Disclaimer and A/N: I do not own Kuroshitsuji, or any of the quotes I borrowed. This is my version of what The End of the manga might, maybe, possibly, (but probably won't) be like. I guess this can be considered a companion piece to January Fourteenth, which was my take on what The Beginning might have been like, but there's really no connection between the two. This isn't my best work, I don't think, But I had fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy. And credit goes to my friend Molly for helping me decide the ending!

This was, strangely enough, inspired by Mary Poppins, don't ask me why. The quotes are, in this order, from Mary Poppins, Paradise Lost, Shakespeare, Gloria Patri, and Shakespeare again, cause he's just that cool. And the title I borrowed from Dylan Thomas' 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night'.

Against The Dying Of The Light

Mist coming in

Like something is brewing,

And 'bout to begin

Can't put my finger on what lies in store

But I fear what's to happen

All happened before

The night was crisp, dark, and clear. There was a smell of autumn in the air, red-gold leaves and new death, and a whiff of excitement in the breeze that meant that the aging year knew it was dying, and intended to live the rest of its life to the fullest. The lighted windows in the darkness of the London streets were beacons of anticipation, at once homelike and adventurous. Something is about to happen, they seemed to be saying.

The young Earl and his butler walked side by side past the lights, through the shadows, and into the quiet glamour of nighttime. Ciel's step was perhaps not quite as proud as it had been in the past; Sebastian's distance from him perhaps not quite as professional as usual. They noticed these things about themselves, and each took their own in stride. Ciel's breathing was perhaps a bit quicker than his tranquil face betrayed; his heart perhaps a bit louder than he might have cared to admit. Sebastian's mouth was perhaps more inclined not to smile mockingly; his stance perhaps a touch more predatory than it was wont to be.

Something was changed between them. Both felt it, and neither acknowledged it, and neither knew what it was. Their heels clicked on the pavement as they walked, side by side, and it was a companionable sound.

Ciel was not quite fifteen, and he was frightened. Ciel was frightened of the unknown, and of pain, and of Sebastian. He had not thought that he would be, but he realized now that this was a very foolish thing to have thought.

Sebastian was not quite ageless, and he was calm, and he was hungry. Sebastian was calm because Ciel needed him to be calm, and whatever Ciel needed, Sebastian supplied. He was hungry because he had always been hungry, and he would be hungry again.

Ciel was frightened of loss; of not-being. He knew that in a little while, there would only be one living soul on the gray cobbled street instead of two walking side by side. It was more frightening than he knew how to express; he, Ciel, who feared nothing because he had been through everything - being there one moment and gone the next. Terror wrapped him in freezing arms and gripped his heart like a vice. Suppose Sebastian didn't even give him any warning! Just three, two, one… gone.

He halted where he stood, suddenly paralyzed. He could go no further. And where were they going, anyway? What were they looking for, at this hour of the night? Their task was finished. The contract was finished. He would rather it just be ended now, over and done with. But not now, not yet, it was much too soon, oh God - he wasn't ready, couldn't they postpone it for even a minute…? His clumsy last thoughts tripped over themselves in their haste.

Sebastian stopped when Ciel stopped and looked down at him. Ciel knew he ought to say something profound and memorable, but he couldn't think of anything. Sebastian was no longer his servant or his… friend. At best, he was now only a very deadly semi-acquaintance. There seemed to Ciel hardly any chance of dying with dignity. Terror is not the most dignified of emotions. His heart seemed to be thumping itself into his windpipe. How humiliating, to gag on his heart.

"Young master?"

Ciel had wound himself up into such a strung-out panic that he gave a start at the sound of Sebastian's voice. He did not dare open his mouth to answer. Who knows what might come out if he did? Oh, don't – please don't – oh, please!

That would not be profound or memorable.

He turned to Sebastian with aggrieved eyes and couldn't say a word.

"Shall we sit?" said Sebastian. They had halted in front of a bench. Ciel, almost mechanically, sat, and Sebastian sat beside him. The bench was meant for two, and so they were rather close. Silence stretched… and stretched… and stretched.

Then Ciel decided abruptly that enough was enough, he felt quite ridiculous anyway. He heaved a vast and monumental sigh, swept off his hat and threw his head back like a child to stare at the stars. "So," he said, "What now?"

Sebastian, being significantly taller, had to scoot down on the bench a bit to lean back and stare at the sky, but he managed it, and if he looked a bit silly, well, Ciel couldn't bother himself to point it out.

"Now," Sebastian said, "Can you find the North star? Polaris?"

Ciel searched. "Is that it?" pointing.

"No."

"That one?"

"Closer, but no."

"That - "

"Young master, you are getting farther and farther away…"

"Where, then?"

"There," Sebastian said, pointing.

"Where?"

"There."

"Where?"

"Young master," Sebastian said, "Observe the big dipper. Do you see the star on the top, right-hand corner of it?"

Ciel squinted. "No. I mean, yes. Is that it?"

"No. Follow the line of that star straight up until you reach the handle of the little dipper. Do you see it?"

Ciel frowned. "No."

Sebastian waited.

"…Yes," eventually.

"There is your Polaris, there since the dawn of human life, ever pointing the weary and lost to shelter and peace, guiding ships tossed on the mercy of the dark endless oceans to safe havens."

Ciel turned his head sideways on the bench to glance at Sebastian. "I suppose that when you start 'waxing poetic', I ought to take it as a sign that you're about to make some sort of significant metaphor," he said.

"I was only looking at the big dipper and the little dipper etched together in the heavens," Sebastian said, affecting offense. "I don't have to point out the metaphor if you'd rather I didn't."

"Good," said Ciel, turning his eyes upwards once more. "Don't."

It was Sebastian's turn to glance. "Young master, you are no fun."

Ciel was about to answer by pointing out that Sebastian sounded just like Lizzie, but what came out of his mouth instead, softly and vulnerable sounding, was,

"…Really?"

Sebastian waited a moment before responding, but did not look away. Ciel, in the meantime, could not look anywhere but up. "No," said the butler, at last. His voice grew dark and his eyes grew bright. "Tonight, for instance… tonight, we had our fun."

Images flashed before Ciel's eyes. Burning houses, black smoke, choking heat, cries… cries in the illuminated night… not his own, this time, but others… burning, choking, crying…crying… they were crying, and he was screaming in sorrow, in rage, in victory…the smoke so thick that it blotted out the world.

Ciel's face turned as harsh as ice, his blue eyes turned to steel. He snapped upwards from the bench and let his head hang in triumph. His eyes were not his own. His shoulders slouched, as if his burden was a welcome one. "I'm glad we killed them," he said. "I'm glad they're dead. I'm glad – glad."

Sebastian sat up as well, his posture impeccable, his head held proudly high. He looked down at his young master, and his expression was perceptive and shrewd. "You left one alive, though," he said.

The boy… the boy was howling in grief and pain as his family burned… cried… choked… Ciel had not expected there to be a child – an innocent. What now, what now? Kill him? No, no, that wasn't fair … it wouldn't be fair… Sebastian, leave him! Let him be. He has nothing to do with it. Let him be.

"He had nothing to do with it," said Ciel.

"Yet you murdered his family around him," Sebastian said, "You let him catch a glimpse through the gates of hell at the fires of your own damnation, and watch his loved ones die. How long do you think he will last before he dies of grief or starvation, young master? Is that what you call mercy?"

"It was more mercy than was ever shown to me!" spat Ciel. But he felt recognition rising in him like nausea. Damn, damn! Will he not just kill me and be done with it?

Sebastian's next words were nearly silent. "There was a time when you yourself would have considered death a mercy, young master." His tone was gently reproachful, as though he were scolding Ciel for sneaking a tea cake before supper. Ciel heard him lean down then, and felt Sebastian's breath on his ear as he whispered, "Revenge, at first though sweet, bitter ere long back on itself recoils."

"Paradise Lost," murmured Ciel, as if he were in a lesson. The iron had gone from his eyes, but his voice was still sharp as a knife's edge, silver and furious. "I have taken nothing that was not my due."

"Of course not, young master," mocking, at last. "Not a shard of regret should you feel; not for yourself, nor anyone else."

"Regret!" Ciel scoffed. He threw up his head and met Sebastian's eyes with a fearless and level stare. "O, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb?" he quoted, "I am no baby, I, that with base prayers I should repent the evils I have done: ten thousand worse than ever yet I did would I perform, if I might have my will; if one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul."

"Shakespeare," acknowledged Sebastian with the air of a tutor. "Bitingly and poisonously accurate as always, young master." He smiled.

"Of course it was," said Ciel. "You taught it to me."

Both of them sat back on the bench once more, side by side. Silence stretched again, but it was a comfortable silence filled with unspoken memories. Each kept their own counsel for a while. The thing that was changed between them had returned, banishing familiarity and routine, and the first one who spoke would be the first to acknowledge it.

It was Ciel who took the plunge.

"What will you do now?" he asked.

Sebastian's smile was faint, and his brilliant eyes seemed to be looking for something far away and lost. "I will go where I am needed," he said. "Someone, somewhere… will call out for me, as you did, and I will go to him, as I went to you. And when, one day, he no longer has need of me, I will answer the call of someone new, who does. Someone will always need me," he said, and paused. "But you, young master… you don't need me anymore."

His voice was colored with a tinge of sadness like a blush, as if Ciel ought to feel guilt. Ciel couldn't tell if the sadness was really there or not. He felt terribly tired.

"And what will you do if no one needs you?" he asked, devoid of sympathy.

Sebastian turned to look at him, his expression unchanged, wistful and sure.

"Someone will always need me," he repeated.

Ciel felt an inappropriate desire to smirk, but did not give in to it. Ruefully, bitterly, he said, "as it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be, world without end, Amen."

"Amen," agreed Sebastian, who did smirk.

With each smile Sebastian gave, a layer of calm hopelessness was tucked around Ciel like a blanket. It was really meant as a favor, for Ciel was shaking… with chill, or with fear… and his exhaustion was making his eyelids heavy and his head droop. He knew that if he were to fall asleep, he would never wake up again. But the light in his eyes was fading. His mind no longer wished to handle what he had done to himself.

"Will it hurt?" he asked Sebastian.

The lamp-post lights glared cruelly at him, and the demon seated next to him said nothing.

At last, at last, Ciel nodded quietly, softly to sleep on Sebastian's shoulder, his exhausted mind surrendering.

He would not, of course, be allowed to die as easily as that.

Dimly, he heard Sebastian remove his pocket-handkerchief, and before he could realize quite what was about to happen, his butler had pressed it, none too gently, against his face so that it covered his nose and mouth. Sebastian's other hand wrapped itself around Ciel's neck.

And squeezed.

Ciel had been wrong. He woke up, woke up completely before he died, to see the stars wheel above him, to feel his veins pulse with life, the blood vessels in his poor eyes burst, his lungs shrivel, his thrashing turn to struggling turn to wordless pleading – Oh, don't – please don't – oh, please! – then cease completely, as his throat was crushed and his windpipe collapsed as the top of his spine snapped under Sebastian's fingers.

As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be, world without end, Amen.

The streetlights went out.

The soul crumbled like a dead brown leaf in Sebastian's hands, and the sun came up on an empty grey street.

The rest is silence.