Chapter Text
Let me introduce you to my son. A ruby glint. Blue eyes glancing sideways. The echoes of a raucous laughter that made his skin crawl.
A crash of thunder rattled the windows, and Ciel woke up with his heart doing somersaults in his chest. A nightmare? His breathing was coming out in short pants, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs and his stomach churning with the faint sick feeling he got from his nightmares—but as he fought to untangle his present reality from the lingering dream, he couldn’t identify any of his usual night terrors. What had it been about? He couldn’t pinpoint the source of his unease.
It mattered not, Ciel told himself, wiping cold sweat off his brow. It had been but a stupid dream, and it held no power over him now that he was awake. He forced himself to take a long deep breath and then to release it slowly, focusing on the control he could exert on the air leaving his lungs. Rain pattered against the glass panes and the wind moaned hollowly outside. How long had it been storming so? Ciel couldn’t remember whether it had already started when he went to bed. Actually, he couldn’t even remember going to bed.
The window lit up suddenly with a bolt of lightning, and all the blood froze in Ciel’s veins. The window was too large, and too far from his bed—no, not his bed. He wasn’t in his room at all. In a split second a number of other oddities struck him at once: he wasn’t in the bed, but merely laying over the covers, and he was still wearing his day clothes. He also couldn’t feel the familiar pressure of his eye-patch against his right eye. He patted his face anyway, only to confirm that it was gone, and then immediately checked for his ring. It was still there, and Ciel sighed loudly, now fully awake and more than a little irritated. Irritated at whoever had taken him—his memory was too muddled to tell who it was yet—and at himself for letting this happen again. Supremely irritated at Sebastian, too—it was his job, after all, to prevent that kind of mishap.
“Sebastian,” Ciel said out loud, in a low voice but with enough bite to show that he was displeased. “Come and get me.”
For a few long minutes, the only thing Ciel could hear was the sound of the battering rain outside. Thunder rumbled again. Ciel slid off the bed, socked feet hitting a thick rug—it appeared he’d been relieved of his shoes as well as of his eye-patch.
“Sebastian!” he called again, more harshly this time. “Come at once!”
Sebastian remained conspicuously absent. Ciel clenched his fists, anger swelling in his chest along with a flutter of panic.
“Sebastian!” he shouted, foregoing all caution. “Where are you? Sebastian!”
Was that good-for-nothing demon making him wait on purpose? Ciel wouldn’t put it past him, if he judged that Ciel wasn’t really in danger. And maybe he wasn’t, come to think of it. He was unhurt, free to move around. He couldn’t tell much about the room in the darkness, but from the brief flash of light that had been cast on it, it looked like it was wide enough. The bed was large, and the rug under his feet felt like high quality. This was no damp oubliette. He wasn’t locked in a cage. As far as kidnappings went, this was the most comfortable he’d undergone.
Pressing both hands against his temples, Ciel closed his eyes and tried to summon the memories from the previous night. He’d been invited to a party, hadn’t he? He remembered the music, the subpar food, the dull-as-rain conversation that was to be expected in that kind of social gathering. Soma and Agni were there too, and the prince had acted as boisterous as ever. Ciel had been tempted to pretend they didn’t know each other, but it would have been an exercise in futility; Soma’s friendship wasn’t so easily deterred.
What else? Ciel’s eyes had begun to get used to the lack of light, and he could now see well enough to be able to aim for the window. He pressed his forehead against cool glass and tried to peer into the darkness, but it was a moonless, starless night and the rain clouded what little vision he could have had. He remembered….
He remembered a blond maid spilling wine over his clothes. He’d been wary of her for some reason he couldn’t recall at the moment, but had trusted that Sebastian would get to him in case of trouble. He’d followed her away from the party and inside a room, and then—nothing. He must have been chloroformed and carried into the present room, unless he hadn’t changed rooms at all. But who was his host? The name as well as the face eluded Ciel. It wasn’t anyone from his usual circle, he was certain of that much. Earl…
Ciel heard footsteps from outside the room and he whirled around, toward where he supposed the door was. A few seconds later he could see light filter from under it, the faint, wavering light of a candelabrum. He started fumbling around for anything he could use as a weapon. They’d taken his gun, of course, and Sebastian’s absence might have indicated that Ciel was in no peril of death, but he knew his butler occasionally enjoyed subjecting him to severe discomfort and he would feel better with something to defend himself. His fingers bumped into an object on a small table that felt cool and solid. More groping told Ciel that it was a water pitcher, and, judging from its weight, that it was full. Ciel took it and waited for the door to open. He could have tried for a surprise attack and hidden by the entrance, but he was too far from it and he didn’t want to risk stumbling over something getting there in the dark.
The line of light under the door was brightening; Ciel gritted his teeth. The footsteps—two pairs of footsteps, he could tell now—stopped in front of his door, and a few excruciating seconds ticked by before it opened. Ciel gripped the pitcher tightly, feeling a little stupid for his makeshift weapon but determined to fight like a devil if need be.
The door slammed open, hitting the wall with a resounding thud. Framed into the doorway stood a boy about Ciel’s age, with tousled blond hair and wide blue eyes, and wearing obscenely short trousers. Alois Trancy. The memories came rushing back: Earl Trancy was his host, and the invitation had puzzled Ciel because they had only met once before, back when the former Earl had still been alive. They hadn’t even struck a conversation that night, and Ciel had wondered what the younger Trancy wanted with him.
“Ciel!” Alois Trancy exclaimed, opening his arms widely. “You’re awake.” He looked down at the pitcher Ciel carried in his hands and his smile turned snide. “Were you thirsty?”
Ciel immediately threw the water pitcher at his face. Alois yelped and covered his head with his arms, but the pitcher never even made contact, because a shadow jumped from behind Alois and interposed itself between the flying object and the boy. The pitcher shattered against it, but the figure—a tall, dark-haired man clad in black—didn’t flinch and just stood there, still holding a candelabrum that cast long shadows inside the room. Ciel recognized him as Claude, the Trancy butler who had welcomed them upon their arrival.
“Claude!” Alois wailed as he hung to the man’s arm like an oversized toddler. “He could have hurt me! Why did he do that?”
“Why am I here?” Ciel demanded. “Where is my butler?”
Alois slipped out from behind Claude and walked up to Ciel. “My poor Ciel,” he cooed, and the familiarity in his tone made Ciel cringe, wishing he had something else at hand to throw. “Don’t you remember? You passed out, and Claude carried you into this room so you could rest.”
“Why didn’t Sebastian take me back home?” He couldn’t imagine his butler letting someone else carry him around when he was unwell. This undoubtedly went against the demon’s aesthetic. “Where is he?”
“Well, you can see how poor the weather is.”
Ciel scoffed. “Sebastian wouldn’t have let poor weather stop him.”
Alois widened his eyes in an attempt to appear innocent, but Ciel was utterly unconvinced by the performance. The badly acted coyness triggered new memories: the blond maid who had spilled a drink over Ciel’s clothing was Alois. Ciel hadn’t identified him right away, because he had only seen the boy once before and Alois had been careful to keep his head bowed, but Ciel had nonetheless noticed something strange about the maid’ demeanour: she served the guests with a carelessness that bordered on rudeness, and moved without the proper subservience a maid should assume. Ciel had followed “her” out of curiosity, and it was only once they were alone that Alois had showed his face.
“Don’t get any closer,” Ciel ordered, seeing that Alois was starting to dangerously infringe on his personal space.
Surprisingly, Alois stopped before he was close enough to touch. Fingers woven behind his back he leaned forward, smiling in a way that indicated that he enjoyed Ciel’s discomfort.
“Tell me why I am here and what happened to Sebastian,” Ciel said, holding back from striking Alois across the face to wipe the smile off of it; no doubt that the man in black, Claude, would retaliate in kind if his master was attacked.
“Ciel Phantomhive,” Alois sing-songed. “I finally got you, and I’m not letting you go. You can call for that butler of yours as much as you want, but he won’t be coming for you this time.”
---
Like a whirlwind Alois was gone with as much theatrics he’d arrived with, leaving Ciel without any other explanation as to Sebastian’s whereabouts or what he wanted with Ciel. Claude, his silent butler, had left the candelabrum behind on the nightstand by the bed, so that Ciel had at least a source of light to examine the room he was in: it was a good deal smaller than Ciel’s room in his own home, but by no mean uncomfortable. The four-poster bed was draped with heavy navy blue curtains, the same hue as the ones adorning the single window or as the wallpaper. Left of the bed was an oak commode with a mirror hanging over it, and a washstand, where Ciel had taken the pitcher he’d thrown at Alois from. Across the room, facing the bed, the dead fireplace gaped at him.
Ciel sat on the bed, trying to compose his thoughts. Alois’ declaration left him in the uncomfortable position of having to worry about his butler. It seemed preposterous to think that that blond lunatic could have found a way to kill the demon, but the fact remained that Sebastian stayed silent to his calls, and Ciel could no longer entertain the idea that it was one of his butler’s tasteless pranks. What had happened to him, then? And, more importantly, what could Ciel do about it in his own precarious situation?
He’d heard the tell tale clicking sound of a lock being turned when Claude had closed the door, but, without anything else to do, he stood up and went to rattle to doorknob, unfortunately in vain.
“What now?” he murmured to himself, turning to the window.
Clichéd as it was, the window was the only way out he had left. From the sound of it, the storm’s violence seemed to have subsided, so Ciel might as well employ his time fabricating for himself a rope with the beddings until it had calmed down completely. Then he would make his escape, just like the heroine from a novel.
He got to work, but it soon appeared that the enterprise was harder than books had let on. Tying knots with the heavy fabric from the sheets and cover was an actually very physical task, and Ciel had never had great upper body strength. When he was done with what material the bed had provided him, he gave his sore arms a break and examined his work with a critical eye. Would the knots hold his weight? He wasn’t heavy, but he also hadn’t been able to make very tight knots. But even plummeting to his death in the inscrutable darkness sounded more appealing than playing the passive prisoner for Alois Trancy.
Worried that his makeshift rope wouldn’t be long enough—he wasn’t sure what floor he was on—he added the curtains from the window to it. By the time he was done, he couldn’t hear any more rain or thunder. He went again to peer through the window, but he couldn’t see any better than earlier. Not knowing how high he was made the whole escape even more dangerous, but Alois might come back on a whim at any moment and there was no time to overthink it. He had to get away from here as soon as possible.
He tied one end of his rope to one of the bed’s posters. The piece of furniture looked heavy enough, but it was with a madly beating heart that he went to open the window. Wind ruffled his hair, but it didn’t feel strong enough to be a problem while going down. The rain had not stopped completely, but had been reduced to a fine drizzle.
Ciel took a breath and held it trapped inside his lungs for a moment. It was so dark outside that it felt like he was going to step into an abyss and get swallowed by it. He wasn’t sure whether it helped or not that he couldn’t see anything looking down. He realized that he was stalling, and, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurt, he grabbed the rope with slightly trembling hands, and threw a leg over the windowsill. Throwing over the other leg was a small act of will. Actually leaping into nothing made his heart skip a beat but he held on tight to his rope, and, propping his feet against the façade, proceeded to go down.
The descent was an ordeal. Ciel had underestimated the wind’s strength, or maybe it had picked up just to spite him, but it would sometimes plaster him against the wall, or make him swing to and fro like a pendulum—it was all Ciel could do not to lose his grip on the rope, his fingers bloodless from how tightly he clenched them. The persistent rain was slowly soaking his clothes through, leaving him chilled and shivering. It felt like he’d been going down forever when he started to worry that his arms wouldn’t hold him much longer. Damn Sebastian, he thought ferociously to give himself heart. Damn that demon! He better be dead or in some other impossible predicament, or he’ll get a piece of my mind for abandoning me in that situation!
His numb fingers recognized the fabric from the window’s curtains, meaning that he was getting close to the end of his rope. The thought quickened his heart: what if he was too far off the ground for a safe jump? He knew he wouldn’t have the strength to climb back up. The sky had cleared up a little and some faint starlight made the night a tad less impenetrable, so Ciel forced himself to look down.
It was hard to judge the distance, but he was fairly certain that he could see the darker outline of a cluster of bushes under him. If anything they should cushion his fall somewhat, or so he hoped. He went down the rest of his rope with trepidations, but when he was almost there the rope gave a sudden jerk, and Ciel felt himself slide down a few more inches out of his own volition. Damn it all! As he’d feared, one of the knots was slipping. If he didn’t jump now, the choice would be made for him anyway. Swallowing hard, he let go of the drenched piece of curtain.
The fall was not as long as he’d dreaded, and soon enough he was fighting to untangle himself from the branches scraping every exposed part of his skin. When he reached the ground his legs buckled under his weight, and he fell on his hands and knees in the mud.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” someone said from above him.
Ciel froze, then slowly lifted his head to look: a tall, dark silhouette loomed over him, and Ciel caught a glint of starlight being reflected on glasses. It was Claude, Alois Trancy’s butler, and he looked like he’d been standing there for a while. Had he watched Ciel’s progression the whole time, waiting for him to get down? How had he even known what would happen?
Ciel struggled to his feet, and the butler sighed. “You’re being a very rude guest,” he said. “My master will be most disappointed.”
The disapproval in his voice made Ciel bristle. “See if I care,” he replied. It wasn’t his best retort, but then he was utterly exhausted from his fruitless escape attempt.
Claude leaned over him and scooped him in his arms, just as Sebastian did all the time. Ciel yelped with outrage and tried to fight him, but he had been sapped from most of his energy and the butler’s hold on him was like iron.
“Let me down!” he yelled, even as he knew there was little chance the butler would obey.
“Now, now, no need to get so upset,” Claude said, in an airy way that reminded Ciel so much of Sebastian that it shocked him into shutting up.
Claude took him around the house, and when they emerged into the gilded entrance hall that Ciel was familiar with from the previous evening, Alois was there. He stood at the top of the staircase, wearing a nightgown and rubbing his eyes sleepily.
“What’s going on, Claude?”
“Look at the wet kitten I found in the garden, master.”
“Hey!”
Alois blinked a few times, saw Ciel in his butler’s arms, and burst out laughing. He laughed harder and longer than the joke warranted, folded in two and holding his ribs as though they pained him.
“A wet—kitten. Ha, you’re right, Claude, he does look like one!” Alois straightened up, wiping his eyes and smiling at Ciel. His smile had a cruel edge to it. “Were you lost, kitty-cat?”
Ciel’s face burned from humiliation and anger. How dared they make fun of him? He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper, so he did his best to contain it.
“I would very much appreciate it if you let me go home,” he said coldly. “My servants must be out of their minds with worry.”
“Go home? Didn’t you understand what I told you earlier? You’re never going back home!”
“What do you want with me?” Ciel exploded, his tenuous hold on his patience finally snapping. “For what purpose would you hold me here?”
Alois went down the stairs and across the hall, bare feet slapping on the marble floor. He looked up at Ciel in Claude’s arms and reached out to touch his cheek.
“What I want?” Alois said. His sleep-warm hand burned against Ciel’s chilled skin. Ciel jerked away from the touch, bumping his face into Claude’s solid chest. “I have what I want right where I want it.” Alois dropped his hand. “It was silly of you to think that you could get past Claude.”
Ciel shrugged. “It was worth a try. I made it very clear that I am not enjoying your hospitality.”
Alois chuckled. “You don’t get it, do you? Do you really think your Sebastian is so unique?”
“What?”
Seized by a sudden flash of insight, Ciel raised his head to look at Claude just in time to see the man’s eyes turn red and his pupils become reduced to a slit, like those of a cat.
“A demon,” Ciel whispered. Of course. It seemed so obvious now, Ciel could have kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. No wonder he reminded him of Sebastian.
“Tada!” Alois whirled on himself like a dancer. “Didn’t see that coming, did you? You and I are more alike than you think.”
He stuck out his tongue, and there on the pink flesh Ciel could see that a pattern had been drawn, one not unlike the seal on his right eye.
“You and I are nothing alike,” he said to Alois, covering for his shock to the best of his abilities.
“Well, we’ll see about that. Claude, take him back to his room. I guess you’ll have to give him new sheets too.”
“Yes, master.”
Ciel was dropped unceremoniously back to the room he’d inhabited before—he didn’t like much that Alois was calling it his room—on a chair while Claude made his bed again. He was shivering from cold and fatigue, his teeth clattering incessantly, but Claude never offered to help him out of his wet clothes. Of course, it hadn’t been part of his master’s orders, whether by design or neglect, and if Claude were anything like Sebastian he would stick to those to the letter.
Once he was alone Ciel proceeded to clumsily get undressed on his own, knowing that falling asleep in wet garments was a sure recipe for falling ill, and that being ill in such a fraught situation was the last thing he should want. He dried himself with the towel that was on the washstand’s rack, and, as he had no dry clothes at his disposal, slipped naked inside the bed. Despite his anger, frustration, and worry, he was so exhausted that sleep took hold of him in no time.