His eyes fluttered open, taking in his dim, candlelit surroundings. The bars of his cage casted long pinstripes along his face alongside the streaks ever-present tears made in grimy cheeks.

"Ciel," a voice whispered from beyond the cell. He thought he recognized the voice, but his mind, weak from hunger and pain, could not validate the suspicion. Suddenly, the Phantomhive heir was fatigued, and the freezing cold floor wasn't as uncomfortable as it seemed before.

"Ciel!" The voice became more insistent as eyelids slid shut over cerulean eyes. The boy began to feel afraid as his mind woke up slightly. Had he angered his captors?

He raised his eyes, trying to locate the owner of the voice. Identical eyes suddenly met, and Ciel scurried backwards, his bare back smashing into the frigid stone.

"Mother?" Another silhouette accompanied the speaker. Tall and black-haired—much like himself. "Father?"

"Don't address us as such. How can we be your mother and father when we're dead and you aren't?" his father's voice scoffed. Ciel flinched at his words.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, clenching his fists on the filthy ground. Abruptly, he was pinned against the wall by his throat. The boy cried out, dirty hands reaching up to pull at whatever had him up against the wall.

"You could've done something to save us, son," his mother hissed scathingly, hand tightening at his throat. Ciel choked for air, but the hand didn't relent.

"Who are you, a child, to survive when we didn't?"

He was unexpectedly allowed to drop back to the floor. The guilt building up inside him felt like it was gnawing at his insides; he couldn't take it.

A long scream ripped through a throat already raw from crying, shattering the pretentious silence of the room.

"Young master? Are you all right?"

Ciel's eyes flew open as he abruptly sat straight in bed. Subconsciously, he pulled the blankets tightly around himself, seeking to snuff out the feeling of their hands on him. The room was dark—was he still in the cell? No, he had a blanket, so that couldn't be. Where was he?

"Wh-where am I?" Ciel inquired in a trembling voice. "Who are y-you?"

"We are in your mansion, young master. I'm Sebastian, your butler, remember? Did you have another nightmare?" Sebastian gazed into the eyes of the terrified child, pity and confusion pooling itself in his stomach.

A weight settled itself next to the boy on the bed. Ciel resisted the urge to flinch. Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian. He was the one who saved the boy from that hell of which he had been dreaming mere seconds ago.

"Sebastian. . ." he whispered, fighting the tears springing in his differently colored eyes.

"Yes, my lord?"

Unable to take the turmoil flooding his being, the proud earl collapsed into tears, sobbing incoherently. "Sebastian, I'm frightened," he cried, leaning his head into the large frame of his butler.

There was a moment's hesitation before the demon brought an arm up, sweeping the sobbing boy into his embrace. Ciel cried onto his shoulder, curling his small fingers into Sebastian's black jacket.

He could tell that his butler was surprised at his display of emotion. He hadn't cried since they made their deal—the demon probably believed that his master had no tears left to produce. But that nightmare had broken through his carefully constructed walls of indifference.

"What are you frightened of?" Sebastian asked softly, tentatively stroking the boy's hair. He hoped this was the proper way to go about calming a victim of the trauma his master had endured. The stiff way in which the boy held himself relaxed slightly at the caress, and a small smile graced Sebastian's fine features.

"I don't want to be alone. Th-they're blaming me. It's my fault they're dead. They hate me, they hate me."

"I will always be by your side, master." Sebastian could not reassure the boy in regard to his second statement, since he could not speak about what he didn't know. "I never lie."

Ciel pulled away, the blue of his eyes intensified by the still-falling tears. "Why am I alive?"

"I don't know, my lord. Please, calm down." The demon hated seeing his master like this. The strength of this child was remarkable, astonishing even a demon. We all have our breaking points, Sebastian thought to himself as he held the boy. Perhaps the fact that it has taken this long for him to buckle attests to that strength.

"I want to join them, Sebastian. Take my soul—take it, please. I don't want to live, Sebastian, I don't want to live."

"My lord, I thought you wanted—"

"I want my parents!" Ciel sobbed. "I don't want to be alone! I see them everywhere—Mother knitting in her chair, Father at his desk. . . . They're even there when I'm asleep!" The boy's slender fingers raised to touch his throat, unmarred despite its fate in his nightmare.

"Sebastian, I'm begging you. Take my soul. End this, here and now."

Sebastian moved the boy so he was facing the demon, eyes taking in Ciel's childishly round face. Tears continued to pour from the boy's bi-colored eyes, but his dark eyebrows were drawn angrily over the violet and cobalt depths. His butler raised his own hand to his mouth, biting off the white glove he nearly always wore. Then, he moved so that he was cupping the child's face, his black-nailed thumb brushing away the wetness under his right, contract-branded eye.

How strange, the demon thought. This . . . substance, tears, has replaced the blood from before. . . .

"Young master, I will not take your soul," Sebastian replied carefully in an uncharacteristic whisper. "Our contract is not fulfilled."

The demon was shocked at his response, which he had not planned to give. Here was Ciel Phantomhive, the container of the delicious soul he so desired, offering a demon his soul before their contract was fulfilled. He had awaited such a moment for nearly four years; but why did he feel so . . . guilty?

"I don't care; I want my parents. Getting revenge won't bring them back." The boy's chest heaved labored breaths, and for a minute, Sebastian feared he would hyperventilate. "I don't want to be alone anymore."

"Ciel," Sebastian said gently, drawing his young master back into his embrace, holding the tiny, fragile frame gently to his chest. "Don't you see? I am here. You are not alone."

Ciel's moist eyes widened as his butler used his given name, the deep, masculine voice replicating his father's easily. He looked up at the face which so closely resembled Vincent Phantomhive's, acknowledging the fact he had denied since he and Sebastian first met. Hesitant arms wrapped around his butler's neck, and the Phantomhive rested his cheek on Sebastian's shoulder, the fabric damp from his tears.

"Your life is but a second of mine," Sebastian said. "I don't think I should mind remaining here for a while longer."

The tension in the child's body relaxed with a shaky sigh. He remembered the first time he had such a horrible nightmare compared to now and marveled at the obvious differences. Though he wasn't sure if his butler was merely keeping up with the aesthetics he valued so much or not, he had certainly become entirely more comforting. Ciel hated to admit it, but even a proud creature like himself needed such emotional stimuli. He smiled gratefully into the butler's shoulder and whispered, "Thank you, Sebastian."