#dadbastianweekidentity

[fallenrayvens]

Identity

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Day 2 Prompt for the @dadbastianweek2023

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A boy and a beast stood in front of a mirror, staring at the child who stared back at them. The sky, staring at the stars, staring at the sky.

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CONTEXT WARNINGS: O!Ciel’s original name is assumed to be “Sirius” here. | The context of this piece is drenched in a WIP of mine for a longfic in which O!Ciel shares his body as a vessel with Sebastian as opposed to having him serve as a human butler.

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The child in the mirror was not just a reflection of himself, but a phantom image of who he pretended to be, for the Fates had been feeling particularly cruel the day he was put inside the same womb as him.

And yet, just a moment moment ago, when he had caught himself saying “We have much to do tomorrow, so we should go to sleep.”, he meant him, the Earl, and the fiend who lived inside his head — which was foolish since Sebastian did not sleep, but also made him freeze in place because…

Who was we?

When had him grown so accustomed to sharing that mortal shell with the demon who was to one day devour his soul, that “we” was how he referred to himself? And who was this “himself” it had merged with, anyway?

Was it the weak and lonely child who cursed this world and denied God, the one he had chosen to leave behind? Was it the mask of the heir he had chosen to wear since that day? The strong-willed and proud noble who stood tall and didn’t bow to anyone?

…Had Ciel ever been like this mask he had built in his honor at all? — It brought tears to his eyes when he realized he didn’t know the answer to that question. That was the image he held of him, for sure, but both of them had been only ten. Did the boy he pretended to be even existed? And if he didn’t… did he? Did them?

“We shouldn’t worry ourselves with the tiniest things, my lord.” the low and melodic voice inside his head finally made itself known again, pulling him in to the present. A shadow hand emerging from behind the mirror cradled his face, but he knew it was coming from his own body, he could feel it too. “It will bring you no good to dwell on such details. It matters not to me who you were then, only who you are now.”

The boy in the mirror smirked at his brother, his foolish, naïve younger brother, as the shadows embraced him like a father would his own child, and he accepted.

How very strange was it, to feel like he was embracing himself, but also being embraced by another. “You are not the same either, Sebastian.” he declared, reaching for the shadow hand that held him so gently with his own tiny human hand. “You have changed, too.”

“I suppose I have.” He obliged, unable to lie by the bounds of their contract, though the crimson glow that came from the boy’s reflection suggested the demon was not up to the discussion.

He knew why.

He felt the beast’s conflict at the pit of his stomach whenever the boy reminded it that he was its prey. That at the end of their contract, it would have to claim its payment and abandon the name of his dog, that he was nothing but a rabbit being raised by a wolf.

They never again had a full conversation about that truth after he made it swear on bringing him his victory, after the Queen had given him his brother’s title and his family’s duties.

And although the version of Sebastian who looked like a soft-featured, elegant lean and tall butler existed only within their dream and headspace interactions, he sure had begun to sound more and more like Tanaka, and sometimes very much like Vincent.

“Let’s go to bed, young master.” the voice insisted again, this time blocking the vision of the mirror from the boy’s eyes by raising black shadowy smoke in front of the glass, forcing him to break the spell he had lured himself into. “Tomorrow is a busy day, and we can’t have you wasting precious sleeping hours having an existential crisis.”

“Fine.” the Earl rolled his eyes, finally giving in. “But we’re not done with this.” He shooed the shadow hands off his face, demanding one of them help him get up instead. It was comically confusing, as he did not know how exactly that worked, and neither did the demon care to explain it.

As he climbed upon his bed, wrapping his body with the thick blankets and closing his eyes, he heard the rustling of cloth, the blankets hugging him in a more tight manner, and felt a clawed but tender hand caress his gray-blue locks, the voice inside his head lulled him to sleep. “Good night, young master.”

He wanted to protest, to tell Sebastian to cut it out already, but he felt too heavy, too sleepy to do so. His brain felt tired from all the guilt, from all the thinking. So instead, he let Sirius, the boy he had once been, speak.

“G’night, ‘Bastian…”

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[blackbutler-sideblog]

Dadbastian Week Day 2: Identity

Hey y'all!

So I missed day one but I really wanted to participate! I'm not sure if I'll be able to write for any of the other days but I'll try my best! It's currently 12:49 AM over here so I'm considering it Day 2 lol!

I hope you all enjoy it and remember that constructive criticism is always welcomed! This is also being posted on my ao3 so don't be alarmed if you see it on there as well lol

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He couldn't see anything.

All that stood before him was an endless black void filled with nothing but deafening silence. Was he blindfolded? He didn't feel blindfolded. There was no tight pressure around his face that usually came with a piece of fabric being tightly forced around his head. But then why couldn't he see?

He reached forward, feeling his hands shake as he tried to navigate his way through the darkness. However, no matter how long he walked, no matter how far he extended his reach, his hands continued to grasp at nothing. How big is this place? Why is it so dark? How did he get here?

His thoughts raced as he stumbled through the unforgiving void, disoriented and increasingly terrified. The questions weighed heavily on him, their answers remaining elusive. Was he the only one here?

"Hello?" He tried to call out, but all that he could manage was a muffled, incoherent sound as if he had a mouth filled with rags. He opened his mouth again, and again, the same pathetic noise emerged. Was he gagged as well?

Panic surged within him as he reached up to pull the offending object from his mouth. He needed to call for help!

But, to the boy's horror, there was nothing there.

There was no blindfold. There was no gag.

No. Instead, his fingers clawed against a completely smooth, featureless surface. His eyes, his mouth, his nose, his eyebrows, his...everything! They were all gone!

All of a sudden, he realized he couldn't breathe. He fell forward, desperately trying to open his mouth to inhale, but he couldn't. There was nothing there for him to open. He dug his nails into his skin; clawing and clawing, but nothing worked. His muffled sobs turned into full-blown screams as he felt his flesh tear away into new, equally blank pieces of flesh.

"It hurts! Oh god, it hurts!"

" —Young master!"

He gasped, a rush of air finally filling his tired lungs.

A familiar voice pulled him from the void like a rope thrown to a drowning victim at the last possible second. Ciel blinked, the candle-lit room slowly coming into view. The sharp contrast between the black abyss he was in only moments ago and his parents' bedroom was jarring, to say the least, and the memories of his ordeal remained vivid.

A cloth was suddenly pressed to his skin, causing Ciel to flinch away.

"Please, my lord. You are bleeding," the voice said with evident concern.

'Don't touch me!' He wanted to scream, but any power in his voice was used up by his desperate cries for help while he was trapped.

"Twas only a nightmare, young master. Everything is fine."

Ciel rolled his eye over to the left side of his bed where the voice was coming from, the lack of movement from his right eye was not unnoticed. He jumped.

Next to him stood a strange man dressed in all black, holding a bloodied handkerchief to the side of his mouth. He gasped at the sight of him, pushing the gloved appendage away as fast as he could possibly manage.

The man was wearing Ciel's face!

That was his face! He took his face! That was his nose! His hairline! His...His...No, wait.

A shaky hand reached up, his fingers once again touching all over. He could feel his nose, his eyes, his mouth...No. No. Ciel had his face back.

"Ah! Don't touch it." the man said quietly but urgently, bending back over to place the cloth on his cuts.

Ciel looked closer, his singular good eye squinting through the dim lighting. No...it wasn't his face that this stranger stole, but a familiar face nonetheless. He recognized those sharp, concerned eyes and furrowed brow. He's seen those thin, downward-turned lips and tight, clenched jaw.

A sudden memory flashed through his mind. He was little. Well, little-er. He had been running, trying his best to keep up with...someone. He couldn't remember who. Out of nowhere, it seemed, he had tripped over his laces and came crashing down, his face scraping across the ground.

He remembers wailing as he clenched his bloody cheek. It wasn't that painful looking back on it, but it was scary; at least for a nine-year-old. It was the first time he was in pain not due to a sickness.

"Oh, now what are you crying for, hmm?" a deep, gentle voice came, cutting off the boy's cries.

"I-I fell down..." he sniffled.

"I see." He bent down to take the boy's face into his hands, turning it this way and that, checking for bruises and scrapes. The boy looked up, but for some reason, he couldn't remember what he saw. He couldn't see the voice's face.

After a moment, the hands disappeared from his skin, being replaced by a soft handkerchief.

"You'll be fine," the voice declared. "We all fall down sometimes. What's important is that you get back up."

The boy didn't respond, only sniffling as he looked back up. Sharp eyes with furrowed brows came into view. But this man was smiling.

With a determined nod, the boy gently pushed the handkerchief away before slowly rising, his knees still wobbly from his sudden fall. Vincent returned the nod, an air of amusement swimming through his eyes. The boy stepped forward, ready to continue his chase after his brother, only to fall forward once more. His cursed shoelaces had struck again, leaving the boy with a face full of dirt and his pride decimated.

"Hahaha!" Vincent couldn't help but laugh, already bending forward to help his youngest off the ground. "Maybe I should teach you to tie your laces first!"

—

"You took his face," Ciel's voice suddenly came to him. It was trembling and hoarse, but it was his voice.

Sebastian's hand stopped prodding his cuts, a single eyebrow arching up in a rare moment of confusion for the butler. "What do you mean, my lord? I have always had this face. At least since I have met you, that is."

Ciel didn't answer.

The room became quiet once again as Sebastian pulled out some sort of cream, smearing it across all of Ciel's self-inflicted wounds. It stung and smelled weird, but the boy didn't complain. He didn't have the energy to.

"Did anyone come tonight?" He broke the silence.

"No. It was another quiet night, my lord."

"Good."

The conversation died there. Sebastian gently placed bandages, at least five, onto Ciel's features before placing the rest back into his coat pocket. He moved back and stood tall in one fluid motion that couldn't be described as anything other than uncanny and so uniquely Sebastian.

"Are you alright now, my lord? Do you require anything else?"

"...No." Ciel flopped back down onto his mattress, exhausted and wide awake at the same time. He turned over, away from the demon that stood only meters away from him, trying to will himself to relax.

There was a pause, then the rustling of the duvet that had long been thrown to the floor. Ciel remained as still as the dead as Sebastian delicately covered him once again in the cool and soft fabric. Wordlessly, his butler tucked him in with an uncommon amount of tenderness that gave the Earl goosebumps.

"If you need anything else, simply call my name," Sebastian reminded him, his voice so calm and still. And with that, he grabbed the candelabra and quietly made his way to the door, allowing his footsteps to actually sound for once as he retreated from Ciel's sleep quarters.

"Sebastian," Ciel called, his own voice startling him.

"Yes, young master?"

Ciel took a second, digging himself further under the covers. "Stay. Until I fall asleep."

"Yes, my lord."

Ciel didn't have to look to know that Sebastian was bowing, a hand placed over where his heart should be. Sebastian blew out the candles, the room now becoming dark, but not pitch black. The moonlight creeping through the window gave more than enough light for him to make out where he was. It was quiet, but he could make out the sound of mild rain tapping on his window and leaves gracefully blowing in the wind. His hand crept up again, tracing across his features...just double-checking.

"Sebastian?"

"Yes, young master?"

"Tomorrow...Tomorrow, will you teach me to tie my shoes?"

A pregnant pause filled the room, Ciel regretting the words that just fell from his mouth. Why had he said that? What was wrong with him? He should have—

"Of course, young master. Right after breakfast."

Ciel let out a breath that he had not known he was holding. The hand retreated back under the duvet, his eyes finally able to close again; his bed undergoing an abrupt transformation, becoming irresistibly comfortable once again. Something washed over the boy, something he had not felt in a long, long time. He couldn't describe it, but it was...good.

"You took his place." He mumbled, drifting off into a welcomed dreamless sleep.

[fallenrayvens]

Now on AO3!

Identity

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Day 2 Prompt for the @dadbastianweek2023

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A boy and a beast stood in front of a mirror, staring at the child who stared back at them. The sky, staring at the stars, staring at the sky.

————————————————————————–

CONTEXT WARNINGS: O!Ciel’s original name is assumed to be “Sirius” here. | The context of this piece is drenched in a WIP of mine for a longfic in which O!Ciel shares his body as a vessel with Sebastian as opposed to having him serve as a human butler.

————————————————————————–

The child in the mirror was not just a reflection of himself, but a phantom image of who he pretended to be, for the Fates had been feeling particularly cruel the day he was put inside the same womb as him.

And yet, just a moment moment ago, when he had caught himself saying “We have much to do tomorrow, so we should go to sleep.”, he meant him, the Earl, and the fiend who lived inside his head — which was foolish since Sebastian did not sleep, but also made him freeze in place because…

Who was we?

When had him grown so accustomed to sharing that mortal shell with the demon who was to one day devour his soul, that “we” was how he referred to himself? And who was this “himself” it had merged with, anyway?

Was it the weak and lonely child who cursed this world and denied God, the one he had chosen to leave behind? Was it the mask of the heir he had chosen to wear since that day? The strong-willed and proud noble who stood tall and didn’t bow to anyone?

…Had Ciel ever been like this mask he had built in his honor at all? — It brought tears to his eyes when he realized he didn’t know the answer to that question. That was the image he held of him, for sure, but both of them had been only ten. Did the boy he pretended to be even existed? And if he didn’t… did he? Did them?

“We shouldn’t worry ourselves with the tiniest things, my lord.” the low and melodic voice inside his head finally made itself known again, pulling him in to the present. A shadow hand emerging from behind the mirror cradled his face, but he knew it was coming from his own body, he could feel it too. “It will bring you no good to dwell on such details. It matters not to me who you were then, only who you are now.”

The boy in the mirror smirked at his brother, his foolish, naïve younger brother, as the shadows embraced him like a father would his own child, and he accepted.

How very strange was it, to feel like he was embracing himself, but also being embraced by another. “You are not the same either, Sebastian.” he declared, reaching for the shadow hand that held him so gently with his own tiny human hand. “You have changed, too.”

“I suppose I have.” He obliged, unable to lie by the bounds of their contract, though the crimson glow that came from the boy’s reflection suggested the demon was not up to the discussion.

He knew why.

He felt the beast’s conflict at the pit of his stomach whenever the boy reminded it that he was its prey. That at the end of their contract, it would have to claim its payment and abandon the name of his dog, that he was nothing but a rabbit being raised by a wolf.

They never again had a full conversation about that truth after he made it swear on bringing him his victory, after the Queen had given him his brother’s title and his family’s duties.

And although the version of Sebastian who looked like a soft-featured, elegant lean and tall butler existed only within their dream and headspace interactions, he sure had begun to sound more and more like Tanaka, and sometimes very much like Vincent.

“Let’s go to bed, young master.” the voice insisted again, this time blocking the vision of the mirror from the boy’s eyes by raising black shadowy smoke in front of the glass, forcing him to break the spell he had lured himself into. “Tomorrow is a busy day, and we can’t have you wasting precious sleeping hours having an existential crisis.”

“Fine.” the Earl rolled his eyes, finally giving in. “But we’re not done with this.” He shooed the shadow hands off his face, demanding one of them help him get up instead. It was comically confusing, as he did not know how exactly that worked, and neither did the demon care to explain it.

As he climbed upon his bed, wrapping his body with the thick blankets and closing his eyes, he heard the rustling of cloth, the blankets hugging him in a more tight manner, and felt a clawed but tender hand caress his gray-blue locks, the voice inside his head lulled him to sleep. “Good night, young master.”

He wanted to protest, to tell Sebastian to cut it out already, but he felt too heavy, too sleepy to do so. His brain felt tired from all the guilt, from all the thinking. So instead, he let Sirius, the boy he had once been, speak.

“G’night, ‘Bastian…”

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