know this must be so confusing for you, but it's true. Black Hat has kept us away from you all this time, but we've finally come home to you.”
“You were born at 9:09am exactly,” smiles the bearded one, “it wasn't customary at the time, but I was in the room with your mother when you were born -”
Ciel used to hear this story all the time. It always ended the same way.
“I swear I was in more pain then your mother with how tight she gripped my hand!” laughs the bearded one.
And that's the way the story has always ended. Ciel could quote it in his sleep.
And that is something he's never told anyone. Not even Sebastian.
Ciel begins to shake. He can barely breathe. “It can't be you,” he whispers.
“It's us, Our Little Miracle,” whispers the non-bearded one. It wipes its face as best as it can on the rags of its t-shirt, and, with some of its face revealed, Ciel can see his mother's face staring back at him. She smiles at him. And she's unmistakable.
The bearded one does the same, and his face slowly becomes revealed to. It's unmistakably Vincent under all that faith. He smiles too, “Hi son,” he greets.
And, just like that.
Four years worth of healing and hard work on Sebastian's part come undone.
And Ciel becomes undone right along with it.
He begins screaming. Screaming, screaming, screaming. He drops his cane and screams so loud the three idiot servants come running. He screams until he can't breathe. He screams so loud it's ear piercing. His suddenly-alive parents rush to comfort him, but Ciel backs away from them, screaming and screaming. Everyone; the three idiot servants, his parents, even the elderly Tanaka comes running out of the Manor. Ciel swats them all away, unable to stop screaming, he's even screaming straight into their faces.
Then Sebastian gently pushes them all aside, and softly offers a gloved hand.
Ciel grabs at the demon like he's the lifeline thrown from a rescue boat. He throws himself on Sebastian and clings to him desperately. Sebastian scoops Ciel up and holds him close. Ciel is shaking violently. He throws up, equally violently, all down Sebastian's back, but the demon doesn't flinch or even look annoyed. He just pats Ciel’s back, firmly tells everyone else to please go away, and he's so scary that they all scatter, and carries Ciel inside.
Ciel's screaming can still be heard as the front door closes behind them.