1. Time Traveling Oven?

JO here...

Quick information before we get started:

I'm a huge fan of OCs falling into the Kuroshitsuji world and causing all sorts of predicaments. This story will be based mostly on the manga with a few anime episodes thrown in for funsies. I do plan on writing Season 2 (Alois is my love) for the sequel but that doesn't mean you-know-who won't make an appearance. Therefore, please enjoy and share your thoughts and review. It makes my world go round. 

And if you haven't noticed, this chapter has been majorly edited. I do plan to edit the rest because I'm going crazy reading everything over and knowing you all had to suffer through this first. For that I apologize.

If you'd like to support me and see what additional content I drop related to this story and others, join my pat-reon - jadedoptimist. Remember you don't have to, everything, minus the 18+ stuff will become free to read on here and anywhere else.

Edited: 07/17/23

Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji

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1. Time Traveling Oven?

"There is no such thing as accident; it is fate misnamed."

- Napoleon Bonaparte

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September 20, 2014 - 9:42 AM (GMT) - Somewhere in London, England

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When I left for the UK, I expected my trip to be exciting; a new adventure to conquer, proving once and for all that I was a girl who faced adversity and always came out on top. That's always been my motto and I stuck by it religiously. Others however would use different words to describe my tenacity, brazen, obnoxious, stubborn, pushy, daring. Even reckless, and loud, and eccentric.

But I didn't mind. It meant I was doing something right.

However, this trip? With how my luck worked, I never expected to be proven right so viscerally.

I knew the only reason my dad Phil signed the permission field trip form was because he believed it would do me some good to exercise caution and stay in line if I were in an unfamiliar place. Honestly, he should have known better. If I hadn't behaved like some frilly high-class lady in America, what makes him think I could do better in Britain?

Example, I hadn't even spent three hours in London before trouble began.

It's why I currently found myself in a very unfamiliar neighborhood somewhere not so tourist friendly in London. Thankfully I was quick enough to remember to bring a friend. Amanda, my best friend since middle school, did not share my fondness for my quick wit.

"I wish you would quit doing these kinds of things," she complained, tugging her cardigan close to her body. "We're in London on vacation, Hero. Hear me? Vacation! We shouldn't be out here tracking bad guys! I mean—"

I tuned her out and smiled, taking in the cold crisp air. It smelled faintly of motor oil, rubble, and rain.

"—your dad would not approve of you doing this! He specifically said no detective work in the UK. At all!"

I turned around and grinned. "Come on, Amanda. Were you really going to let those burglars get away with robbing our entire class? How will you even shop without your favorite pair of shoes?"

"Very easily! That's what the local police are for!"

I waved my hand and continued down the deserted street, keeping a watchful eye for any suspicious people. Normally I would've heeded Amanda's warning but there was a damned good reason why I was chasing after the burglars who robbed my entire class's luggage. Well, several reasons—I was actually impressed they managed to pull it off without getting caught.

One, two weeks prior, Amanda interrupted me from finishing a very important detective case I was working to introduce me to an anime series.

You read that right. AN ANIME SERIES. I got interrupted from my important work for some silly Japanese cartoon! I've only just gotten the hang of speaking fluently in English with my Spanish accent sounding faint. Why on earth would I want to watch a Japanese show that made my ears tongue tied just listening to it? Much to my dismay, the anime was dubbed in English, which meant escape was impossible.

Black Butler became an obsession after that—and that was saying something because Sherlock was my ultimate fandom; I bow at the feet of Sir Arthur Canon Doyle. In the span of two days, I became an avid fan of the series. Amanda was very pleased by how quickly I took to it, like duck to water. She was expecting more resistance, never expecting she'd have someone to gush to so soon. Thankfully for her, I was glad for the coercion. I read all the available manga volumes and even persuaded Phil to buy me merch. He, believing I was finally acting like a proper teenage girl, had been more then willing to fork over the cash. It was great!

Would it have been better if she had converted me after I solved the case of the missing bikes from Kendall Street? Yeah, kind of. The police ended up finding the thief but I had been determined to solve it before them and prove to Phil's boss, the Captain of the precinct, to take my application more seriously—never mind that I was two years away from graduating high school and joining the police force.

"Please Hero! Let's just turn back!" Amanda begged. "I'll even let you have my entire allowance if you just let me go back to the hotel!"

I looked at her. "Funny, I said the same thing before you got me hooked on Black Butler. Remember? When you kidnapped me two weeks ago and stuffed the churro in my mouth to keep from protesting as you hit the play button?"

Amanda made a face. "But you liked it in the end!"

I smiled at the memory. "True. But you're still sticking with me, kid. It's too dangerous to turn back at this point. You could get lost or kidnapped and sold into the white slavery ring! You would fetch a high price, being a part-time model and all."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, but your sleeping on the floor when we get back."

I winced, that one would hurt when nighttime rolled around, but if getting back our stuff means slumming it by myself without a warm body next to me, then so be it.

I didn't blame Amanda for putting up some resistance. We were far from our hearty America, specifically lax Miami, whose grimy streets filled with the smell of brine and Cuban coffee I recognized no matter where I wandered off to.

Still, I'll just have to fake it till I make it, hopefully before things go awry.

Oh dear, listen to me ramble on. Where are my manners?

The name's Hero Sanders, Detective Extraordinaire! Some quick facts about me: I'm sixteen years old, a girl, Latina (origin still unknown), and amazingly bold.

At least that's what everyone tells me.

Is it my fault that I use my epic powers of deduction and detectiveness to get at the heart of the truth and cut out any and all necessary bullshit? Certainly not! The truth will always out!

Speaking of deduction and detectiveness, I checked my phone for the GPS device in my luggage—a precaution if it ever got lost at the airport. My dad was paranoid like that. Currently, the signal was only a few blocks away. We'd get there in no time. And just to prove I wasn't completely reckless, I left a sticky note for the police back at the hotel, written in Spanish of course since I wanted a head start.

I adjusted my Sherlock Holmes hat—cost me only a five bucks online, shipping and handling not included—before pulling a resigned Amanda along.

Despite Amanda's reservations, I wasn't too worried about our safety. Before I was adopted by Phil, the boys at the Casa de Maria orphanage would bully me to the point of tears. In retaliation, I had the older boys teach me how to defend myself. Despite all of us living in a church, I learned a lot about street fighting and the underhanded tactics used to win a fight at all cost. After putting their teachings to good use, it was safe to say I wasn't bullied anymore.

Huzzah for juvenile violence!

Then after Phil adopted when I was ten, the first thing he did (besides teach me English) was enroll me in self-defense and gun safety classes—after all, you never known when some psychotic serial killer will come after you and your family. After finishing those and with seemingly endless energy to burn, I was introduced to mixed martial arts classes which I mastered after two years.

The secret to my phenomenal success was all thanks to my grit and my unusual quirk: super strength.

Seriously.

For some reason, God decided to make me a mini Superwoman because I had the impossible power to lift objects ten times heavier than myself. It was something unexplained even to the good nuns of Casa de Maria. Some thought I was blessed, others cursed. I like to think the former.

Anyways, Amanda and I had this special technique worked out whenever I get us into these sticky situations. She would hide and call for help while I went out into the open and distracted the enemy. It usually worked. Thankfully, the emergency distress signal chips embedded into our phones work like a charm, causing us to always be saved in the nick of time.

Hopefully, the same would happen today.

I paused and pulled Amanda along with me into an alley when I saw three male figures exit an abandoned apartment building. They entered their dark cars, laughing and talking in a Cockney accent. I stared at them until their cars disappeared around the corner of the street.

"I think that was them. The perpetrators. I remember that bald guy with the red goatee walking across the lobby of the hotel," I murmured. I got out of the alley and headed toward the building the men just vacated. Behind me, Amanda whimpered.

"That's great, so can we call the police and wait for them to handle this?"

I snapped my fingers. "That's a great idea. Call them now while I check inside and locate the goods."

"Hero!" she hissed in frustration as I approached the building.

Have I mentioned that my friends tend to think I'm the most dense girl in the history of the world? I opened my handy black and green plaid knapsack (the very one that I had since my days at the orphanage, not sure how I got it or who gave it to me, the details don't matter) and took out my leather gloves.

The first part in being a sneaky Detective Extraordinaire was never leave your finger prints behind or the police will be all over you like ants on sugar. I jiggled the doorknob and wasn't surprised to find it locked. I examined the window next to the door and tried lifting it. Locked. No surprise.

"There see? We can't get in. Now let's go!" Amanda insisted, shifting from foot to foot, looking around to see if any other shady characters appeared.

"Wait," I said, determination blazing in my eyes. "I can feel my precious darlings inside. I'm gettin' in there come hell or high water!"

I punched the window.

My fist broke through the grimy glass easily. Luckily, I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and the leather glove protected me from the sharp shards. I turned the lock and opened the window high before grabbing the edge of the sill and lifting myself inside. Since the window was a little smaller than normal and my Hispanic blood genetically made my hips a little too big, I kind of got stuck. Thankfully, Amanda decided to suck it up and push me through.

I landed in a heap on the wooden floor and groaned, rubbing my head gingerly. I quickly got up before avoiding the glass on the floor and opening the front door so Amanda could get in. She did so with an anxious expression.

"Maybe we should leave," she said. "Those guys could come back and who knows what they'll do to us. I mean, they could kill us, rape us, or worse, sell us into the white slavery ring! And I can't have that, not when I have a photo shoot two weeks from now for the JC Penny fall catalog!"

I shook my head in amusement. Crazy, nerdy, anime otaku white girl with a strong affinity towards make-up and fashion; a combination that seems to puzzle everyone. I peered at her perfect appearance and couldn't help but feel a stab of mild longing when I noticed her patting her shiny blonde locks into a semblance of order. I usually didn't care about looks (no seriously, I sometimes make Amanda cry over my outfits), but whenever I stare at beautiful people I'm reminded of my own shortcomings.

Black hair that always curls even after I subject it to a flat iron (that's the Florida humidity at fault sadly), brown eyes and an olive skin tone quite commonly found in Miami, I looked as plain as a piece of wood. Since I'm Hispanic, I'm perpetually short (never seeming to budge from five foot one), I have slightly bigger hips than most girls, and worst of all, my bust looks like it wants to stay an A-cup.

All that wouldn't have been so bad if people would stop mistaking me for a boy!

Just because the lady at Super Cuts did a horrible job cutting my hair into a bob doesn't mean it looks that bad. Of course, Amanda likes to disagree. My wavy curly hair is now a messy chin length and I can only pray that it keeps growing faster so the guys at my dad's office would stop calling me "little man" and use lame hair jokes at my expense.

"Relax," I assured her, returning to reality as I wandered into the house, floorboards creaking under foot. "We'll be done with this before the next twenty minutes are up."

"Hopefully they won't come back so soon," Amanda muttered as she closed the front door with a handkerchief she procured from her pocket.

It was warm inside compared to the chilly weather outdoors. That surprised me. With the way this place was looking, I wasn't expecting any heat bills to be paid. The decor left much to be desired. Trash and debris littered the floor, dirt and grime were slathered along the walls, dust coated every available surface, and what appeared to be rusted black stains (aka blood) was sprinkled along the floor, some hidden underneath worn beat up furniture. Seriously, with how crappy this place looked, it almost made me rethink my plan.

But the minute I wandered into the kitchen and spotted a crap load of stolen goods, all other thoughts flew quickly out the proverbial window. I squealed in happiness when I spotted my familiar red luggage bag.

"She's alive Amanda!" I rushed over and unzipped the bag.

"Hey! I found my Juicy Couture makeup bag. Score!" Amanda responded with a smile as she lifted the bag off the cracked counter littered with other purses and dead bugs. I checked inside the bottom part of my luggage and grinned when I found my precious cargo nestled deep inside my clothes.

"Perfect. Now call the police Amanda. And be ready to bolt when you—"

"Hero look at this! It's yesterday's newspaper," said paper was quickly thrust into my face. I grabbed it and peered at the headlines carefully.

TRIBAND CAT BURGLARS STEAL CROWN JEWELS

SCOTLAND YARD STILL SEARCHING FOR SUSPECTS

THEIR NINTH BIG ROBBERY AND STILL GOING STRONG

I looked up; my eyes and mouth agape with shock. OMFG! No way! I jumped up and shouted in glee.

"Are you serious? Amanda! We just found the notorious Triband Cat Burglars. OH MY GOSH! I can't believe they're the Triband Cat Burglars! I've been keeping up with their robberies ever since they first stole Van Goh's 'Sunflowers' from the National Gallery!"

Amanda looked around the littered kitchen before she spotted a door to the far right. "What do you think is in there?"

I turned to look and smirked. "Probably the rest of their stash seeing as I only see personal belongings here. They must have been hitting the ritziest hotels after their big crown jewels heist, hoping to rob some heiress or another."

I opened the door, the well-oiled hinges silent as I stared into a darkened stairway leading down into a black abyss.

"Mmm, on the other hand, maybe we should leave," Amanda insisted, clutching her makeup bag and latest iPhone. "After all, we only came here for our stuff. And aren't the police coming here soon with the coordinates you gave them in the sticky note?"

Amanda didn't know about the Spanish bit.

"I'm just going to look quickly. You stand guard," I told her as I adjusted my Sherlock Holmes hat and went down the creaking stairs. The air down here was musky and I gingerly touched the wall beside me to steady myself. A string suddenly smacked into my eye out of nowhere. I gripped it and pulled, bringing a dim and pale orange-ish light into the basement. The only thing in here was a big wooden table with a cloth placed over the entire surface. The obvious and awkward shapes under the sheet indicated that some stolen goods were underneath. I grabbed the black sheet and gaped when it revealed the famed missing crown jewels and other pieces of gold and sparkling jewelry from previous heists. I didn't see a painting around so I assumed Van Goh's "Sunflowers" must have been sold to the black market already. Bummer.

I heard a squeak and Amanda's faint voice as she whispered my name fiercely.

"They're coming back!" she said, her footsteps panicking in the kitchen.

I looked uncertainly at the stuff on the table but fled upstairs anyway, pulling on the string and sending the basement to pitch black again.

I found the kitchen empty of my nervous friend, Amanda having escaped from the window she managed to force open. I had to admit I was impressed she was willing to jump out in a pair of high heels. I looked at my stuff uncertainly but shook my head. I knew where it was and once the police got here, all would be well. Before I could get my foot on the sill, I heard the front door suddenly slam open and bouts of gruff laughter filled the empty place.

In my panic I tripped against one of the luggage's and landed with a heavy thud, the floorboards underneath me groaning heavily. The voices stilled and I heard a distinctive gun click echo. I hurriedly looked around for a place to hide and noticed an old-fashioned oven next to me. It looked reasonably clean and when I opened it, I gave thanks to God it wasn't roach infested and that I was small enough to fit inside.

By the time, the thugs made it to the kitchen, they ignored the oven and searched outside and down the basement. I could hear their faint voices mutter curses when they saw their stolen items had been messed with. That and apparently Amanda had taken back her makeup bag. Goodness what my white girl won't do for her makeup.

I stayed curled in a fetal position and waited for the men to leave. I heard several footsteps come in and out the kitchen and eventually loud tapping sounds from the kitchen window. I slide the metal peep slot quietly and saw to my horror that one of the men were hammering down pieces of wood over the window.

Damn! Now how am I supposed to leave? And when was the police coming? Seriously!

Time passed by rather slowly for me. From sound of it, the Triband Cat Burglars were packing up their goods and getting ready to leave. I yawned and felt my lids droop.

Oh no. I'm getting sleepy. What time was it? Goodness it felt like hours, but it was probably only thirty minutes.

Don't tell me the police hadn't taken figured out my note yet? Our teacher was bound to notice us missing and everyone knew a missing Hero needed immediate police involvement. Oh my gosh, what if Amanda didn't know The Yard's phone number? I don't blame her of course. What was the local police number anyhow?

I yawned again and closed my eyes. Sleep was inevitable. Hopefully, by the time I wake up again, the Triband Cat Burglars will be gone. Knowing them they'd have taken my luggage and as long as they have that, the police will be able to find them. Unfortunately, the rest of my precious cargo was still in there. I had managed to take with me my small Ciel and Sebastian pillow so thank the Lord for small favors.

...

Wow. I never knew how comfortable an oven could be. There was no way this was British made.

With that last thought, I fell fast asleep.

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November 2, 1988 - 11:23 PM - Somewhere near London, England

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By the time I opened my eyes and sleepily rolled out of the oven (literally), I noticed it was dark. I clumsily staggered to my feet, feeling a bit disoriented and a whole lot of nauseous. I took off my gloves and stuffed them into my bag before grabbing my pillow and yawning.

As I carefully walked out of the kitchen, I entered a rather ornate fancy looking hall.

I blinked blearily.

Fancy?

I rubbed my eyes and noticed the plush carpet under my laced boots, the pleasant unnamable scent in the air as well as the cool atmosphere. Was I back at the hotel? How strange.

Wasn't I still hiding from the Triband Cat Burglars? Did the Police catch them? Maybe…Maybe I was simply dreaming. I kept walking forward, almost zombie-like as my eyes ached.

I had this bad habit of being meek and out of sorts if I don't consume food after waking. It's like the hyper energy I'm known for is just sucked out of me. I'm like those cranky zombie people once sees in the Snickers commercial. Food is like my coffee, except I hate coffee.

I yawned again, tears pooling at the corner of my eyes as I kept walking. If I remember correctly, and assuming I've been transported back to my hotel (except when was a hotel ever this dark?), my hotel room was on the third floor, room 314B. I silently went up the second set of wide stairs and turned down into the following hallway. It was sure quiet around here.

I couldn't see the doors very well since it was pitch black, so I randomly grabbed whatever door was closest to me. I found one and opened it quickly before quietly closing it behind me. My assigned roommate was Amanda and she's been known to slap me silly whenever I interrupt her beauty sleep. I could feel my eyelids droop as a deep and total exhaustion overcame me. I felt faint with each step I took. The feeling was strange to me. I had never felt this tired before-it was almost otherworldly.

Boy, England really was a magical place.

I looked around in the darkness and squinted. No bed. I spotted another door all the way in the back, past the fancy furniture and dark fireplace.

When I opened it, I found a big bed with drapes pulled back on the other side of the room. A shape of a person already occupied it and I can only assume it was Amanda, hogging the sheets as per usual. I walked over and placed my pillow on the bed, crawling under the covers, too tired to even take off my shoes or knapsack. She'll yet at me later for it, but I was too exhausted to care. The bed sheets can always be dusted later.

"Scoot over woman," I mumbled sleepily, which she did in her catatonic induced state.

I smiled, pulling the covers over my head and falling asleep again.