#vindeechel

Since Vin’s record is quite spotty (he’s accrued a slew of traffic violations while on Watchdog business), Diedrich insists on driving because he doesn’t trust his boyfriend behind the wheel. In exchange, Vincent offers to ride shotgun and read the map, rationalizing that they should do this “the old-fashioned way” to get the proper road-trip experience.

“To get us lost, you mean,” grouses Diedrich.

“Like I said, Dee—the road-trip experience!”

Sure enough, they’re lost within the first twenty minutes. Diedrich upbraids Vincent for becoming so reliant on the GPS system that he’s forgotten how to follow a map. Vincent maintains that he can read it just fine and doesn’t need those silly electronics; Dee’s simply a bad listener. Rachel teases them both but also does her best to smooth the pair’s ruffled feathers. The home-baked goods she packed further help to lighten the mood, although no one besides Undertaker is interested in the group sing-a-long she attempts to start up (Dee winces at the mortician’s loud, off-key caterwauling). Angelina languidly reclines next to her sister while flipping through the medical journals and fashion magazines she brought for reading material, FaceTiming Grelle (her wife’s stuck at work supervising Ronald), and doing her makeup. She accidentally smears lipstick across her face when Dee hits a large pothole that jolts the whole minivan. The doctor spends the next quarter of an hour upbraiding Diedrich for his “bloody careless driving,” even though Vincent was partially responsible for telling him to turn left down the sketchy dirt road. They make a brief stop at a dilapidated gas station to refuel, but inadvertently leave Chlaus behind while he’s perusing the display of kitschy souvenirs. Realizing their mistake a few miles out, the group speeds back to pick him up and discover that he’s bought out half the store (Dee did not anticipate him purchasing that much tourist merch; thus, the minivan is a tad more cramped than before). By this point, they’re completely clueless about where they are and how far away their destination is. Vincent cheerfully insists that they aren’t lost, merely on a leisurely detour. Dee snaps that Vin can go take a leisurely hike the rest of the way if he knows so much. Undertakers interrupts to offer his companions dog-bone biscuits and a thermos of weak, lukewarm tea, both of which are turned down with varying degrees of politeness.

“Ah, well…more for me, then! He he he,” he giggles. As he crunches his way through the biscuits, crumbs spray all over the floor and seats, causing Diedrich’s eyebrow to twitch at the thought of the eventual cleanup. The situation goes from bad to worse when the van hits a sharp rock at just the right angle to puncture one of the tires. Alas, the remainder of Undertaker’s tea is sent flying in the chaos, soaking the upholstery, causing Diedrich to question the purpose of his own existence. Luckily, Rachel learned a thing or two about car mechanics from Grelle (they’re BFFs as well as sisters-in-law), and thus replaces the flat with their spare. Vin and Diedrich both simp over how cool their wife/girlfriend is. Meanwhile, Lau, who has spent the entirety of the trip gaming on his Nintendo DS, neko ear headphones firmly in place, ambles off into the woods without anyone noticing. When he turns up missing during the head-count, a frantic search ensues, culminating in Angelina finding him dozing in the branches of a tree.

“I couldn’t catch a wink of sleep with the way our English Watchdog and German hound were barking at each other,” Lau yawns.

By this point, Diedrich is on the verge of ripping his hair out, and even Rachel pointedly remarks that now would be a good time to admit defeat and turn to the trusty GPS.

“It’s past 4, dear,” she adds in tones laden with sugar-coated wrath.

“Five more minutes, Rachel, and we’ll be back on track!” Vincent chuckles nervously.

Having found a crumpled piece of paper wedged between the seats, Lau and Undertaker begin a game of tic-tac-toe.

At precisely that moment, Vin’s cell phone starts playing “Ride of the Valkyries”—the ringtone for France’s number. Suspecting that her brother would make a muck of this vacation, Frances, who stayed behind to attend to family obligations, used the tracking on his phantomPhone to ascertain that the nobles are 200 miles south of their intended destination.

“What in God’s name are you playing at?!” she roars, voice fading in and out due to poor reception.

“…taking the scenic detour?” he timidly replies.

“Vincent…” Rachel says through gritted teeth.

Examining the other side of the paper currently serving as a battleground for his tic-tac-toe championship, Lau serenely waves it in the air to attract the others’ attention.

“Oh, look,” he purrs. “I think this is the map we were supposed to be following the whole time.”

“VINCENT PHANTOMHIVE!!!” rages Diedrich.

THIS IS SUCH A CUTE CONCEPT?!

With the Phantomhive twins’ birthday coming up, I’ve been mulling over possible oneshot ideas, and was struck with a bit of inspiration. I’ve been meaning to write some Vincent/Rachel/Diedrich content for ages...and generally neglect the pre-Sebastian Michaelis era of O!Ciel’s life in most of my work...so I had a thought: Diedrich visits Phantomhive manor after the star babeys are born and meets the twins for the first time. That’s it. That’s the oneshot. Will I make the deadline? We’ll have to wait and see. 🤪😂 But here’s a teaser below:

Diedrich could never understand those people who cooed about how babies resembled little angels. Admittedly, he had yet to receive a divine visitation, so who was he to judge the accuracy of the comparison? But in his experience, infants didn’t look like much of anything, really, beyond wailing blobs that mewled, slobbered, and cried for their mothers at every available opportunity. It made sense, of course. They were raw, malleable clay, waiting to be cast in the mold which society had ordained most fitting, happily oblivious to the furnaces of adversity which would harden and crack their character.

No…the twins who lay sweetly in the pram were certainly not angels. Even the tenderest babe carried dormant evil within its blood, and these two sprang from an accursed root. Diedrich, who drank freely and without hesitation from the poisoned chalice that was Vincent Phantomhive, and beheld the duplicitous schemes of which his mind was capable, readily acknowledged the dark, fearsome legacy they would inherit.

Still, their tiny forms contained fragments of the man and woman he loved, like glass shards arranged in a shimmering mosaic. The wide eyes that blinked innocently back at him were Rachel’s, the deep, tranquil blue of a sky untroubled by life’s calamitous storms. And that slate gray hair, though a few shades lighter, had clearly been bequeathed to them by their father.

Losing them both at once in such a tragic, violent way would have been devastating—even more so during the month when the twins were also assumed dead. To make matters worse, Diedrich might not have had anyone to confide in about the full extent of his grief, since his true relationship with the Phantomhives would need to be a closely guarded secret (given that Victorian England wasn’t exactly the most hospitable environment for queer people). Shouldering that pain on his own would be a crushing burden, especially since men in this time period were often pressured to bottle up their emotions rather than express them openly. 💔