Series: Black Butler
Prompt: #09: Write
Word Count: 559
Characters, Pairings: Undertaker, Sebastian, Ciel
Summary: He’d told the boy that he was going to die.
Warnings: first time writing Undertaker, spoilers for the last episode of season II, dark thoughts.
Notes: Be gentle. I’ve never written Undertaker before. Forgive the fail. This has actually been written for a while… I just haven’t had time to post.
The early-morning knock on his coffin does not surprise him. He’s been waiting for this—he’s been expecting this, and his visitor has apparently gone all-out with the gift, bringing him a brand new coffin, which conceals a neatly-wrapped box within.
It’s a pity that said visitor has chosen to depart without even staying long enough to note his (the recipient’s) reaction.
Perhaps Sebastian (and he knows it was the demon—this is definitely his handiwork) already knew what his reaction would be, and did not wish to see the inevitable, deranged, self-satisfied smirk with his own two blood-red eyes. Or perhaps his little master would prefer him not to linger.
Which is all well and good, Undertaker decides, if not a wee bit disappointing.
He had told the boy that he would die; it had been written and he’d seen it, just as an artist sees all of the varied hues of the sunset.
It has come to pass, he knows. The Ciel Phantomhive he once knew is permanently dead now. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as it were. Yes, he is a demon now, and no, he will no longer be able to die a mortal death (because he already has, twice). His soul may not belong to Sebastian, or to God or Satan or any of the Death Gods, but neither is his soul his own.
Just because one lives forever doesn’t mean that he or she isn’t already dead.
(What is the price for the immortality he’s gained? Only death eternal. The not-child may walk and breathe – not out of necessity – and talk, and he is may be ever more vibrant as a demon than as a human, but he is naught more than the walking dead, and when he realizes it, perhaps centuries from now, the truth will crush him. He will spiral down into madness.)
Undertaker unwraps the gift, and he grins lopsidedly at the newly-revealed bone-shaped cookies, his dark thoughts never missing a beat despite his good cheer:
Now, the boy will learn what starvation is. He will learn true boredom and true loneliness, and he will know better than anyone what it means to have once held something truly precious, only to have it slip through his hands. Not even his cherished, beloved (and hated) butler will be able to save him from this.
Finally, he takes note of the little card, and the words and thus, it is written come to mind as he does so:
In memory of
Who died on Aug. 26th, 1889
AGED 13 YEARS
Alive forever as a child that can never be called a child again. Indeed, his childhood (his humanity) is gone, abandoned, dead.
Undertaker twirls the card between his thumb and his index and middle fingers, and he laughs loudly; he laughs until tears are rolling down his cheeks and until he’s doubled over and clutching at his stomach with his free hand.
He wants to say, I told you so, but it isn’t like the (forever-dead-forever-alive) not-boy or his (imprisoned) butler will hear him now; instead, he silently thanks the pair for one last good laugh before setting to work: Time goes on, after all, and it’s not like his customers are capable of tending to themselves.
Time to see what else Death has dragged in.
*chews on nails* I had a completely different idea for this to begin with, and then this happened. XD;