Hello There...

“One.” He scoops his brother up, which despite his own small, malnourished stature is a lot easier now that his brother is five-years-old again and not fourteen like him. He holds him close to his chest, keeping his arms contained. He continues to screech, but Ciel doesn’t let that perturb him. 

This is his duty as the eldest son and older brother. 

A few days earlier he had been in the middle of another blood transfusion when Polaris ushered in his brother-his very much not almost-fourteen-years-old brother-with a note from Sebastian that basically read that he couldn’t take care of Astre like this, and that he doesn’t fully understand why this happened but he would find a way to reverse it. In the meantime, despite having all his facilities, he would be much safer under his and Undertaker’s protection rather than facing all the external threats that plague the Phantomhive name alone. 

His brother hadn’t been happy, and had been even less happy when Ciel immediately decided to force him into some of their childhood clothes that survived the fire by being stored at the townhouse. Thankfully, he had had the foresight to have it brought over weeks ago.

He hadn’t needed to talk to Undertaker to know the man was thinking the same thing. If they can manipulate Astre into being his normal, five-year-old self, then it would be much easier to dissolve the contract when the time comes. Especially if Sebastian can’t find a way to reverse this. 

Which had been a lot harder than either of them thought. 

Astre had been a kind, gentle, thoughtful, and most importantly, very sickly child. But his sickness hadn’t seemed to act up once since he was brought there, even after screaming at the top of his lungs for “Sebastian.” Ciel is always quick to reprimand him with a pop to his mouth or a swat to his bottom. Not that it ever makes him stop doing it. 

Ciel makes it to their old nursery. His brother whimpers in his arms, tuckered out by the many tantrums he threw all day long. He had to do a blood transfusion earlier in the day, so he can only imagine the vitriol that Undertaker had spewed at him. 

“I hate….you….” His breathing has started to become deeper, and his words are slurred with sleep. He fights to keep his eyes open, even as Ciel lays him down in his old bed and climbs in next to him. 

With a practiced hand he strokes his brother’s hair, tucking stray pieces behind his ears. Astre blinks sluggishly up at him, probably trying to comprehend where he is and why Ciel is there. 

“Shhhh….sleep.”

“Cece,” he whines, placing a soft hand atop Ciel’s. 

He’s taken back by the abruptness of his brother’s change of mood. He struggles to find the words to respond. This, this is the little brother he remembers. The one that he recalls fondly in his memories. 

“Yeah?” Cece had been his childhood nickname between them. It had started when his brother couldn’t pronounce his name when they were toddlers, but it persisted until a tutor harshly reprimanded his brother for not using Ciel’s proper name. Hearing it again makes his barely beating heart warm. 

“Cece, I want Cece.” 

“I’m here, love. I’m here.” He tries to nuzzle his face into his brother’s hair, but he is roughly shoved back with way more force than he thought possible for a sickly boy of five to possess. 

“Nooo, Cece. Not Cece.” Astre shakes his head furiously, eyes going wide. “Not Ciel. You’re not Ciel. Ciel is….they took Ciel.” His breathing picks up, and it’s all Ciel can do to remain calm, holding his brother as close as he allows until the memory passes. His body shakes and he gags and Ciel knows it’s only because of his brother’s stubbornness to not eat anything that he hadn’t thrown up. 

“Shhhh….shush…..everything’s alright. I’m Ciel. I’m here. I’m alright.” 

His brother clings to him, tears drying on his rosy cheeks, and not for the first time, he wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into. 

“Cece,” Astre says, voice timid in a way that Ciel only recalls from before his death. 

“Yes?”

“When are mother and father coming home?”

Ciel feels his throat tighten, and he has to force himself to say something. “Soon, baby boy, soon.”

“I miss ‘em, Cece.” His voice trembles, and Ciel can see his hands squeeze the quilt just a little bit tighter. 

“Me too, Astre. Me too.”

“And Cece?”

Instead of answering Ciel brushes some hair away from his brother’s forehead. Astre leans into his hand. His forehead is burning hot. 

It’s one thing after another, isn’t it? 

“I don’t feel so good.” 

“Try to get some rest,” Ciel says, making a mental note to have the Undertaker take a look at Astre after his nap. “You might feel better after a nap.”

“But I really don’t feel good.”

“Shhh…rest. Sh, sh, no tears now.” He wipes his brother’s face with the back of his hand. Astre sniffles, leaning further into Ciel’s personal space. 

“Don’t leave,” his brother begs, hiccuping. 

“I won’t. I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Ciel stays there, resting alongside his sickly, little brother. Memories of old washing over him as he recalls days past of doing the exact same thing. Only back then they had been the exact same (sickness aside, of course).

His father lingers the longest by his bedside. He only leaves for an hour or two at a time, sometimes leaving with darkened veins and hollow eyes. 

“How are you feeling, love?” 

“Better,” Arthur answers honestly. He fiddles with a loose string on the quilt. “Do I have asthma?”

His father sighs, climbing closer to him in the too large bed. He nestles his face in Arthur’s hair. “Yes. Just like your grandmother. I should’ve seen it coming, but I was hoping you might’ve inherited your mother’s and my good health.”

Arthur feels his face burn. “Sorry,” he says meekly. 

“Don’t apologize for something you can’t help.” His father’s voice is stern but kind. Arthur leans further into his space, taking refuge in his hold. 

His father continues, “but this also means you’ll have more rules to keep your asthma in check.”

“Rules? What kind of rules?” He’s never been partial to rules. He’s followed them, yes, but he’s found them to be often tedious and boring. 

“Like….” his father plays with a lock of Arthur’s hair, twirling it around his finger. “You can’t go outside unless the weather is just right.”

“But father-”

“Don’t father me. This is for your own good. Oh! And you also have to limit your physical activity, you might overexert yourself. I’m also making it mandatory for you to take a nap twice a day, three times if you’re showing signs of illness.”

Arthur frowns. “But what will I do during outside time?”

“Have some tea. Read a book. Draw a picture. Play with your toys. Anything at all. You can even play chess with Tanaka or talk with Undertaker. I’m sure both of them have some interesting stories to share with you.”

“But- I want to go outside,” he whines, wriggling away from his father’s hold. 

His father tightens his grasp, pulling Arthur closer. “Stay,” he demands. “Stay put.” He brushes the back of his hand over one of Arthur’s flushed cheeks. “There, see, it will all work out.”

Arthur sniffles. “I don’t like this asthma!” Tears slide down his cheeks, and his father wipes them away with a handkerchief just as fast as they appear. He dabs at Arthur’s face, humming to himself. 

Arthur rolls over in the bed, borrowing his face in his father’s bony chest. His shirt smells of lavender and rose oil. It makes him feel a bit sleepy. He clings tightly to his father’s shirt, falling into a deep sleep. 

-x-x-x-

Ciel lays with his son for a while longer. The poor boy needs all the comfort he can get. He pets his hair and kisses his cheek, carefully sliding out of the bed. He still has stacks of paperwork he needs to do. 

His son stirs, whining at the loss of contact. He shushes him, brushing Astre’s fringe back with all the care in the world. Ciel hums, placing another kiss on his son’s forehead. “Sweet dreams,” he murmurs, soothing his hair back the way it was. 

He’s halfway through a stack of tax paperwork when the door to his office swings open. Undertaker strolls in without a care in the world.

“How’s the little one, Milord?” He asks in his usual infuriating way. Ciel doesn’t dignify him with a response, continuing to work through the tax paperwork. 

“Come on, I heard he’s taken after Lady Rachel.”

“Yes, quite unfortunate too. I was hoping my mother’s asthma wasn’t genetic.”

“Quite unfortunate indeed, but you do know you have to keep a closer eye on Astre, right?”

Ciel rolls his eyes. “I have already explained the new rules and boundaries to him. He didn’t take it well, but I feel as though limiting physical play and outside time should keep him adequately protected.”

“But why stop there, Milord? Why not keep watch over him day and night? Who knows it might help you two grow closer.”

“That’s a ridiculous idea, and-” Ciel stops himself, really thinking the idea over. It had only been because he forgot a book that he caught Astre’s asthmatic fit in time, but what if he hadn’t? What if he was too late? 

“Alright,” he agrees, setting his pen down and folding his hands under his chin. “I suppose I should be more involved in keeping an eye on Astre, at least more than what I have been doing thus far.” 

“Very good, Lord Earl. Starting off, might I suggest introducing him to the star lords?”

Ciel sighs. “Yeah, I suppose so.” It’s not that he doesn’t want to introduce what, by some definitions, would constitute as his coworkers to his son, but they aren’t the most mentally stable bunch. “But if they even think about hurting a hair on his head I won’t hesitate to have them killed.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Undertaker says, chuckling to himself. “I’ll see to the other star lords gathering together.”

“Sure, sure, now, leave me be!”

Ciel pretends to look at the paper in front of him until he hears the door open and close. He leans over his desk, head in hands. Somehow, someway, he’s going to regret this. 

-x-x-x-

His fellow star lords were brought back to life just as he had been. A little girl who had been combined with her twin, named Layla and Al, a girl around Ciel’s age that died in a circus accident, called Doll, and a young man who served under his father as a butler but died in the attack, only going by his star lord name, Polaris. 

“I have gathered you here today for a very special reason,” Ciel says, hands clasped together. He can feel his son picking out at the small crowd from behind his back. He smiles. “I wanted you all to meet my son.”

He bends down, gently tugging on Astre’s arm to get him front and center. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

The group all have a vastly different reaction from one another. Layla coos, while her counterpart Al reaches for the knife tucked in her apron. Doll seems indifferent, though she gives Astre a kind smile. And Polaris looks about two seconds away from bursting into tears. 

Ciel keeps his son close just in case any of them feel the need to lash out. It wouldn’t be the first time a bizarre doll lost control, and he would hate for it to affect his son in any meaningful way. 

“Hello, squirt,” Doll says, probably the most level-headed out of the three of them. Astre clings to his arm, looking up at him for permission. 

He nods. “Go on,” he encourages, giving him a little push. He keeps an eye on the other two, but they seem nonreactive at the moment. He focuses on his son and Doll who are talking about anything and everything. She makes his son laugh, which should make Ciel happy but all it does it make a part of him burn with, not necessarily rage, but something far more discrete. Something that makes his heart ache with longing and sick with jealousy. 

He pulls Astre back. “Alright, meeting dismissed.”

Doll frowns. “We were talking.”

“And now you’re done.”

Polaris reaches a hand out for Astre, but Ciel pointedly ignores him, pulling Astre towards the stairs. “You all have your assignments from Undertaker. Thank you for coming. Tanaka will see you out.”

Astre pouts. “I was talking to that girl, father.”

Ciel doesn’t respond, too afraid he might yell at his son. He leaves him in the nursery without a word. Maybe he needs another blood transfusion? 

-x-x-x-

Three days after returning from Phantomhive manor, Elizabeth receives a letter from Ciel. Their son has taken after his grandmother and developed asthma. And while it shouldn’t surprise her, their son’s poor condition worries her terribly. 

Asthma can be quite serious even with mild cases, and her late aunt Rachel could get extremely ill and be bedridden for days at a time. 

She finds herself packing a bag, and calling a carriage to take her to the manor. While Ciel says he has everything under control, Elizabeth would much rather see their son to make that assertion herself. Besides, every ailing child needs their mother. 

-x-x-x-

Arthur coughs into his sleeve. The tightness in his chest comes and goes, but the annoying cough never seems to fully go away. He sips his tea slowly, hoping it might do something for his sore throat. Tanaka, or Gramps as he insists Arthur call him, put some honey in the tea to ease his pain. 

The door to the nursery opens, and that same woman with golden hair stands in the doorway. 

“My little angel,” she says, opening her arms. 

Wanting comfort, Arthur abandons his tea and hurries over to his mother. He leans into her hug, wrapping his own arms around her as well. “I’ve missed you,” he admits, somewhat sheepishly, because he barely knows her. He feels foolish feeling that way, but he says it anyway. 

“I’ve missed you, too, silly boy,” she whispers into his hair like a confession. It makes Arthur’s heart feel warm and fluttery. He relaxes in her hold.

Their hug doesn’t last for long, because the door is thrown open, and there, frowning, is his father. 

“Lizzy,” he says. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Ciel,” she greets him. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop to see you first, but I had to make sure that Astre was okay.”

“He’s fine. As you can see. Why don’t we talk about this in my office? Alone.”

His mother bites her bottom lip. “Okay,” she finally agrees. “I’ll be right back, Astre, okay?”

“Alright,” he says, already missing her warmth. 

-x-x-x-

Ciel stands in front of his office’s window. His hands are folded behind his back. “So, why did you come all this way again?”

Lizzy has always been overbearing, in his opinion. Not always in a bad way, but right now her inability to, in simple terms, go away isn’t helping that assertion. He can’t understand why she seems so unwilling to leave their son’s side for more than a few days at a time. Though, perhaps he’s being unfair. He does have unlimited access to Astre whenever he wants, and their son did just develop an illness….

“I received your letter, Ciel. I needed to come see him with my own eyes. I needed to make sure he’s alright, and I was hoping, with your permission of course, if I could stay a couple of nights to watch over him.”

It’s not like Lizzy isn’t aware of his current condition. It’s hard to hide, what with him looking the exact same as the day he disappeared, maybe with a scar or two hidden away now. But having her here is troublesome. Lizzy is smart and capable, and both of those things can only spell trouble for Undertaker’s and his blood-smuggling operation. But then again….

“You’d watch Astre?”

“Our son? Of course I would. I want to get to know him.”

That same burning feeling. Like envy but duller. All of his emotions are duller nowadays, almost entirely numb. He has to rely on his preconceived notions and experiences to navigate social situations. He knows he likes strawberry flavored things and playing outside rain or shine. He knows he loves to dance and likes to play the violin. And he knows he loves his family above all else, especially Lizzy and especially their son. 

He knows all these things like the back of his hand, remembers the feelings of warmth, contentment, and exultation it all used to give him. But now he’s been reduced to a bitter numbness. Which is why he can’t pinpoint what that burning feeling is. He pushes it aside. 

“I would be happy to host you for a few nights. I’ll have Tanaka show you to your room.”

-x-x-x-

“And I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down!” Lizzy reads to her son, gently stroking his hair. His hair is baby soft and from here she can smell the lavender soap Ciel (and she supposes their son) uses for bathing. She breathes in the familiar scent, silently reminiscing on days past. 

“Mother?”

She hums, putting the book down.

“Do you love me?”

“Why of course I do!” She replies instantly, a hand over her heart. “I’ve loved you since I felt the first flutter of life in my tummy. I’ve loved you since you were this big.” She demonstrates with her fingers, holding her thumb and pointer finger close together. 

Astre giggles. “That big? But that’s not very big at all.”

“No, it’s not, and yet, I loved every inch of you.”

Astre frowns. “Did father?”

“Love you?”

“Uh, huh.”

Lizzy nods. “Oh, yes. I dare say even more than me. You have to understand the amount of pressure we were both under, and your father had far more to lose than me.” Which was true in a technical sense, though she stood to lose far more in social standing than him if her pregnancy got out. “But he liked to read to you when you were that small and sing and talk to you. Even after word got out, and our families started keeping a closer eye on us, he continued to treat us well.”

“Does he still love us?” Astre’s voice is small and timid, like he’s afraid of the answer. 

“Your father has gone through a lot. He’s endured more than we can possibly know, and some of that might’ve impacted his personality and how he moves through the world. But, you know what?”

Astre looks up at her with innocent eyes. “What?”

“He’s come home to us, and because of him, we’re able to have this conversation. I thought I would live the rest of my days without seeing you again. And your father is gracious enough to let me stay here with you until you get better. He’s a good man-” though, she would hesitate to call Ciel a man. Not out of disrespect, of course, but it feels wrong somehow. “-and he loves us as much as he possibly can.”

Astre frowns. “But he barely spends time with me.”

“Ever?” Lizzy asks. 

“Well, not ever. He taught me how to play chess, but outside of that he’s…” he trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence. 

“Distant? Like I said he’s gone through a lot. He does love you, Astre- what? What’s wrong?”

Her son looks frustrated. His hands are balled into fists and he’s clutching the quilt like a lifeline. “I don’t like that name,” he says, “it’s not mine. I’m not Astre.”

Lizzy frowns, sensing the incoming tantrum. “I know your grandparents named you Arthur, but here, your father and I named you, Astre. It means star in French. It matches your father’s name.”

“But I liked my name,” he insists, sitting up. “Why can’t I be called Arthur?”

“I understand that, but you’re Astre now. It’s best to get used to it.”

“Well, it’s not fair!” He jumps off the bed and darts from the room. 

Lizzy puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my.”

-x-x-x-

Arthur feels himself get angrier and angrier and angrier still when he thinks about it for too long. Even at his measly age of four, he knows who he is and what his name is, or was. Arthur isn’t a particularly dazzling name, nor is it pretty, but it’s his. And he wishes his parents would respect that. 

It feels like every tiny bit of control over his life has slowly been eroded away. First he’s taken from the only home he’s ever known and then he’s forced to adapt to a new household with new rules and forced to go by a new name. 

Gah! He’s so mad! He wants so badly to throw something or bite someone or…or….

He sniffles and burning hot tears slide down his cheeks. He wipes them away but more take their place. He stops in front of his father’s study, opening the door without a second thought. 

His father’s at the desk. He looks up when Arthur enters the room, surprise clear on his face. “Astre, what a pleasant surprise.”

Arthur can’t hold back the dam anymore and bursts into sobs. He rounds the desk in record speed and reaches for his father. His father looks absolutely horrified. “What happened?” He questions, pulling Arthur onto his lap. “Are you hurt?” He holds his face in his hands, looking him over with careful eyes. 

Arthur shakes his head, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Nuh, no. I-I…” he takes a steadying breath. 

“Breathe, love,” his father reminds him kindly, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the drying tears on his cheeks. 

“My name is Arthur! And it’s not fair that I have to go by a different name, and I miss my home and I want to go home. And-and I’m really, really sad.”

His father brings him in for a hug, stroking his hair with one hand and embracing him with the other. “Believe me, I understand how unfair and scary life can be, and sometimes I wonder if I had the ability to cry if I would’ve so many times by now. I know it seems unfair that I’ve taken the name you’re used to away, but I promise it was for good reason. I didn’t do it to be cruel. Fate has given us a second chance to do things right, and I’m not going to waste it.”

“I…don’t understand,” Arthur whispers, crying tapering off to something more manageable. Something softer that leaves him feeling bone-tired laying his head on his father’s shoulder. 

“You don’t have to. That’s what your mother and I are here for. All you need to do is accept who you are.”

“Who am I?”

“Our child. Astre Phantomhive.”

They would be getting married as soon as possible. Both to keep their reputations pure and unmarred and to be able to raise their son. As much as he appreciates his parents stepping in, Ciel would much prefer being the one to care for and oversee his son as he grows. 

It’s hours later that he’s fighting to stay awake while finishing up his homework that Tanaka knocks on the door. 

“Come in.” He straightens his back. 

“Young Master, I have news regarding Lady Elizabeth.”

“And? Well?” He hates being so high-handed with Gramps, but his nerves have been causing him to behave in ways that he normally wouldn’t. He knows he’s high-strung, but nothing seems to help his neuroticism except being able to be in the same room as Lizzy. To see that she’s okay. 

“The baby is very close to being born. They estimate it could arrive within an hour or so.”

Ciel glances at the clock on the mantle. It's almost midnight.

“Thank you, Tanaka. I’ll go at once.”

“Very good, young master. There’s a carriage outside waiting for you. Your mother will escort you. Your father has gone on ahead to get things settled.”

Ciel nods, feeling a bit sick all of a sudden. This all feels too fast and too slow all at once. He instantly hates himself for being so weak. 

The ride to the Midfords’ estate is quiet. Unlike his father who had always been too difficult to read, his mother maintained the same level of respectable sternness beneath her gentle kindness. She didn’t push him to talk, nor did she express disapproval, though Ciel knows this must feel like a betrayal. 

“I’m sorry, mother,” he says, because the silence has eaten away his ability to keep his mouth shut. 

“Shhh…it’s okay. Try to focus on the positives. For instance, you’re about to be a big brother. Isn’t that exciting?”

“A big brother,” he repeats numbly. “Until Lizzy and I get married, of course.”

His mother’s smile twitches just the tiniest bit. “About that-”

The door to their carriage opens.

Inside it’s chaos. Servants are running around, fetching this and that, while he’s escorted gently by the arm to a side room where his uncle and father talk in quiet voices. He stands in the doorway, unsure if he truly belongs with them. But his father looks up and gestures him closer. 

“How was the carriage ride? Thankfully the roads haven’t snowed over.” He turns to Uncle Alexis. “At least it hasn’t snowed as badly as when Ciel was born. That would’ve been a disaster getting here.”

“Right you are about that.”

His father turns back to him, suddenly serious. The change worries Ciel in more ways than one. He finds himself taking a step back, but his father grabs his arm to prevent him from leaving. 

“Son,” he starts in an unfamiliar tone of voice. “I need you to understand that this baby, Sirius, as your mother and I have named him, won’t be your son once he comes home with us. It’s important to keep up pretenses. If the queen finds out you had a baby out of wedlock, I don’t know what she would do.”

“But- but if Lizzy and I get married-”

“You and Lady Elizabeth will get married….one day, and we’ll be there to support you. Your mother, me, and your baby brother.”

Ciel swallows thickly. He blinks back tears. Despite his best effort, his voice breaks when he says, “but it’s our baby. Does Lizzy know?”

“We don’t want to upset her while she’s in so much pain. This is for the best, Ciel,” he says as if he didn’t just break his heart and shatter it into a million little pieces. 

“O-kay,” he agrees, because at least he still gets to be a part of his son’s life. Even if that part has been reduced to being the big brother.

His father lets his arm go and pats his head. “Good lad. Chin up. You’ll get to meet your brother soon.”

Brother. The word makes him want to vomit, but to his credit, he doesn’t. Instead, he forces a smile and goes to sit quietly by the fireplace. 

It’s less than an hour later, twenty minutes past the hum of midnight, that Sirius Phantomhive is born. Ciel rushes from the room, intent on stealing a moment or two with his future wife and their baby before his parents come to ruin the moment. Just a moment to pretend that everything is fine. That they’ll stay together as a family, before Lizzy has her heart broken.

Sirius is small, though it’s not like Ciel has enough experience with babies to compare him to anything. And just as his parents predicted, he is in fact a boy, though a little on the bluish side. The doctors assure both him and Lizzy that he’s perfectly healthy, though they both still worry. His tiny fingers wrap around Ciel’s ring finger, and his little eyes flutter close, exhausted after screaming his lungs out. 

“Tiny,” Ciel manages to say without losing his composure. He feels nauseous and at ease and all the emotions in between all at once, but he’s not the one that has just given birth and will soon be told that all that effort will be for naught, so he pushes it all down and allows Lizzy to be the more emotional one.

“You can cry, Ciel,” she says. Her own eyes are watering over as they look at the precious miracle they’ve brought into the world. “Look at him.”

Ciel sobs, feeling his son-because no matter what his father and mother might say, this is his son-retighten his grip around his finger. He makes a small cooing noise that instantly makes their hearts melt. 

“He looks like you,” Lizzy observes. And he does. Same blue-black hair, as slim as it is, and the same blue eyes. He’s most certainly a Phantomhive. 

“He’s perfect,” Ciel murmurs, pressing a kiss onto the baby’s forehead. 

For a second, everything feels right in the world. 

Ciel is eventually pushed from the bedroom while the women discuss feedings. He’s taken back home with the promise that, if the baby is well enough, he’d be reunited with Sirius again at the party. 

He tries not to picture Lizzy learning that she’d be separated from their child without any way to raise him. Ciel focuses on doing times tables in his head, practicing, because anything is better than seeing the happy looks on his parents’ faces. 

Could they not see the anguish they’re putting him through?

Ciel tosses and turns that night, ruminating on the past and future. By the next morning he’s barely slept, but that doesn’t matter because soon he’ll have his son- no, he corrects himself, his brother. 

He’ll have to get used to that, lest his parents send his son away. 

He rises and is quickly gotten ready for the day. His classes are canceled for his birthday, and he enjoys a nice breakfast with his parents. His father even plays a few games of chess with him before retiring to his study. 

An hour before the party is supposed to start he decides to take a nap, but when he wakes up no one is there. While he’s less disposed to needing servants for every little thing, he would expect Gramps to come get him for the party. 

A shiver runs down his spine. This could only mean one thing.

Something is wrong.

After a month of abuse and torture, Ciel’s last thought before they plunge a dagger into his heart is of his son. 

He wakes, trying and failing to shoot upright. A hand stops him. “Rest now,” it croons. “Soon.”

He sleeps, and he doesn’t know how long he sleeps, only that it’s a lot. And he sleeps some more. 

-x-x-x-

Arthur Dalles plays quietly with the train car Auntie Anne gifted him on her last visit. Grandfather reads the daily news in his button-tufted armchair. He seems rigid, almost uncomfortable, but he says nothing to indicate something is wrong so Arthur continues playing blissfully unaware of the current custody battle brewing outside the villa’s walls. 

His grandmother works diligently on her latest needlepoint, her hands shake imperceptively. She clears her throat. “Richard?” She says, in that same steady voice she always used no matter the topic. 

Arthur pauses mid-play. It’s terribly impolite to ease-drop. A fact he knows well despite his small age of four, almost five. But it’s so hard to resist the temptation to listen in, especially when he’s sitting right in front of them. 

“Yes, Beatrice?” 

“When do you think they’ll arrive?”

His grandfather laughs, brushing off the question. He readjusts the newspaper and flips to the next page. “Soon, I imagine,” he finally answers, probably sensing his wife’s indignation at being ignored. 

Arthur returns to playing with his trains. 

There’s a firm knock on the parlour door. “Come in!” His grandfather says, folding his newspaper. 

The door opens to reveal their footman, a man named Daniel Allen, accompanied by a rather creepy looking man with long, white hair, wearing mourning clothes. Arthur instantly climbs into his grandmother’s lap, abandoning his train car but grabbing his cuddly toy-another new toy he received on Aunt Anne’s last visit. Though, she insisted it came from someone else. It’s a teddy bear with a bow tied around its neck, and what looks like singe marks on its paws. It also smells like firewood and mildew, but Arthur finds it comforts him more than any of his other cuddly toys ever have. 

He burrows into his grandmother’s side, clutching his cuddly toy. His grandmother pats his back, ever the one to indulge his more childish habits. 

“Missus and Mister Dalles may I introduce Mister Undertaker.”

“Very well,” his grandfather says, dismissing the footman with a wave of his hand. “Nice to meet you Mister-”

“Undertaker is all, milord,” the strange man says. 

“Nice to meet you Undertaker. You must be here for Arthur.”

Arthur shivers in his grandmother’s arms. He feels his eyes water over. He doesn’t know this man, and he wants nothing to do with him. 

“Right you are, Milord. I’ll just collect him and any belongings he may want to take with him, and be on our way.”

Arthur cries out. “Go where!? Oh, grandmother, don’t make me go!”

His grandmother wipes his face clean with a handkerchief. “Oh, dry your eyes.” Her voice loses its usual steadiness. It wobbles like her bottom lip. “You’re going home.”

“But this is my home,” Arthur declares. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known.” He knows his parents and brother were killed in a house fire on his first night home. Luckily, he had been in a carriage outside with his cousins when the blaze broke out. 

Lucky indeed. 

Though, right now, sniffling like the child he is, Arthur didn’t feel all that lucky. He forces himself to climb off his grandmother’s lap, though he clings to her dress. “How- how do you do?” He greets the Undertaker in a shaky voice. 

He can’t meet the man’s eyes, but it’s a start. 

The strange man cackles manically. The sound almost sends Arthur back into his grandmother’s arms, but he remains where he is, one arm holding his cuddly bear toy to his chest and the other clutching his grandmother’s gown. 

“Off we are,” Undertaker says, grabbing ahold of Arthur’s arm.

“Wah!”

He looks back only once to see his grandparents pointedly ignoring his scared expression. 

One of the maids and the footman have already packed his things and stored them away in the carriage outside. They bow to them, but don’t move to comfort Arthur even as he silently begs them to. 

The footman, Daniel, follows them outside, ready to assist Arthur into the carriage. But Undertaker picks Arthur up, pointedly ignoring the footman, and places him in the back of the carriage with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

They’re soon off, and Arthur watches the only home he’s known for almost five years fade away into a blur. 

He falls asleep, nestled between furs, and his baby blanket that his nanny must have packed for his comfort. He snuggles his cuddly toy and hopes that wherever he’s taken to isn’t too terribly horrific.  

The sunlight fades to night, and the back of the wagon soon grows colder even with all the furs and blankets. His own cloak barely masks the winter wind’s bite, but he manages to keep his body heat from escaping by curling into a ball. 

They arrive by morning, though he remains steadfast asleep. Undertaker chuckles, carrying him inside with the boy’s baby blanket and cuddly toy tucked to his chest. 

He opens the door without knocking, because the only ones here are two maids, the butler, Tanaka, him, and-

“You’ve arrived!” Ciel exclaims, remarkably alive for someone so dead. His eyes drift towards the sleeping boy in his arms. “He’s here!” He claps his hands. “Excellent.” He opens his arms. “Give him here.”

Undertaker shakes his head. “No can do, milord. Besides, you’re overdue for a blood transfusion, and he should have a few more hours of sleep.”

Ciel sighs, clearly annoyed, and drops his hands to his sides. “Fine, fine. Have Tanaka show you to the nursery. I’ll go wait in the master bedroom.”

“Good idea, Lord Earl.”

-x-x-x-

Arthur awakens in a darkened room that isn’t his. His nursery had once been his mother’s and Auntie Anne’s, faded yellow walls with painted rabbits, and pink trim are nowhere to be seen. Instead, the walls are painted a sage green-fresh, too, by the looks of it. 

His bed is larger as well, twice as large as the bed he had at his grandparents’ villa. His baby blanket has been tucked underneath his chin, and his cuddly toy has been tucked in beside him. He climbs out of the bed, taking along his blanket and toy. For some unknown reason, he feels he might need the added comfort. 

He’s dressed in a nightgown, and his bare feet feel cold against the woodfloor. An outfit is laid out on the back of the settee. A kid-sized sailor suit. He’s seen other kids wear them, but his grandmother has always been more particular to one suit and jacket combination.

He switches his cuddly toy to his arm holding his blanket, and gingerly touches the fabric. Was this for him? 

He looks about the room. There’s a dresser in the corner, a toybox in the other, and a whole heap of cuddly toys on the windowsill, some from his grandparents’ house, while still others he’s never seen before. 

There’s a rug in the center of the room, as well as a dog-sized pillow off to the side. A small table and two chairs sit against the furthest wall, off the carpet, and away from the bed. 

The door opens suddenly, and Arthur gasps. He hides his face in his cuddly toy, taking comfort in the smokey smell. 

“Young master,” an unfamiliar, feminine voice says, “I need to get you ready for the day.”

He nods, letting the maid work with little fuss. The last thing he wants to be is a burden. 

He’s ushered down the hall into a large study. A man, though he looks too young to be a man- more of a boy, but quite a few years older than Arthur himself-stands with his back to the door. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he seems to be looking out the window at something below. 

“My lord,” the maid says, lightly pushing Arthur inside. He suddenly feels the urge to hide behind the maid’s skirts, but stops himself, barely, from doing such a shameful thing. “Astre, as you requested.”

He looks between the maid and the stranger, unsure of who “Astre” is. He’s never heard that name in his entire life. 

“Good, thank you. You may go. Leave us.”

She bows and shuts the door. 

Arthur stands there, unsure of what to do. He was made to leave his cuddly toy and blanket in the nursery, so he has nothing to help him combat his overwhelming anxiety. He steps from foot to foot. 

The man finally turns around. Arthur is taken back. The man looks like him, right down to the same small, straight nose and pin-straight hair. He takes a step back, unnerved. 

“Oh, Astre, you’re here! You’re finally here!” He rounds the desk with more vigor than Arthur expected.

He tries to speak up, but the words get lost in his throat. “I-I….”

His bottom lip quivers, and the older boy pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Arthur finds himself relaxing in his hold. He rests his cheek on his shoulder. But the tears find him anyway. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve just been waiting so long for us to be reunited.”

“Reunited?” He repeats in a wobbly voice. He sniffles, allowing the boy to pull him onto his lap. 

“Yes. I’m your father. Your real father.”

“But-”

“I know they’ve probably told you a story about our family dying in a fire, and it being a miracle you survived. And that part’s true. I thank my lucky stars that you weren’t harmed, but you never had a brother. That was a story my parents made up to cover our family’s reputation. All you need to know is that I’m your father, and Lady Elizabeth Midford is your mother. She’ll be here tomorrow. But for today, let’s get to know each other, okay?”

Arthur nods against the boy’s shoulder. “O-okay. May I ask, who is Astre?”

He sees the boy frown out of his peripheral vision. “Well, mother and father named you Sirius, but Lizzy and I were always partial to the name Astre.”

“Oh,” Arthur says. “But my name’s Arthur.”

“For now,” the boy says. “But from here on out, you’ll respond only to Astre. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Arthur mumbles. 

“And you can call me father or papa, and you must refer to Lady Elizabeth as mother or mama.”

“Okay.”

“Okay….?”

“Okay, father.”

“Very good. Now, one last thing, I’ve heard about your poor health. It seems you take after my mother. We’ll monitor your health, and make sure you don’t develop asthma.”

“What if I do?” He’s never heard of asthma before. Sure, he’s prone to colds and the occasional flu, but he’s never dealt with something like that. 

“Then, I’ll treat you like precious glass. You’ll be happy, but more importantly, safe. Now, come along, I’ll show you the rest of the manor.”

-x-x-x-

The manor is bigger than his grandparents’ villa, and seems almost brand new. The smell of fresh paint and wood permeates the house. He sticks to the bo- father’s side, clinging to his hand. 

“And over there are the servants’ quarters. We generally don’t go there or into the kitchens, those are not places for people like us.”

“Like us?” Arthur questions. At his grandparents’ house the servants were practically second parents to him. The cooks liked to sneak him sweets, and the maids used to read to him when he was ill. 

His father pauses mid-step. “Nobles. Are you not aware that you’re a part of the nobility class?” 

“I mean, I guess I do.” But Arthur had never thought about it before. Of course, he’s noticed the distinct class differences between the servants' kids and himself, but it never set in how far apart they truly are. “But I can still be friends with the servants and their children, right?” He looks up at his father who stares back in disgust at him. 

“No,” is all he says before continuing on their walk. 

Arthur hides his disappointment not wanting to cause a fuss. It’s not like there’s any children here anyway, he tells himself, though it’s a small comfort. 

“Our family had the manor rebuilt after the fire. It was under construction for almost five years.” 

“Wow!” Arthur stares up at the ceiling, mesmerized by all the minute details. “It’s all so….” he struggles to come up with an adjective strong enough. 

His father pats his head, laughing to himself, “I know how you feel. I, too, used to feel so overwhelmed by the manor when I was your age.”

“You did?”

“All that fades in time, of course, and you’ll get used to it.”

They arrive in one of the parlours. A small table, big enough to fit two adults across from one another, sits in the middle of the room. Two curved wooden chairs sit at each spot. A large wooden, checkered board sits on the table. White and black pieces lay off to the side of the board. 

“What’s that?” 

“Chess. I’ll teach you how to play.”

Arthur climbs into the seat. He has to sit on his knees and bend forward to reach the board, but his father doesn’t seem to mind. He goes over the rules and then goes over them again when Arthur nervously looks between him and the board. 

“White moves first,” his father says, pushing a piece forward. “Now you go.”

His father wins the first game and second and all ones after that, and Arthur might have felt defeated if not for how much fun he had. The small encouragements and tips from his father also help ease his bruised ego.

“Lord Phantomhive,” a man says, appearing in the doorway. He’s dressed like a butler, so Arthur assumes he is one. The man has a stern expression and thin, grey hair. Arthur looks down at his lap to avoid making eye contact. “Your two o’clock meeting is waiting downstairs, shall I take him to your study?”

His father groans and rolls his eyes. “Bugger.” He turns to Arthur, a sweet smile on his face. “Can you find your way back to the nursery? I have business to attend to. You can play with your toys. The maid will bring your dinner to your room. If you’re good, I’ll tell the cook to make anything you want for dessert.”

Arthur perks up. “Chocolate cake!?” 

“Anything you want,” his father affirms. 

“Good lad.” He reaches over the table to ruffle Arthur’s tidy hair. “I’ll come get you as soon as I’m finished.”

Arthur is left alone in the large, empty room. He carefully puts the pieces back where they were, not wanting the maid to have to pick up after him. He slides off the seat and leaves the room. 

The hallways seem so much bigger and more winding than before. He tries to remember the way to the nursery, but every door looks the same. He passes the study, but he leaves it alone. Grandfather only ever got cross with him when he bothered him while he was in a meeting. His father seems different, but Arthur would rather avoid any confrontations if he can. 

He finally finds the nursery. It’s just as he left it that morning. His night gown is nowhere to be seen, so he guesses the maid took it to be washed, and his bed is made. His baby blanket and cuddly toy lay on the pillow. The bear is even tucked into the bed, the baby blanket wrapped around it like a cloak. 

Arthur giggles, running for the only familiarity he has now. “I missed you!” He exclaims. He decides against picking the bear up, only because he doesn’t want to undo the maid’s hard work.

He chooses a large book with the words “Fenian Cycle” on the front. He sits on the large, dog-sized pillow, settling in to read a chapter or two. 

-x-x-x-

Elizabeth Midford wrings her hands. This is the first time that she’ll see her precious child since the day he was born. 

What if he’s rightfully cross with me?

What if he hates me?

She breathes through her nose. Despite her betrothed being dead for the last five years, and nearing twenty years of age herself, her family has never pushed for her to marry. Her brother has even fought off many a suitors in pursuit of her hand. 

She knows it’s impossible now to marry Ciel; knows that he’s only alive on a technicality, and that he technically stopped aging at fourteen. And no matter how much she wants to be with him, and no matter how much she wants to raise their child together, she can’t bring herself to look past that. 

Edward, now the head of the Midford family, has steadily given Elizabeth an allowance that lets her live as freely as she wants to. He’s even offered to raise that allowance so she can take custody of and raise Astre alone. 

Which is something she hasn’t mentioned to Ciel in fear he might do something rash. This isn’t the same Ciel that she once knew. Horrible, terrible things have happened to him, and while Elizabeth would love to take that pain away, she also has to think about herself and their child. 

She wouldn’t take Astre away yet. Not while Ciel is still recovering and needs the company. But at some point she would have to. 

The carriage rumbles on, Phantomhive Manor in the distance. 

-x-x-x-

Ciel sighs, sitting at his desk. His two o’clock meeting went as well as could be reasonably expected. The man left happy, and the Phantomhive estate would soon be a little richer. 

There’s a knock at the study’s door. 

“Yes?”

The door opens to reveal Tanaka. Lizzy is behind him. “Lady Elizabeth is here, sir.”

“I can see that. Come in, Lizzy.” 

She enters, hands folded. She wears a frown which seems so foreign on a face so beautiful. Elizabeth is visibly older now, taller too. The pink, frilly dresses she used to wear have been replaced by a more mature looking dress with muted colors. Her hair is no longer in twin tails, instead braided into a bun behind her head. 

“Ciel,” she says. “It’s wonderful to see you. How is-”

“He’s good,” Ciel interrupts her, putting some paperwork away. “He’s in the nursery actually. I have some things to attend to, otherwise I would go with you, but if you would like to see him…”

Elizabeth nods. “Thank you, Ciel. Good day.” 

Ciel watches her leave the room. Something feels wrong, off, but he can’t point his finger on it. Maybe it’s because she wouldn’t meet his eyes or the suddenness of her visit that has him rattled. Either way he can’t shake the feeling that he needs to be careful. 

-x-x-x-

Elizabeth finds her way to the old nursery with ease. When her family rebuilt the manor they left it exactly as it had been. 

She stands in front of the nursery door, unsure of whether to open it or leave. There’s a large chance her son doesn’t know who she is, and an equal chance he does and hates her for leaving (not that she had much of a choice). 

She gently raps her fist on the wooden door. The sound echoes so loudly in the large, empty hallway. When she gets no reply, Elizabeth slowly opens the door. 

Inside, sitting on a pillow, is the precious child she’s dreamed every night of holding in her arms. She had been so young when he was born, and unfortunately too naive to fully understand the ramifications of having a child. 

Astre looks up at her with wonder in his big, blue eyes. He’s a spitting image of his father, practically two-halves of the same whole. There’s seldom any of her in him, but that’s okay. She’ll always love her former betrothed and it makes Astre all the more precious in her eyes. 

“Wah!” Astre drops the book, scooting himself off the pillow. 

“Oh, dear! I’m so sorry for startling you.” Elizabeth stays put in the doorway, not wanting to scare Astre anymore than she already has. “I’m Elizabeth Midford, your-”

“Mother?” Astre asks, eyes sparkling with an unreadable emotion. 

Has Ciel already mentioned her? It would seem so, but it still shocks her to hear that word. 

She steps further into the room, the door closing behind her. She crouches down, opening her arms wide. “I have missed you so much my dear, sweet child.”

Slowly, timidly, her son comes into her arms. He shyly puts his arms around her and buries his face in the crook of her neck. She feels him breathe in.

Elizabeth comes to rest on her knees. She pulls Astre onto her laps, rocking them both side to side. “I’ve dreamed of this moment since the day we parted.”

Astre clings to her harder. “I’ve missed you too,” he mumbles, even though there’s no way he remembers her. 

“Silly boy,” she whispers fondly into the crown of his head. “How did you ever remember me?”

Astre pulls his head off her shoulder to look at her. “I didn’t, but I used to dream of a pretty lady that smelled nice and had golden hair like a princess. One that held me like you are right now and that said the nicest things.”

“I see,” she says, pulling him back into a hug. If she had her way the world would stop right at that moment, and she would hold him forever. 

Astre soon falls asleep in her arms, basking in her warmth like a cat in a sunbeam. She carries him to bed and tucks him in. The bear Ciel and her had picked out for their son’s birth lays next to him, as well as the baby blanket she knitted in her final months of pregnancy while bedbound. 

“Precious boy,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Be good for your father. I’ll return as soon as I can. Maybe your Uncle Edward can accompany me. I’m sure he’d like to meet you.”

She brushes some hair from his face, before making her way down the hall, down the stairs, and outside to her awaiting carriage. 

-x-x-x-

The next few days are uneventful. Arthur quickly learns how to play chess and even wins a game of it against his father, though he has a sinking suspicion his father let him win. He basks in the glory anyway. It’s not often he wins games, and it’s not like his grandparents ever let him win on anything besides his own merit. 

They fall into a routine of sorts. Wake up and get ready. Eat breakfast alone. Have supervised outside time with the maid, a young woman he’s come to know as Jane. Eat lunch with and then spend time with his father. Have a few hours of playtime and reading time, dinner, and then a bath. 

It’s no different than his grandparents’ house. The only difference is in how little time he actually spends with his father. His father seems to always be busy doing one thing or another. He feels bad for thinking such a thing, but Arthur’s come to enjoy his presence and resents being cast aside. 

Even so, he keeps it to himself. He takes solace in the large, seemingly never-ending assortment of books in the manor’s library. Most of them, his father once told him sternly, aren’t for his eyes until he’s older. But there’s still a substantial amount of books to keep him occupied. 

As always, he’s left alone in the parlour. He watches his father go, and wonders if he begs Miss Jane to let him play outside again, if she would let him. He replaces the pawns to their respective places, carefully cleaning up their mess. 

He’s about to get up when his chest suddenly feels tight, almost like a rubber band has been locked around his lungs. He coughs trying to ease the pressure. 

It doesn’t help, and soon he’s fallen to his knees with his hands around his throat trying to breathe. Now it’s not just his lungs that feel restricted by a rubber band but his throat too. 

He coughs and coughs. One of his hands reaches towards the door, and he tries to yell for help but all that comes out is a pained wheeze. He needs his father. He needs-

His vision darkens. 

He needs….

The door opens. “Sorry, I forgot my- Astre!”

It was easier, back when they shared a room, but that was before Amane’s sickness got worse. Mama said it was for their own good, but he’s not too sure about that. His room feels too empty and too dark without the constant companionship of his big brother. 

Amane continues to cry out. The sound makes his heart hurt, and he hurries along just a little bit faster. He enters the bedroom, blanket dragging behind him. 

Neither of them have mastered how to speak yet, though they have their own language they like to use between them. The only words Tsukasa knows how to say are “Mama,”  “papa,” “Amane,” and “okay,” which sounds more like “ma,” “pa,” “Ama,” and “o-tay.” But, as mama says, it’s the thought that counts. 

He crawls onto his brother’s futon. “Ama,” he murmurs, crawling under his brother’s covers. He places his blankie between them, hoping it might give his brother the same comfort it gives him. 

His brother’s watery amber eyes are half-lidded. He sniffles. “Tsu.” The words Amane can say are even more limited than his own. Consisting of only “Tsu,” “hurt,” and “ma.”

“O-tay?” Tsukasa asks, snuggling closer to his brother.

“Mhm…” his brother grumbles under his breath, trying to form words that he can’t yet say. “Mm…hurt. Tsu…o-o-tay.” In the darkness of the room, Tsukasa can vaguely make out his brother’s features. The way his brows furrow as he tries to say “Okay.” Copying Tsukasa’s pronunciation. 

“‘tay. Ama.” He pats his brother’s head, mimicking their mother’s gentle touches. The kind she gives them when they can’t settle down and sleep. 

He sniffles, but just as he’s done a million times before, he falls asleep. The tear-tracks drying on his face. He clings to his brother, even half-asleep. Not that Tsukasa minds. He clings just as firmly, snuggling as close as he possibly can. 

He shakes his head, reminding himself why he’s doing this. It’s not just because of his parents or bullies or the words etched into his subconscious by years of abuse. It’s for his little brother. 

He hadn’t believed the strange girl when she said she was from the future, nor the boy wielding an exorcist staff. But they were persistent and seemed to know things that he’s never told anyone before. 

He’s thought about killing his brother before - lots of times actually - but he’s never so much as whispered a word of it. Even his journal he keeps is free of any mention of wanting to murder Tsukasa.

But somehow, someway, they knew about it. The girl had been kind about it, clutching his hand and telling him how sorry she is and that it doesn’t have to end that way. The boy, meanwhile, was a little more blunt. Perhaps jaded by his experiences and exasperated by the outcome. Amane certainly feels the exact same way. He’s tried so hard. Tried to fit in; to pretend that all his mother’s ramblings were those of a woman gone mad; tried and tried and tried to save his brother when it was a losing battle all along. 

He looks to the sky and to the ground below. There are less students now, and not one of them looks up. He feels totally and utterly alone. Not that that’s any different than usual.

Amane shivers, rubbing his arms. He wants to go sit in Mr. Tsuchigomori’s classroom like he always did after dismissal, but if he leaves now, he’ll never have the strength to do what’s necessary again. He’s going to miss their chats, and his teacher’s concern over his wellbeing. No one else has ever cared enough to ask. 

Despite whether or not his brother is an imposter or just traumatized from his time away or that he’s simply insane, a large part of Amane will always love him. And an even larger part hates himself for what he’s about to do. Not for himself or the life he’s about to cut short at twelve-and-a-half. He’s going to leave his brother all alone and at the mercy of their mother and to bear the brunt of the humiliation that comes with a family member dying.

But Tsukasa is strong. He always bounces back, and this time will be no different. 

This is for my brother. 

For Tsukasa. 

He steps off the edge and gravity drags him down. His last thought before making contact with the pavement below is of his brother. 

Starting with R!Ciel and Amane (Hanako):

Besides the obvious (that both are older brothers). Both of them have an over-developed sense of responsibility, especially towards their younger brother(s). 

In R!Ciel this shows up by being a little more aware of the world, him acting as a “shield” for O!Ciel in captivity, and him taking the role of the eldest very seriously. 

In Amane, since we don’t know a lot about the twins’ home life (outside of a few panels), we have to make a few assumptions. Assumptions that mostly come from Hanako’s behavior. 

He’s very prone to doing things without asking permission, which speaks to him potentially having no one to rely on in life. 

So, Amane’s over-developed sense of responsibility shows up in how he makes decisions for other people without their input or permission. 

This could indicate that he had to make decisions on a daily basis for both himself and his brother, because their father was absent and their mother wasn’t in her “right mind” to care for them. 

Both of them are often portrayed as “serious” in comparison to their younger brother(s), or at least more aware of the consequences of the real world, even if they, themselves, aren’t totally aware of the entire situation. 

Take, for instance, when the Phantomhive twins were kidnapped by the cult. And how seemingly aware and wary R!Ciel was of them. 

Or how weary and aware Amane was, presumably, mere days before his death. 

Or how scared for his brother he was when he pulled him away from the pit.

Some other similarities, that might get disproven later:

Both of them want to save their brother from a supernatural entity.

Both of them are thoroughly unaware, presumably, about a part of the contract or why their brother did something under said contract in the immediate aftermath (merging with the entity vs. usurping R!Ciel and taking his name). 

 In Amane’s case the catalyst for his brother disappearing and later merging with the entity was him having a terminal illness. And in O!Ciel’s case the catalyst was R!Ciel’s murder and his own loss of faith. 

But what R!Ciel might not know in his brother’s case, is that he didn’t just do it for inheritance or to usurp him. 

I mean he was a hop, skip, and a jump away from getting it. But there’s no guarantee that he actually believes it.

In Amane’s case, finding out that his brother is the real deal and that Tsukasa sacrificed his humanity would be enough to put him in a ghost coma for decades to come. 

But in R!Ciel’s case, it’s unknown how he would react upon hearing O!Ciel’s reasons for taking his identity. I imagine it’s either going to be like when he burst out laughing when O!Ciel was about to cry during the staircase sequence, or like Doll’s crash out after killing Snake.

Which is kind of funny, because both of them are trapped in a state of suspended animation - in a way - with one being a walking corpse, and the other a literal ghost. 

So, I suppose it depends on the rules and logic of their current state on how they would react to learning the entire, uncensored truth. 

Pt.2: O!Ciel vs Amane Yugi (Hanako): Shared Guilt 

O!Ciel’s guilt is two-fold. One, from being the last remaining family member left alive, and two, from accidentally sacrificing his brother’s soul to a demon. It’s a key part of his character, and something that holds him back from forming/feeling he deserves sincere connections (there are other factors for that as well, but for now let's focus on the guilt aspect).

Hanako’s (or Amane Yugi’s) guilt is, I would argue, also two-fold. Most of his guilt comes from murdering his brother, which is pointed out several times in the manga. Both the act of taking another life, and that life being specifically Tsukasa filled him with a level of regret that could end the world as we know it.

Also, and this may be obvious by now, but the second part of Hanako’s guilt comes not from the murder itself, but being unable to save his brother. Which is slightly different, because we now know that Amane tried (at least) once to save his brother via time travel. And it’s very likely that he also tried other methods before and/or after time traveling. 

(I know there’s a debate on whether or not he time traveled in the original timeline, but that’s not really relevant because the point is that he tried to save his brother before ultimately murdering him). 

The differences between their guilt:

While O!Ciel is quite literally responsible for his brother’s soul being taken, he didn’t want or mean for it to happen. He was in a state of distress and thought he was about to be murdered. Any hope he had of being saved left his body the moment his older brother was stabbed. And, after a month of prolonged torture, it’s no wonder why he finally broke down. All these conditions, mixed with R!Ciel’s death made Sebastian’s entrance into the human world possible. O!Ciel didn’t mean to sacrifice his brother’s soul, nor was he the one to actively murder his brother. 

Meanwhile, Amane, as far as we’re aware, did intentionally murder his brother. There was no external factor that killed his brother without his say-so (unless the red house played a more active part than we know of).

So, really their differences for their brothers’ murders come down to being an active participant and being a passive participant. 

O!Ciel survived for, at least, four years without any of his immediate family. Thereby giving him survivor's guilt for being the only one left. 

We don’t know how long after the murder Amane died, but considering in the newspaper it says four people were found, and almost explicitly said that it could be family suicide, it’s likely that Amane killed himself or was killed not long after murdering Tsukasa. 

(some extras):

(Proof that O!Ciel didn’t want to sacrifice R!Ciel).

(Hanako presumably being shown his worst fear, being confronted with the consequences of his actions - seeing his little brother dead). 

(Amane, presumably, moments after killing his brother).

“I’ll be okay,” he said in a vain, childish hope that she might believe him and leave. He doesn’t think he could hold in his tears for much longer. 

“I’m not leaving you, Gregory!” She reaffirmed. Her voice echoed off the walls, causing them both to shrink down in response. That thing hadn’t bothered them yet but that could very well change at any moment. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look at her face. “Please, Vanessa,” he breathed out, a hand clutched in his shirt to keep from reaching for her hand. “Bring Freddy back if you have to, but remember why we came back here in the first place.”

“To find Cassie,” she said. 

“And we did.” Which is why Freddy wasn’t currently with them. Keeping Cassie safe from further harm had been their secondary goal, and now that that was complete-

“Go,” he begged, feeling the slow slide of too hot tears burn his cheeks. He doesn’t want to be remembered like this. (He doesn’t want to be here at all).

“I’m coming back for you,” Vanessa promised, and even though Gregory would like to cling to that promise like a lifeline, he also doesn’t think he can stomach the idea of Vanessa coming back here at all. 

He nodded, unable to do much else. She gave him one last hug, and then she pulled back, ruffled his hair like she always did, backed up, and left. 

Alone, in the dark, Gregory allowed himself to cry - just a little bit. He would soon be creature food anyway, so what’s the big deal in crying now? 

His leg itched and burned in equal measure, but when he reached down to scratch it, his hand came away wet. He breathed in and out through his nose, in the same way Vanessa had shown him before. In and out. In and out.

Gregory felt the bile bubbling up from his stomach, up into his esophagus, and up the back of his throat in a matter of seconds. He twisted his neck to the side and gagged. His only saving grace was that he hadn’t eaten much before their journey into the depth below. Despite Vanessa nagging him to eat something. 

No, no, he wouldn’t think of her now. It would only make him cry more, and crying more would only make him gag harder. And he doesn’t want to gag. It kind of hurt his stomach, and when he moved at all, the muscles in his legs were pulled taut, making him hurt even worse.  

He tried to think of happy things; of warm things; of things that wouldn’t force the little bit of food in his stomach back up. 

But he couldn’t. Happy things meant thinking of Vanessa and Freddy and Cassie, though his memories of her are foggy at best. Warm things meant thinking of his bed back at the apartment. The one Vanessa let him pick out posters for. The one where he could snuggle into bed amongst layers of warm blankets whenever it got too cold outside. 

He cried - really, actually cried - snot ran down his nose. Gregory took a shuddery breath in, but his chest shook, and he exhaled into another sob. 

For a while, the only sounds are his own sobs and the skittering of mice. He almost wished the monster would appear, if only so he wouldn’t be so lonely anymore. Until he heard the telltale sound of metallic feet stomping down the hallway, then he just wished to be anywhere but there. 

He saw the monster’s shadow before it came into view. A giant machine of a beast, four times his size. The small scar on Gregory’s ankle throbbed from the memory of being pulled backwards the last time he was down here. When he tricked the monster, trapping it. 

It stood in the doorway, eyes roving over the entire room before landing on Gregory. 

He shivered, sniffling. A chill ran up and down his spine, and it was all he could do to keep from screaming. He whimpered, throwing himself backward in a fruitless effort to evade whatever fate awaited him. 

“Silly, boy,” it said, almost teasing, almost fatherly.

Gregory cried hard enough that he felt it in his stomach. “P-please,” he pleaded. “Please! I don’t want to die!” 

The creature cocked its head and bent down, which could only mean one thing in Gregory’s racing mind: it was about to eat him whole. 

He screamed-the sound echoing off the walls-and he used his one good leg to launch a hard kick at the thing’s metal-plated-chest. A loud ding rang out, and the creature looked down at his legs. It saw the sorry state his other leg was in, and made a very human-sounding “aw.”

A clawed finger gingerly poked at the wound. Gregory jerked back, more out of fear than genuine pain, but the creature pulled back all the same. 

“They’ve hurt you,” it said. “They hurt you,” it repeated like a skipping record, voice glitching out.

Gregory’s heart had skipped several beats by this point, but somehow he was still breathing. Only his useless leg and the creature’s ability to lunge and run was keeping him put.

A strange sort of static seemed to surround the creature wherever it went. Gregory first noticed this, consciously, the last time he had been here. Like a jumble of bees - always buzzing, always.

Then, strangely, though part of Gregory felt he should’ve predicted it, over the buzzing static, the creature began to hum. A sweet song-one that Gregory could swear he heard before-played out, filling the tiny room. 

A metal claw gently pressed on his wound. Not unlike a doctor or parent trying to see the extent of the damage. Gregory hissed in pain, leg involuntarily twitching from the slight pressure. 

Again, it pulled back. 

It looked him over. At his wounded leg. At the blood that was slowly clotting, but created a mess of the floor and his pants and shirt first. And lastly at his red blotchy face and at his nose that was still dripping snot despite his dry eyes. It looked him over, once, twice, and then closed its eyes. 

Gregory took a breath, inhaled and exhaled, before the creature opened its eyes again. Its face wasn’t the most expressive, but Gregory could tell something had shifted. 

He was swept up in its arms, and though he wanted to cry out, to scream, he bit his tongue to keep himself quiet. The last thing he wanted was for Vanessa to come rushing back. He was not sure this thing, whatever it was, wouldn’t treat her the same way. Or maybe it would. (Gregory’s not sure which fate would be worse). 

It carried him away from the room and down the hall. They kept walking until they reached one of the only rooms with a door. 

“I built a door for your room,” it explained, eyes lighting up for just a second as they stepped into the room. Gregory would say it was just how he left it, but he honestly could not remember spending a single moment in this place. At least not willingly. 

“Th-thank you.” He forced a smile, though his lips continued to quiver.

“I kept it the same,” It said, reaching around Gregory. He went rigid and shut his eyes tight. His entire mind went blank with fear, and he silently prayed to God that he wasn’t about to be disemboweled 

His fear seemed to be for nothing, though, as the creature pulled back its arm to show off a crudely-made bunny stuffed animal. It pressed it to Gregory’s chest, grabbing one of his arms to wrap around the rabbit. 

“See,” it said, letting his arm go, “we missed you, Gregory.”

He let a few tears fall then. Not for the repressed memories of being locked away, nor for his life with Vanessa and Freddy, but for the new life he was surely going to be forced to live from now on. 

Still, saying any of that out loud would surely get him killed, so he settled on: “I-I missed you too.” And he wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t a lie. Part of him-the part of him that he buried both voluntarily and involuntarily-did miss this thing, and that realization more than any other, hurts. 

He doesn’t want to miss this thing that terrorized him and everyone he’s ever cared about. This thing that had murdered his parents and kept him hostage for years on end, but he had - badly. Maybe not consciously, and maybe not willingly, but he could recall having the most pleasant dreams right alongside the most terrifying nightmares.  

Gregory nodded. “Thank you.”