because i love minor characters best
Title: Timber
Fandom: Kuroshitsuji
Status: oneshot; completed
Pairing: non-pairing centric, mentions of Sebastian/Ciel, Claude/Alois, and tripletcest
Rating: PG-15-ish; nsfw for safety's sake
Summary: Timber's back from the lower levels of Hell, purposeless, alone, and wondering what's changed in the last hundred years.
Warnings: mentions of sexual behavior, violent tendencies, demonic incest, and banging an angel
Thanks for beta-ing, seth_kukai!
---------
A hundred years passed before they decided to let Timber out of Hell again. After their 'demise' on the mortal plane, him and his brothers' essences were dragged back down to the lowest level of that dimension of fire and pain and nasty for rekindling and shaping. It only took a decade for Timber to be capable of holding corporeal form once more, but the Prince believed in punishment and the worst for a young demon-well. They weren't known for their patience. For the next nine-tenths of a century, he was made to work as a page and only sometimes were his brothers assigned to the same underworld 'master'. It was humiliating, despicable work, and his stomach rumbled and his mind trembled. Serving another demon was for the lowest and those that confused mentorship with consignment. Too often, he had time to think long and hard about his old 'teacher', Claude Faustus, and how he'd never be able to extract revenge. Almost as soon as he took back a physical body, Timber was told about the older demon's permanent death and how he was to spend the rest of eternity in nirvana.
Considering the company he was stuck with, Timber suspected Claude would think of it as a personal form of Hell. That wasn't good enough-he'd have liked to watch the beast be spat upon by Canterbury while Thompson ground his face into the mud-but a slow, torturous forever would have to suffice.
But yes. A hundred years until Timber was out on the condition that he was not to see either of his siblings for an additional fifty. Topside and alone, he hadn't known where to go. At first he thought to stick around England and London where plenty of the dark and needy roamed, but after making a few short contracts with the momentarily greedy-their souls were hardly enough to fulfill his growing appetite-he decided to expand his horizons. Via train and shadow, he traveled to Greece and passed through Sweden. Eventually, he found himself in France and from there it was only natural to want to visit Spain and Italy to compare and contrast the differences in technology and language.
He never recovered his voice from Hannah Annafellows since she'd stolen it from him so many years ago, but speech meant little as long as one could nod and smile-write and pretend. Even when he took an airplane-finally, the humans were getting somewhere with flight-to the United States, nobody seemed to notice the strange man with plum-colored hair never actually spoke. Even his contractors were routinely under the impression that he did or he could. Timber was honestly never sure whether it was a byproduct of his powers as a creature far beyond human tolerance or belief, or because nobody paid attention. After all, that first contact with an interested party was always in the realm of dreams or drifting consciousness; he could speak there, softly, with a voice that was neither male nor female, but pleasing and neutral like an office plant's might be. After that, it was all downhill silence. He barely slurped when he made good on his end of the bargain and was given privilege to suck them dry.
Time went by so slowly. One day, he bought a Blackberry after forging himself a new fake identity-Allan Cess-just to play with the buttons as he waited for a desperate mortal to cross his path. One day, he picked a fight with some reapers who were only doing their job and got his ass kicked on purpose. One day, he had sex with an angel and was nearly forced to merge with the holy bitch before he pulled out and slapped her/him across the face so hard her/his neck snapped (must have been a young one to be so fragile-she/he was fine after a while, but still). One day, he thought about Alois Trancy and Claude Faustus in nirvana and he'd picked up smoking. One day, fifty years still hadn't gone by and Timber was alone in a hotel and he wanted to go back to Hell because winter was cold and boring.
The modern demon was a vampire. No, it wasn't about the blood, but they didn’t stick with an ambitious mortal with the most succulent soul one could find and wait years and years to fulfill their every goal in order to munch on the most delectable flavor known to Hell's servants. Several contracts could be formed in a single week if one was patient-more, if one wasn't. People wanted results. Men wanted their mortgage paid-women wanted to shatter the glass ceiling. Nobody seemed to realize that the soul was something of a necessary component. They'd learned to walk around without it before-letting Timber suck and pry it out of them seemed a small price to pay for that one thing they had their hearts set on.
They tasted sour. Greasy. He ate so many he became bloated and went by ten years without sacrificing a single moment on a human being.
He toyed with the idea of integrating-he could marry an atheist who wouldn't require he waltz about in a church while he declared his love for her. He thought about becoming a limo driver for the uniform and the chance at service.
At the forty-nine year mark, he met Ciel Phantomhive again and nearly lost his life. Sebastian Michaelis-of all possible creatures-was the one who was the most willing to let Timber go.
Ciel said, "No."
Sebastian said, "Then what do you suggest we do with him, young master?"
Timber's left arm was several feet away from his body just then. He gurgled a bit of blood, but otherwise didn’t bother. His Blackberry was broken and he hadn't bought insurance. He wondered if Ciel would like to pay for it.
"… Keep him."
An offhanded remark. But Timber had missed a proper master, so he allowed his limbs to be reattached and he went along with them. Jumped when Ciel commanded it. Never spoke back, because he couldn't. Sometimes Sebastian would look at him with the most peculiar expression, like he was irritated at the servitude since it wasn't as forced as his own but also impressed at Timber's tenacity. Like he couldn't decide if he missed having Ciel all to himself, though Timber made a point of never visiting the even younger demon's bedchambers and never-ever-questioning when Sebastian did.
Months went by-four or five in total-and Timber learned to watch Michaelis' face when Ciel left the room. The usual quiet malice and resigned despair-for a fraction of a half a second-was replaced, just then.
Longing. Timber thought, only the once, that was it was for the soul Sebastian would never get to eat, but then he realized that after a hundred years, something so petty only crossed his mind.
When fifty years had officially passed, Timber somehow got Sebastian to ask their master for permission for Timber to seek out his brothers. Permission was granted and he left instantly. When he found Thompson, they couldn't take their hands off of each other for days. They were shameless and went to Thompson's apartment to rediscover their still largely identical forms. Canterbury discovered them a week later and the next month was a continuous blissful reunion. Then Ciel sent for Timber and he promised to visit again as soon as he was able.
When he left, he thought of holding a mirror up to his face to see if the look he'd taken on was the same as Sebastian's when he thought his other half wasn't looking.
Maybe Claude and Alois were happy in nirvana. Maybe they deserved it.
Fandom: Kuroshitsuji
Status: oneshot; completed
Pairing: non-pairing centric, mentions of Sebastian/Ciel, Claude/Alois, and tripletcest
Rating: PG-15-ish; nsfw for safety's sake
Summary: Timber's back from the lower levels of Hell, purposeless, alone, and wondering what's changed in the last hundred years.
Warnings: mentions of sexual behavior, violent tendencies, demonic incest, and banging an angel
Thanks for beta-ing, seth_kukai!
---------
A hundred years passed before they decided to let Timber out of Hell again. After their 'demise' on the mortal plane, him and his brothers' essences were dragged back down to the lowest level of that dimension of fire and pain and nasty for rekindling and shaping. It only took a decade for Timber to be capable of holding corporeal form once more, but the Prince believed in punishment and the worst for a young demon-well. They weren't known for their patience. For the next nine-tenths of a century, he was made to work as a page and only sometimes were his brothers assigned to the same underworld 'master'. It was humiliating, despicable work, and his stomach rumbled and his mind trembled. Serving another demon was for the lowest and those that confused mentorship with consignment. Too often, he had time to think long and hard about his old 'teacher', Claude Faustus, and how he'd never be able to extract revenge. Almost as soon as he took back a physical body, Timber was told about the older demon's permanent death and how he was to spend the rest of eternity in nirvana.
Considering the company he was stuck with, Timber suspected Claude would think of it as a personal form of Hell. That wasn't good enough-he'd have liked to watch the beast be spat upon by Canterbury while Thompson ground his face into the mud-but a slow, torturous forever would have to suffice.
But yes. A hundred years until Timber was out on the condition that he was not to see either of his siblings for an additional fifty. Topside and alone, he hadn't known where to go. At first he thought to stick around England and London where plenty of the dark and needy roamed, but after making a few short contracts with the momentarily greedy-their souls were hardly enough to fulfill his growing appetite-he decided to expand his horizons. Via train and shadow, he traveled to Greece and passed through Sweden. Eventually, he found himself in France and from there it was only natural to want to visit Spain and Italy to compare and contrast the differences in technology and language.
He never recovered his voice from Hannah Annafellows since she'd stolen it from him so many years ago, but speech meant little as long as one could nod and smile-write and pretend. Even when he took an airplane-finally, the humans were getting somewhere with flight-to the United States, nobody seemed to notice the strange man with plum-colored hair never actually spoke. Even his contractors were routinely under the impression that he did or he could. Timber was honestly never sure whether it was a byproduct of his powers as a creature far beyond human tolerance or belief, or because nobody paid attention. After all, that first contact with an interested party was always in the realm of dreams or drifting consciousness; he could speak there, softly, with a voice that was neither male nor female, but pleasing and neutral like an office plant's might be. After that, it was all downhill silence. He barely slurped when he made good on his end of the bargain and was given privilege to suck them dry.
Time went by so slowly. One day, he bought a Blackberry after forging himself a new fake identity-Allan Cess-just to play with the buttons as he waited for a desperate mortal to cross his path. One day, he picked a fight with some reapers who were only doing their job and got his ass kicked on purpose. One day, he had sex with an angel and was nearly forced to merge with the holy bitch before he pulled out and slapped her/him across the face so hard her/his neck snapped (must have been a young one to be so fragile-she/he was fine after a while, but still). One day, he thought about Alois Trancy and Claude Faustus in nirvana and he'd picked up smoking. One day, fifty years still hadn't gone by and Timber was alone in a hotel and he wanted to go back to Hell because winter was cold and boring.
The modern demon was a vampire. No, it wasn't about the blood, but they didn’t stick with an ambitious mortal with the most succulent soul one could find and wait years and years to fulfill their every goal in order to munch on the most delectable flavor known to Hell's servants. Several contracts could be formed in a single week if one was patient-more, if one wasn't. People wanted results. Men wanted their mortgage paid-women wanted to shatter the glass ceiling. Nobody seemed to realize that the soul was something of a necessary component. They'd learned to walk around without it before-letting Timber suck and pry it out of them seemed a small price to pay for that one thing they had their hearts set on.
They tasted sour. Greasy. He ate so many he became bloated and went by ten years without sacrificing a single moment on a human being.
He toyed with the idea of integrating-he could marry an atheist who wouldn't require he waltz about in a church while he declared his love for her. He thought about becoming a limo driver for the uniform and the chance at service.
At the forty-nine year mark, he met Ciel Phantomhive again and nearly lost his life. Sebastian Michaelis-of all possible creatures-was the one who was the most willing to let Timber go.
Ciel said, "No."
Sebastian said, "Then what do you suggest we do with him, young master?"
Timber's left arm was several feet away from his body just then. He gurgled a bit of blood, but otherwise didn’t bother. His Blackberry was broken and he hadn't bought insurance. He wondered if Ciel would like to pay for it.
"… Keep him."
An offhanded remark. But Timber had missed a proper master, so he allowed his limbs to be reattached and he went along with them. Jumped when Ciel commanded it. Never spoke back, because he couldn't. Sometimes Sebastian would look at him with the most peculiar expression, like he was irritated at the servitude since it wasn't as forced as his own but also impressed at Timber's tenacity. Like he couldn't decide if he missed having Ciel all to himself, though Timber made a point of never visiting the even younger demon's bedchambers and never-ever-questioning when Sebastian did.
Months went by-four or five in total-and Timber learned to watch Michaelis' face when Ciel left the room. The usual quiet malice and resigned despair-for a fraction of a half a second-was replaced, just then.
Longing. Timber thought, only the once, that was it was for the soul Sebastian would never get to eat, but then he realized that after a hundred years, something so petty only crossed his mind.
When fifty years had officially passed, Timber somehow got Sebastian to ask their master for permission for Timber to seek out his brothers. Permission was granted and he left instantly. When he found Thompson, they couldn't take their hands off of each other for days. They were shameless and went to Thompson's apartment to rediscover their still largely identical forms. Canterbury discovered them a week later and the next month was a continuous blissful reunion. Then Ciel sent for Timber and he promised to visit again as soon as he was able.
When he left, he thought of holding a mirror up to his face to see if the look he'd taken on was the same as Sebastian's when he thought his other half wasn't looking.
Maybe Claude and Alois were happy in nirvana. Maybe they deserved it.