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Abberline’s funeral will be held on Sunday. Lord Randall personally visited the Phantomhive estate to inform the earl of this, suggesting—without overstepping the bounds of propriety—that Ciel make an appearance at the ceremony. Lord Randall said, with somber candor, that it would mean a lot to him and to the officers at Scotland Yard, considering how fond Abberline had been of the young earl.
Then, Lord Randall takes his leave, and Ciel retires to the library to read. Once in the library for half of an hour, he calls Sebastian’s name quietly, allowing the mark—the contract—to bring his butler to him.
Sebastian arrives. Just himself—no teacart, no sweets. He didn’t expect for the boy to call him this early in the evening. They’ve finished dinner and dessert, and Ciel is spending some time to himself before the bedtime rituals begin.
“Bring me a cat.” Ciel commands, nonchalantly, shutting his book and placing it next to him on the side table of the sofa.
“Young master, must I remind you of your allergies?”
“It should be a handsome cat. A young adult, not a kitten. Healthy, purring. The kind you attract in the street, Sebastian.”
The butler hesitates in the doorway. “May I ask what has brought on such a strange request, young master?”
“No, you may not.” Ciel stands. “I will now retire to my room. Bring the cat there. This is the priority of your duties, Sebastian. Go. Now.”
With a polite bow, Sebastian exits the library.
By the time Ciel reaches the top of the stairs and opens the door to his bedchambers, there is Sebastian, and in his arms resides a small calico. It nuzzles against the demon contentedly. The butler strokes its spine with gloved fingers. Its fur is getting all over his coat, but the demon seems unconcerned.
Ciel ignores the way the cat’s presence makes his eyes itch (as long as it doesn’t lick him, he shouldn’t have an asthma attack). For a moment, he sits on the bed and faces the demon, watching Sebastian with the cat. Sebastian is trying to maintain his usual professional composure, but it’s difficult, considering that it’s a cat and—oh, Sebastian. Sebastian loves his cats. It’s the only thing in the entire world, as far as Ciel knows, that his demon actually exhibits genuine affection for.
“Where did you find him?”
“Her,” Sebastian corrects. “She’s actually a frequent visitor to your gardens, young master.”
Ah, so the demon has a special affection for this cat in particular. How… naïve, of Sebastian, to bring one of his favorite companions into the presence of his master. The demon was probably blinded by his pride for the little thing.
Thinking back to Abberline—(Sebastian allowed Abberline to die and Abberline’s wife was with child)—Ciel steels himself. “Come closer, Sebastian. Bring the cat to me.”
As Sebastian moves, Ciel pulls out of his breast pocket the letter opener he brought from the study. The blade is polished and sharpened. A gasp escapes the butler, every touch of amusement and contentment suddenly disappearing from his face, replaced with his demonic glare as his fingers curl protectively over the calico. She continues to purr, oblivious, and starts pawing at the buttons on Sebastian’s coat.
Ciel glares up at the demon, and Sebastian—reluctantly—relaxes his fingers shielding the cat.
“Sebastian, why didn’t you save me during the fight with Lau?”
“My lord…” There is real urgency to Sebastian’s voice, real fear, such that Ciel has never ever heard before.
“You said it was because you knew Abberline would protect me. With his life. So I was in no real danger, and so you didn’t need to act. Oh—and Sebastian? Until I tell you otherwise, I order you to stay still. And silent.”
Ciel pauses and admires the blade, as well as the trembling of the demon’s hands.
“You see, Sebastian, I know it is difficult for you, as a demon, to understand exactly what you did wrong. What makes allowing Abberline to die different from any other deaths that we’ve participated in?”
Sebastian clearly wants to speak, or move, but Ciel’s orders were directed through the contract.
“The answer is that Abberline didn’t need to die. You would have protected me—that is your duty. If that knife had gone through you, then Abberline would be alive, and you would simply heal yourself. Your healing abilities are very impressive, Sebastian. I’m aware of their treatment of you in the Tower of London.” Yes, Ciel wasn’t stupid. He knew what took place in the Tower—his father’s and now Ciel’s work was deeply entwined with information gained via those procedures.
The cat mews, and twists itself in Sebastian’s hold. The butler—with a nod of permission from his master—adjusts his hands to keep the feline in place.
“To help you to understand the gravity of what you have done, allowing a mortal life to end in order to spare an immortal shield, I would like to propose the same dilemma in a manner more personal to you.” Ciel smiles darkly, and, with his thumb, reaches out to caress the glove covering the contract mark on the demon’s hand. “Consider the following scenario. For his failure yesterday, I wish to punish my demon butler. I want to physically hurt him. So I move to do exactly that, but suddenly, in my way, defending its friend, is this small, warm cat.”
The cat is not actually “defending” Sebastian, but this is for the sake of argument.
Ciel holds the small blade in one hand and with the other he touches one of the cat’s front paws, running his fingers over the pads of her toes and pressing gently to expose the claws underneath. “First, I would use the blade to slice off each pad individually. She wouldn’t be in mortal danger, but the pain would be excruciating. You would hold her in place and she would be unable to escape, but all the trust she had ever placed in you would vanish.” A glance up at the butler’s face. “You may speak, Sebastian.”
“Young master,” the demon says, with a quirk of his lips, “do you really believe that a demon of hell wouldn’t be able to stomach the torture of a wild animal? Do you really believe I haven’t seen worse, in my thousands of years?”
“You’re bluffing.” Ciel sneers, “Unless,” he proffers the blade, “you would like to do the honors yourself? Perhaps I should order you to do so?”
Sebastian—in… in honest terror, it seems—stops breathing. Ciel turns his focus back to the calm, purring cat. She is completely unaware of their discussion. Of the danger she’s in.
“These cats trust you with their lives, Sebastian. She has no idea that, if I were to bring a knife to her, you would be powerless to stop me.” Ciel shifts to hold the blade backwards, and runs the blunt handle against the spine of the cat, forming a trail in her soft fur. “After her paws, I would take her ears. And she would whine these dying moans that you’d never forget for the rest of your existence, demon. But I wouldn’t be finished. Her tail, next. As the blood seeps out, I would place the tail around your neck, Sebastian. You would feel the soft fur, dead. An object.”
“My lord…”
“I order you to be silent.” Ciel snaps. The cat, at the growl of the boy’s voice, stops purring, shifts herself to look warily at the small human. She’s not frightened of him, not yet, but it’s as if she hadn’t noticed him before, and now she’s looking, sizing him up.
“And then the main event.” Ciel speaks slowly, reverently. “One slice, from under her ribs and down her stomach to the stump where her tail had been.” He glares up at the demon, tells him, “She will still be conscious, and she will feel her own skin split open, the intestines spilling out into your hands. Your gloves would be stained red, my Sebastian. She would die staring at your face with betrayal. Or perhaps with panic, perhaps cats don’t have complex cognition enough to understand what is happening, why it hurts so much?”
Ciel wields the letter opener again. “Now, tell me, Sebastian. For this procedure,” Ciel—gently, like a caress—runs the blade down the side of the demon’s face, forming one long line from just below his left eye to the side of his chin, and blood pools in the blade’s wake, “Is my knife sharp enough?”
Sebastian is shaking with rage. Clearly, his butler feels particularly shackled by the contract in a way he’s never felt before. Powerless. Powerless and in anguish.
“Of course, hypothetically, if I thought you were truly in danger, Sebastian, I might try to stop a man coming at you with a knife. No one has leave to hurt my demon except myself. But if I knew this darling of yours would shield you? Then, oh, I might just sit there and watch. Nevermind how rare it is that any mortal creature would show any affection to such filth as you. Nevermind how innocent she is of any crime. Nevermind how fragile she is. Nevermind that she will certainly die.”
Ciel lifts the knife.
“Nevermind that he cared for me. Nevermind that he came from nothing and gained a career and a passion for protecting the innocent. Nevermind that he was to be married! Nevermind that his wife was with child!”
Ciel plunges the knife into his butler’s shoulder. The man groans at the unexpected impact, but maintains his careful grip on the cat, keeping her from squirming away even as he wants nothing more than to let her dash away to safety.
Ciel screams, “When you allowed Abberline to die, was it an act of cruelty?! Or a mistake?! Answer me, Sebastian!”
“…it was a mistake, my lord. I didn’t know the inspector meant anything to you—”
The knife is plunged into the opposite shoulder. The groan of pain is louder and laced with a snarl. The cat begins to mewl, crying out her discomfort at the violent movements and sense of danger. Ciel growls, “I didn’t pay my soul for a butler who makes mistakes.”
The tears in Sebastian’s coat turn dark with blood. He is shaking. Ciel has seen Sebastian receive blows in battle without once reacting to the pain or the impact, like an invincible soldier. But receiving punishment from his master has always been different, as a result of the gravity of their contract and the visible location of the mark. The demon, despite his obvious agony, shakes his head, conceding to Ciel. “No, young master, you paid for perfection.”
“So,” Ciel says while pulling the bloodied blade from his butler’s shoulder, “as punishment, shall I hand you this knife and order you to take your beloved feline’s life with your own hands? Or will you beg me to spare her, Sebastian? Oh, Sebastian, will you beg?”
Sebastian doesn’t flash his demonic eyes. He really ought to, but perhaps in this moment he is too vulnerable to do so with any effect. Still, he glares at his master, but also his gaze is pleading, and the cross between the two emotions makes the pit of Ciel’s stomach warm, his mouth water. But still the butler does not speak. He’s too prideful.
“Kneel,” says Ciel.
Sebastian falls to his knees.
“Hold her up, Sebastian. If you will not beg for her life, you will be the altar upon which she is sacrificed.”
The man’s hands shake as he lifts the cat. Ciel reaches out to grasp her front paw, feeling the pads of skin underneath his fingers again. The cat is making noises of distress, squirming and crying and trying to escape Sebastian’s grip. Ciel holds tight to her paw. He brings the tip of the blade to touch the pad of her first toe.
“… please, master.” The voice is nearly silent, low, broken, urgent, afraid, and directed towards the floor in shame.
“What was that?”
“…I beg of you…”
Smirking, Ciel lets go of the paw of the cat, and immediately Sebastian pulls her underneath his crouched form, bodily protecting her from his master, bowing so his forehead touches the floor, trembling.
“…if you must enact punishment, my lord…” Sebastian whispers, only an echo of his usual tone of voice, “…please punish myself… because I would survive the injuries… and she… doesn’t deserve to die...in my name.”
Ciel takes a deep breath, then kneels near the broken man’s head. He begins to comb his fingers through his demon’s hair, as said demon had done with the cat. Sebastian—all demonic pride temporarily abandoned—moans quietly at the gentle touch of his master. “You’ve learned well,” says Ciel. Then, gently, “You can let her go, now. I won’t hurt her.”
Out from underneath the demon’s body, the cat scampers away and slides underneath the dresser in the corner, to protect herself.
Ciel frowns. “Do you understand now, Sebastian? Do you understand the cruelty of your decisions? That now a child will grow up without a father, in my name.”
“… I understand, my lord.” Sebastian still sounds so quiet, so hollow.
Ciel pulls his butler upwards to examine him, and Sebastian has more than enough strength to move where Ciel directs under his own power, though he looks utterly drained. The stab wounds in Sebastian’s shoulders are still bleeding, but they will heal within the next few minutes, Ciel knows. The cut on his face is a faded pink, like a scar, which will disappear within the next half of an hour. Ciel traces the scar with his thumb, like a caress. “…my obedient Sebastian…” he coos, absently.
Then, resolutely, Ciel stands. “Come, now, Sebastian. It is time for my bath.”