Take My Hand

Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler, nor do I own any of its characters. And this is a oneshot, so no sequels or continuations. Sorry!

Thank you for reading!

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On Sebastian's bad days, he liked to kill.

For humans, this would be very unusual and unsettling behavior. Those kind of people were rare, and when they did sprout up, almost instantly they were locked up, labelled a threat to others.

But to a devil like Sebastian, this behavior was normal. Expected, even.

Hence the reason Sebastian was in a grocery store now, soaking the numbered aisles with a dark, dark red.

"Clean up on aisle five," he called, a smirk ever present on his face as he strolled through the store, the bloodied bodies he left behind like a trail of bread crumbs. He flung another butter knife- something he had picked up while in the kitchenware section- at a rather pudgy human, and she collapsed to the floor, scream silenced before it could begin.

There were other screams, though, and each one made Sebastian's smirk widen. Once those shouts and yells reached their peak, he was looking forward to silencing them, too.

"Why?!" a human cried to his left, voice torn with terrified sobs. Upon closer look, Sebastian realized this must be the manager, judging by the name tag on his vest. "W-what the hell, man? Are you a terrorist or somethin'?"

"A terrorist? Why, of course not."

"Then why?" The manager looked desperately at him. "Look, if you want something, just take it! You want money? I can do that for ya-"

"No, I am not one for materialistic possessions," Sebastian said. Without a second glance, he ran his fist straight through the manager's chest. The body slid off his fingertips and onto the tiled floor. "What I want is something you don't have in stock, unfortunately."

No one had he wanted. What he wanted was, like rotten eggs, long past expired.

Unconsciously, he fingered the Phantomhive pin on his chest, lost in dusty memories. A boy, with eyes that glowed like stars and skin that felt like Heaven's clouds. Limbs weaved together in bed; sweet kisses and gentle touches exchanged beneath the covers. A scarlet sickness, ruining everything.

He remembered the day it had fallen apart. It had been more than a hundred years ago, but he remembered. How he wished he didn't.

Ciel had been resting in his too large bed, with Sebastian always a few feet away, ready to take action if something were to go wrong.

"Sebastian," Ciel had said, his tone weary, "stop reading and get over here. I'm cold."

The boy was indeed shivering; thin shoulders trembled beneath the blankets he was cocooned in. But the butler stifled the urge to comfort his master and kept reading the medical book spread out before him. "I don't understand. I'm doing everything correctly, so why are you still sick, young master?"

Ciel huffed out a sigh. An instant later, it turned into a violent cough. "Don't- don't ask me."

"Scarlet fever . . ." Gloved fingers tightened on the bridge of Sebastian's nose. "This is not good."

"You think I don't know that?" Ciel snapped. "It's been more than a week, Sebastian, and it still hasn't passed. Do you realize what this means . . .?" His eye was big, round with a twinge of fear.

They both knew what it meant, but neither planned on voicing it. That made it all too real.

"You said you were cold, master?" Sebastian said instead, dodging the question."I'll get you some more blankets-"