My Butler, His Master

14. Cocon

-14-

Cocon

Ciel cried out in agony as the sharp, curved needle wove in and out of his torn flesh, trailing a line of thread behind it that was synched taught upon completion, closing the gaping hole in his shoulder. Ciel's breath was ragged and his voice was barely a rasp, as the torturous patch work continued, the Undertaker smiling happily as he worked.

"It's such a pretty wound," Undertaker crooned with a little chuckle, "Such a shame to have to close it. Why not make it wider? Then we could see the Earl's fluttering little heart."

"Sew it slower!" Grell pleaded, leaning in over the autopsy table that Ciel was lain down upon, "Savor it! Don't waste such a pretty sight! Oh, how I wish I had a camera!"

Ciel was too exhausted from pain, torment, and screaming to bother to shoot a deadly glare at the overexcited Death God. Instead, he lolled his head, absorbing the sting of the cold needle as it continued to sew him back together, and the everlasting eruption of pain that echoed throughout his body from the hole in his lower shoulder.

This tiny series of pinpricks was really nothing compared to the removal of the letter opener that had impaled him, mere inches from his heart. His eye focused on it's deadly glint from the tool tray, and felt a painful sting deep in his chest that was separate from the stitches. He turned his sight away from it, refusing to think about those crimson eyes affixed on him as he was carried away in the arms of Death.

"I'm having trouble comprehending your reasoning for your actions," William T. Spears sat upon a slate grey coffin, legs crossed as he thumbed through a ledger with multiple papers sticking out of it, analyzing the report critically, "You reported that you 'fed him to your chainsaw'. Isn't that entirely what you were told not to do?"

"Arghh," Grell exhaled irritably, rolling his eyes and turning around to shout at the bureaucratic reaper, who's cold eyes were trained on him, expecting a straight forward explanation, "I told you! I only mostly killed him! There was no cinematic record, therefore, he's not dead yet! Why don't you get that?"

"Sebastian's not dead?" Ciel managed to whisper, before wincing again as the needle swooped down and bit into his shoulder.

"Nope~!" Grell smiled, crossing his legs and netting his fingers to cradle his knee, "Otherwise, there'd be no reason to patch you up, doll."

William sighed, "Given these recent turn of events, now that his current conditions have been altered, preparations will have to be made back at headquarters to keep Mr. Phantomhive secure."

The bureaucrat adjusted his glasses as he recited his train of thought; "I suppose our only route from here is to keep him in containment while we continue our sweep for more troublesome devices left over from the angels, and just apply the exchange system should we require the demon's services; namely the boy's soul as payment for Sebastian's cooperation."

"Actually," Grell held up a hand in objection, "We already have made prior arrangements."

"Is that so?" William looked at Ciel for confirmation, and the boy's eye closed solemnly.

"That's right," Grell got up from his seat and rounded the table, before he grasped ahold of Ciel's head and lifted it up, nuzzling him affectionately, "He said he'd come work for me as my little slave in exchange for his freedom from that horrible man ~!"

Ciel groaned, though he was too tired to do more than that. Besides, he had already surrendered to the thought that this was his new Hell, and that he was to remain in it this time, regardless the conditions. He tried to convince himself that anything was better than what he had endured the past few days, but his resolve was being challenged as the new weight of reality began to press down on him, announced by Grell's irritating declarations.