Chapter Text
Astre has spent nearly a third of his life compartmentalizing his thoughts.
The past - nope. Don't think about it - it is equally dangerous to be confronted by bad memories as it is to acknowledge the myriad good things he can never have again.
The future - necessary only for strategizing, never for dreams. Hope is for children and imbeciles. It is a folly that can lead only to disappointment at best and utter ruin at worst.
The present - this is the safest, but it is laden with traps that threaten to drag him into looking back or counting on something too far forward.
He knows the traps, knows them well. Has been doing his best to avoid all the ones recent and familiar. He's given up his title, his family ring, even his ancestral name. He has put half a world of distance between himself and his memories - ghosts of his shame, his secrets, of those terribly many things that could shatter the illusion of 'now'.
And yet, he can apparently be undone, still, by the most minimal of things.
By pie?
Leftover pie.
More so the leftover than the pie.
An economical choice of Sebastian's. No different than the reuse of the conjured Wedgwood tea service and the same Earl Grey from the night before. The butler following instructions. The demon showing restraint. All per Astre's request.
But this morning at breakfast, after Sebastian had woken him and dressed him warmly for a day of shops and cold, a new trap - this one a delicious mix of apples and cinnamon - threatens to expose more losses all the same.
Sitting primly on the conjured kitchen table, next to his waiting porridge, eggs, and tea, is the little sugary menace.
It looks oddly familiar - which is entirely the problem.
The first question comes easily, "What is this?"
"Your breakfast, my Lord," is the bemused response.
"I see that, Sebastian," Astre returns, just before his second question is crushed by realization. "Since when do you serve left-"
Oh.
Of course.
In a household of, now, just two - and only one a human - of course there are leftovers. So many fewer mouths than there were back in England.
"My apologies, Young Master," Sebastian offers, ignoring the burst of loneliness he can tell has nothing to do with pie. "I assure you it is still quite fresh."
"It's fine," his master replies, stabbing the little slice with far more force than truly needed. "It's fine," the boy repeats again, like a protective mantra, as he works at finishing the dessert like it owes him something.
Sebastian inwardly marvels at his Lord's ability to almost flawlessly transform sorrow into anger with such practiced swiftness. And he complains about my illusions. Sebastian must stop himself from actually shaking his head in wonder.
Glancing up at the devil who is watching him terribly closely, Astre's third question finally has the authoritative bite the blasted pie tried to shake from him. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" he demands.
"Of course, my Lord. I shall return in a quarter of an hour with a hired sleigh."
After a chilly, but uneventful ride through the quiet forest into the little town, baron and butler now sit warmly in first class on the Boston-bound train.
Astre reads his way through the boring newspapers Sebastian presented him with once seated and under way. Dull as they are, he does his best to focus, to will the time to speed along. As little as he cares for crowds, he wishes he were already in Boston where he can put his current restless energy to better use.
At last, a conductor comes round informing the travelers of their imminent arrival in the city.
"Does my Lord have anything specific in mind for today's shopping?" Sebastian asks demurely when Astre finally folds the papers closed - as if he hasn't already planned for the most efficient day out, plus several contingencies.
"Just the essentials for now," Astre says with authority - despite not knowing what those essentials might be.
"Of course."
"And the books."
"But of course. Books are essential too, are they not?"
"Quite. I shall need something to do while you make your repairs," Astre drawls, refusing - again - to acknowledge that the property could use rather more than a bit of work before he'll be truly comfortable there.
"Indeed. Though the Young Master is welcome to help if he would so desire," Sebastian can't resist a tease.
"I would not desire."
"There are a great many good lessons to be learned outside of books, my Lord."
"Spare me."
Sebastian only smirks at the eye roll he earned for himself as the train comes to a stop at the station.
Perhaps Astre ought have been a bit more specific when he said he wanted to get 'the essentials,' after all.
As they make their way down the unfamiliar streets, Sebastian lays out his plan for the day.
"With the Young Master's permission, I thought we could begin securing some of the essentials together. Then, perhaps my Lord might not mind if we were to divide and conquer? I have planned a full American curriculum as requested," Sebastian produces a neatly written list of books which he hands to Astre before continuing, "I wonder if my Lord would care to see to this list whilst I handle other errands?"
Glancing at the extensive list before pocketing it, Astre nods. "Very well," he agrees.
They walk on just one street more before Sebastian steers them towards a storefront. Here Astre finds out what Sebastian's interpretation of 'essentials' includes.
The sign hanging above the door reads 'Tailor.'
Damned demon.
Astre sighs. Sebastian, naturally, looks delighted by his reaction.
"After you, my Lord," he murmurs before following his reluctant master into the shop.
After over an hour of measurements, fabric samples, and fashion choices he cares not a whit about, at last this first errand is complete. Astre cannot remember a time he was this relieved to step onto a crowded street.
"You know," Astre grumbles, "I was speaking about essentials for the house. Building materials and the like." He is hoping to get back on track to the sort of day he thought he would have.
"There is nothing more essential to me than my Lord's every comfort," comes his butler's maddening response.
Then, as if a reward for the trials of bespoke clothing, Sebastian continues, "My Lord will find a map on the back of his list of books. I have marked the location of several book sellers as well as a tea room and confectioner's shop or two that I've been told are well liked among the Bostonians."
Astre consults Sebastian's note, feelings about being placated with sweets mixing strangely with his excitement at this rare opportunity for independence. Taking charge again he asks, "So you'll be off to get supplies, then?"
"With my Lord's permission. I shall find you once I finish, say, in a few hours time?"
"Yes, that will be fine," Astre is most eager to be out from under his demon's thumb, for whatever length of time.
"Now, you see here, Young Master?" Sebastian begins, seizing the map. "This is Boston Common, and right that way is Tremont Street and the nearest bookseller."
Astre looks around and nods, taking back his shopping list.
With the paper out of his hands, Sebastian somewhat involuntarily rubs at his seal with his gloved right hand. "You will, of course, call on me should you need anything."
"Obviously. You may go now," Astre commands. He very nearly ruins it by adding 'Hurry up' in frustration. He does not need his demon deliberately misinterpreting another direction today.
With a small bow and a "Have a pleasant time, my Lord," Sebastian turns on his heel and disappears into the bustling foot traffic.
Astre exhales. Satisfyingly alone amongst so many strangers he raises his chin and sets off with purpose toward Tremont Street.
Strange. But also wonderful.
The smell of books - the ink, the paper, even the dust they gather - somehow is exactly the same, even here.
Stranger still - and no less wonderful - is that this comfort remains untarnished in Astre's mind; he walks in the first shop and is overwhelmed by the feeling of being at ease.
The shop clerk nods a polite "How d'you do?" but otherwise leaves Astre blissfully unbothered as he roams the shelves.
It's quiet and peaceful, and though he yet has no idea whether the other bookshops are in any way superior to this one, Astre finds no reason not to walk out of here with at least some items from his list.
First, though, he just walks at random down one of the aisles - briefly closing his eyes as his fingers lightly jump from spine to spine.
Deep within the narrow shop, he stops and looks around, slowly inhaling that lovely scent. Books fill every shelf, and many are rather out of his reach, so high do the shelves climb. (He'll ask for assistance before telling Sebastian that his height is the reason he couldn't get a particular volume.)
Ready now to properly browse, he looks about with more purpose, finding the right place to begin. He consults Sebastian's list, but also gathers other texts that look interesting as well, his pile slowly growing.
Some geography books, several volumes on history and civics, and quite a few texts related to economics, commerce, and trade later and Astre's arms are getting full. He heads to the counter at the front of the shop.
The clerk glances from the titles to Astre, giving him a small impressed smile as he offers, "I can keep these here if you'd like to look a bit longer, young sir."
"Please," Astre nods in reply before retreating back to the narrow aisles.
With some of the practical items out of the way, Astre allows himself to browse for pleasure - to see what there might be that he's never read, see what he can begin to reclaim. He's inspired now to bring as much of this unexpected familiarity back...with him - he will not say home.
Astre returns to the counter some time later with a second armful, then again with a third.
The clerk's eyebrows lift this time, though he remains professional and polite. "Beginning a library, sir?"
"In a way," Astre offers.
Perhaps it's the way the clerk's smile softens, that he doesn't seem overeager just to make a sale. Perhaps it's the odd rush he's felt since stepping in the shop. In any case, Astre finds himself adding on "More like continuing one."
His own response echoes in his head as he lingers a while longer among the shelves, selecting with continued care. When he returns to the counter again, the stack he adds is taller than the last.
"I believe this will do for now," Astre tells the clerk.
"Very good, sir. Would you like to arrange a delivery, then?" the man asks while opening up a ledger.
"Yes," Astre replies, then pauses. "Actually, if you have complete editions of these authors -" he indicates some names written in Sebastian's careful hand, "- I should like those ordered too."
Pockets somewhat lighter - his heart the tiniest bit, too - Astre exits the shop. The tea room he readily rolled his eyes at before now sounds the perfect next stop.
Sebastian's intel proves correct. The service is superior and the tea and scones just right. In no hurry to rush back into the wintery streets, Astre sips his tea slowly, allowing himself the smallest peek towards the future and the briefest glance at the past.
In spite of himself, Astre can't help but look forward to again having a vast collection of volumes from which he can browse and read at his leisure.
He could, he knows, simply order it to be done, and like that he would have 'back' every book he'd ever had, every one he'd ever lost. Sebastian had done it once before, after all; returned his every single possession back from ashes.
He realizes, now, that his ten-year-old self needed every scrap of familiarity and sameness that could be had, be it real or conjured. With none still living - save himself - who had called Phantomhive Manor home, at least the material continuity Sebastian provided had helped him cope at the time. More practically still, he needed the manor and its status to accomplish his revenge. He will not begrudge the child he was for taking small comforts from the work of his demon.
This time, though, he is older. This time, such trickery feels false. He would rather be surrounded by new, foreign realness than let himself fall captive to the illusions of his past. This time, he suspects instant gratification would leave him feeling emptier.
Perhaps rebuilding bit by bit, however slow, may help this cage of more time feel less insincere.
After a breakfast free of any leftovers the next morning, the first of many deliveries begin to trickle in.
Sebastian leaves for a short time about midmorning and returns with several crates that were waiting for him at the station. He pries them open out on the big porch before taking their contents to their proper locations within the house - plumbing supplies where the new bathroom will go, a new set of razor-sharp knives for the kitchen (his Lord did specify essentials, after all), and a heavy crate from the bookseller labeled '1 of 3'.
Sebastian takes several trips unloading the many books. He sets them down in the room that will become his master's study.
His Lord had gone from coolly disinterested to reservedly alert as he realized what those particular bundles contained. Bringing in the next load, Sebastian finds his master in the study, untying the wrapped parcels. He can feel the boy's satisfaction as he inspects the contents of each, taking inventory and nodding in approval.
Last bundles brought in for now, Sebastian looks around the empty room and inquires "Now then, we ought not leave these here on the ground to gather dust. Tell me, what sort of bookshelves would the Young Master prefer in his new study? Teak? Or perhaps mahogany?" He looks poised to magic a completed office into being.
"No."
"No?"
"I mean, yes, but not those. Not like that."
"Like what?"
"Instant. False. Illusionary."
"My Lord?" His master has, of course, said these things before, but now Sebastian senses even greater conviction coming from the boy.
"I want... I want real things, Sebastian. Like the books. Actual and not summoned by magic. Order the shelves, or... or make them to save the expense."
"Make them, my Lord?" First the repairs and now furniture... Only a demon could do so much human labor without complaint.
"Yes. Build them. With your hands. And wood and... tools," he finishes somewhat lamely.
"Really? Wood and... tools," Sebastian quotes with a wicked smile. "Perhaps we should add some practical lessons to our curriculum. Surely young lads in this rustic nation should know their basics with carpentry."
"That is enough of that!" Astre demands, and Sebastian resumes his proper butler demeanor once more. "You may expedite some of the process if you must, but I would fill... this place... with real things."
"As you command, Young Master."
Satisfied, Astre selects a book from the floor and heads out of the room. Knowing his demon will hear him wherever he is, he says "I shall be reading upstairs. Do let me know when lunch is ready."
In their old life, under their first contract, the child often took pleasure in weaponizing his orders. Though often vexed, at least in part, another part of Sebastian had enjoyed the challenge, had enjoyed the sport.
Of course, this was only fair, after all. Sebastian had willingly volunteered to jump through whatever hoops necessary to claim the youth's immortal soul. And, Sebastian had certainly indulged in his share of imprecise interpretations to help add interest whenever things became too dull.
So eager he has been ever since his master's completed revenge to restore what he'd almost lost, to continue this - the greatest game he's ever played - that now he feels strangely foolish, yet again.
With what unholy alchemy does this boy conjure within a demon feelings so terribly close to human?!
How did he miss that his master's demands for fewer parlor tricks were not given to merely inconvenience Sebastian but due to the child's honest desires?
And, like that, his Lord's conviction has more firmly become Sebastian's own.
It is, to the demon, in equal measures disturbing and familiar, how easily this most singular mortal can alter one eternal with wishes alone.
Some days and many deliveries later, the front parlor has become Sebastian's temporary workshop. The chaos of the wood scraps and the tools in what should be - will eventually be - such a formal, stuffy space excites something irreverent in Astre. He currently has, and certainly wants, no pompous guests to impress.
He walks in to inspect Sebastian's work and suddenly he stops - as the now unpleasant scent of sawdust meets his nose. He makes an involuntary face as the associated memories of the wretchedness those first few days on the Polynesian are brought to mind.
Sebastian's seal must harbor memories too. A small twinge alerts him before he can even register and interpret the boy's reaction.
"My Lord?" there is concern in his voice.
Now somewhat embarrassed, Astre replies "It's nothing. The smell is quite disagreeable though."
"My apologies, Young Master. I shall move my workspace into the barn straight away."
"No," too quickly, too honestly comes Astre's reply. "It will be fine. Just... See that you keep it under control... I can't have you tracking in snow back and forth from the barn."
"Quite right," Sebastian courteously agrees, as he quickly sweeps up a pile of sawdust which he then deposits into a tin waste bucket that hadn't been there before. Once the lid is back on the waste pail, Sebastian discreetly vanishes the offensive contents within for extra measure. "I shall endeavor to better contain any messes going forward."
"Yes, see that you do."
And there it is again. The fleeting, yet pleasing, flavor of his master's relief. How strange, that so many oddities stacked together can begin to feel almost commonplace.
A week in, and their days have developed a rhythm both familiar and new. It's also not one bit unpleasant, though naturally, neither butler nor master would dare say as much to the other or even themselves.
The parlor-workshop is likely the cleanest carpentry studio that has ever existed on Earth. Sebastian vanishes the sawdust nearly as quickly as it is produced. Still, just in case this isn't enough, the multi-tasking demon has lately been on a baking kick each afternoon - making some new treat with a wonderful aroma to better mask any triggering smells. Of course, he's also more deliberate with portions now, so his master is never presented the same snack twice.
The rest of the house is slowly rising to Sebastian's standards. While his master sleeps, each room is treated to a deep cleaning and repairs that can be handled quietly are taken care of. The new bathroom is coming together, though Sebastian is still waiting on a shipment of tile.
A slight shock of fear went through Astre the day several bolts of fabric arrived, but Sebastian appears to be embracing 'make it by hand' with zeal, as the many windows throughout start getting their own demon-sewed curtains.
Mornings take on a predictable pattern of tea in bed, followed by breakfast and tutoring until lunchtime. As his master hasn't purchased nor has he yet made his Lord a desk for the study, much of this time is spent each day at the kitchen table near the warm stove. Notably, the boy hasn't complained about the arrangement, so Sebastian hasn't rushed to alter this new routine.
The other two crates of books have made their appearance, along with a pair of extremely comfortable armchairs, so in the afternoons - which Sebastian has reserved for the loudest of his manual labor - Astre retreats to his study and, by the hearth, begins familiarizing himself with his new collection one book at a time.
Lured out of the study one such afternoon by the scent of whatever his evening's dessert will be, Astre wanders cautiously into the parlor. Sebastian lately has been aiming to teach him the names and uses of the various tools, and he's none too interested in being quizzed by a patronizing demon on marking gauges and wood planes.
Still, when he sees what Sebastian is working on, his curiosity gets the better of him.
"What are you making now?"
"A kitchen table, my Lord."
Astre scrutinizes the pieces which have yet to be assembled. "Is it different from the one you conjured?"
"No, my Lord."
Astre is secretly pleased, but why compliment when you can press instead? "Then why make it?" he asks.
Sebastian pauses for just a breath.
"Because I believe I prefer real things as well, Young Master."
Astre's eyebrows briefly knit together before he nods his approval.
And so, February passes over into March. A rare early thaw melts much of the snow, broadening Astre's world once again.
For the briefest, most indulgent of days, Astre declines his morning lessons altogether. He roams the woods - part of his new domain - and learns the path of the little stream that meanders here and there.
Sebastian offered to come along but was expressly forbidden.
"If there is a problem you'll sense it and find me, right?"
Even still, every now and then, Astre is almost certain he catches a glimpse of a particular black raven trailing him through the forest.