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sickficwriter · 3 years ago

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Sicktember 2022: Day 13

Prompt: Seasonal/pet allergies Alt. 1: soft pajamas

Fandom: Black Butler

Wordcount: 2,490

Summary: C.iel is not often a cruel master, but one dreary winter day, he orders S.ebastian to come down with the flu. Se.bastian has no choice but to obey.

Comments: I don't write sickfic that heavily features minors, so Ci.el is only important inasmuch as he sets up the plot. Jsyk.

CW: Nausea, mentions of potential vomiting but it doesn't actually happen

A violent storm had struck London, dealing a harsh blow that rendered infrastructure and economy alike unconscious for the snow choking out the alleyways and piling on rooftops. The grounds of the Phantomhive estate had fared a little better, though not much, and to cross the sea of white that surrounded the manor seemed as insurmountable as walking across the Atlantic.

In short, Sebastian was stuck with no hope of escape unless his master saw fit to send him on a covert mission into town. It seemed unlikely; if any crime had somehow managed to persist through the oppressive snow, they had no way of learning about it, and there was little chance of falling short of supplies (Sebastian having predicted the storm and finding within his duties to order extra provisions from town).

He entertained himself the first few days by showing off for the other servants, because they'd taken to following him around in a line like particularly inept little ducklings. All except Tanaka, who seemed content enough to sleep by the fire, unbothered by the cries of astonishment and admiration that Sebastian's tricks earned him. Juggling, gymnastics, calisthenics, musical improvisation— All this and more he exhausted before Ciel had finished reading the breezeblock of a novel he'd selected a few days prior.

This had been a long day, but at last, the sun saw fit to take its bow and beat a slow, agonizing retreat across the sky, turning everything purple and silver, and it was time to see the young master to bed. Ciel was still working on his novel and seemed disinclined to move, so Sebastian carried him upstairs to his bedchamber and deposited him in an armchair by the fire, to a disappointing lack of reaction. He'd been hoping for an indignant squeak at the least. But Ciel continued to ignore him.

"Forgive me if I speak out of turn, my lord," Sebastian began, crafting the sentence with care. A small delight it was, but how he enjoyed these meandering phrases! "But it seems to me that this downtime is perhaps better spent furthering your education."

"I think not," Ciel murmured, turning the page in his book.

"No?"

Ciel looked up, finally, and his eye narrowed with slight mirth. "Are you really that bored already?" He didn't wait for a reply before continuing, "I think you are, aren't you?" This, too, appeared to be rhetorical, because he only paused long enough to sit up before going on again: "Don't think I didn't hear you showing off earlier. And the others singing your praises. Like you aren't human, they said."

A cold fire blazed in Ciel's eye now, one that promised a vague and unpleasant fate for his opponent. Usually that fate was a bloody death at Sebastian's hands, but, as they were alone in the room, it seemed that Sebastian was the opponent this time. How thrilling. Sebastian smiled, squinting until his eyes shut. "Then surely my lord also heard me reassuring the others that I am, in fact, a mere human."

"Is that really good enough, though?" Ciel's grin had grown positively wicked and his book lay forgotten in his lap. "If you were truly human, you would know that we tend to trust our lived experiences over anyone else's mere words. Sooner or later, they'll want proof. And I think we should give it to them." Sebastian inclined his head. The moment of suspense washed over him as he waited for Ciel's next words: "What could be more human than falling ill during a cold snap?"

Sebastian blinked, the single indication he allowed Ciel that he had been caught off his guard. It wouldn't be fair otherwise. "Ill, my lord?"

"Yes, I think a 'flu should do quite nicely. Scare them a little."

"What are your orders?" Sebastian asked, falling to one knee. This could be a bit of fun. He'd never been ill before.

"Just that," Ciel said. "Come down ill with the 'flu tomorrow. Or approximate it." Offhand, he added, "And yes, that's an order."

"Yes, my lord."

"And I trust you'll make it appropriately dramatic." Ciel's eye glimmered in the firelight. "I know how you love to show off."

—

Sebastian did not generally sleep, but he tucked himself into bed that night in his trousers and shirt. Not owning pajamas or a nightshirt had not been an oversight on his part; he fully intended to wear his usual clothing around the clock, with the occasional change made as circumstances dictated. A flowing white nightshirt simply did not fit the aesthetic.

Blowing out the candle by his bedside, he willed himself into a light sleep and drifted gently to the following morning, his form shifting all the while. He knew how the 'flu came on: it crept up so slowly and quietly that the unfortunate victim had only the vaguest idea it was there. Then it pounced.

And so, the symptoms tiptoed through the night, a little trickery with his body temperature, a little irritation of throat and lungs, a headache that flared like fireworks when he moved his head.

The headache was by far the least tolerable aspect of this part of the plan. The snow-bright light dazzled in his eyes when he awoke to the sound of the servants panicking from somewhere upstairs. The kitchen, judging by the vibrations from their footsteps. Sebastian got up and began to dress, leaving his tie crooked and his hair slightly mussed. Not too much, just yet. Wouldn't want to overdo it. He kept his face pale, but added a yellowish cast and let the rims of his eyes take on an irritated red sheen to imply lack of sleep. Satisfied, he made his bed and began the march up the stairs.

What was ordinarily effortless became nearly insurmountable, and he had to stop and catch his breath when he was only three-quarters of the way up. A few coughs found their way up his stinging throat and he scowled. No use in wasting a good show when there was no audience.

Finny's voice came, high and clear, from down the hall. "Shouldn't we go and get him?"

"Nah," said Bardroy, sounding distinctly like he had a cigarette clamped between his teeth. Yes, now that he was closer, the smell was apparent.

"But what if somethin's happened?" Mey-Rin demanded. Sebastian could practically see her clasping her hands by her jaw, eyes wide behind her glasses.

"He probably just overslept," Bardroy said in that obnoxious tone of unearned authority he so loved to employ. "God knows I wanted to, as cold as it is." Sebastian reached the doorway and waited just out of sight. "He's probably all curled up in bed, comfy as a pug in a rug—"

"Good morning, all." Sebastian stepped around the corner, smiling until his eyes shut. If there was one thing he could not abide, it was to be compared to a dog, of all things. "Forgive me; I seem to have overslept. I take it Tanaka has seen to the young master?" Finny, Mey-Rin, and Bardroy nodded in abashed unison, Finny and Mey-Rin blushing fit to faint. Sebastian nodded shortly and walked further in. "Good. Then, seeing as Bardroy was left unsupervised, I shall have to see to breakfast in a hurry, as I am certain he would know better than to" —a rogue cough tried to force its way up his throat and he was forced to clear it— "endanger the young master with his cooking."

"Hey!" Bardroy exclaimed, but Finny shushed him, apparently to allow Mey-Rin to take center stage for a moment.

She was still blushing up to her ears. Sebastian smiled kindly, narrowing his eyes and looking directly at her to make it worse. "Yes, Mey-Rin, what is it?"

"F-forgive me, Sebastian, but-but-but… your tie is crooked, and I thought—" She reached out to straighten it. "I'm sorry!"

Sebastian caught her hand before she could fully withdraw it. "Thank you, Mey-Rin. Now." Releasing her hand, he lifted his gaze. "I really must insist that you return—" He turned his head to the side and coughed into the crook of his elbow. Not too harshly, just enough to spark mild concern. Regardless, it made his head throb and ring like a struck bell. "R-return to your duties at once."

He watched them with keen eyes as they nodded with a collective "Yes, sir!" Mey-Rin hesitated, looking him over. Finny did not smile as wide as he usually did. And Bardroy's eyes narrowed as he turned to go.

Sebastian smiled.

He listened to them gossip as he did his work, though the pain in his head made it harder to focus and the generalized weakness made it harder to keep his hands steady. In fact— He was actually shaking. His body hurt, too, particularly the legs. His knees wobbled when he stood in one place for too long.

"Cor, I've never seen Sebastian lookin' like that!" Mey-Rin's voice was a ghostly buzz, the vibrations too subtle for a human's ears.

"What, pale and creepy?" Bardroy shot back.

"No, no," Finny chimed in, "Mey-Rin's right! He looked like he was about to fall over."

The vibrations of their voices rattled in Sebastian's head, exacerbating his headache to the point of nausea. Well. That was unexpected. He stopped straining himself in favor of focusing on the task at hand: preparing breakfast for the young lord.

Only sheer force of demonic will allowed him to set the table without faltering. He stood, swaying, slightly, in his usual spot and watched Tanaka escort Ciel to the breakfast table. Bardroy, Finny, and Mey-Rin peeked at him from beyond the far doorway. He blinked, slow and languid. His legs trembled.

Ciel made no mention of his tardiness and did not smile at the rattle of the lid against the teapot. Tea splashed onto the tablecloth, a few droplets staining Sebastian's pristine gloves. His head ached, hot. He wanted it to stop, all of it. This game, this 'flu, this maddening weakness.

Interesting.

It seemed the psychological toll of illness was a subtle thing, more subtle than even the symptoms.

"Stop." Ciel stilled Sebastian's hand with his own. "Something's wrong."

It wasn't a question, which allowed Sebastian to slither around his oath of truthfulness. He had to take a deep breath to steel himself before facing the ordeal of speech. "I can assure you, my lord, despite my tardiness, breakfast has been prepared to my exacting standards."

"You would, of course, inform me if you felt you were unable to perform your duties."

"I would hardly be fit to call myself the Phantomhive butler if I allowed myself to be so rattled by something as simple as oversleeping."

"You look ghastly."

Sebastian swallowed back a few coughs that exploded like firecrackers in his chest and made his eyes water. "I'll be fine, my lord," he choked, and staggered backwards a few steps so as not to cough directly on Ciel. For he couldn't hold them back now, relinquishing all but the tiniest sliver of his self-control to the monster of the 'flu. It was on him now, the miserable, shuddering heat of fever and the all-over weakness that made even standing a chore of the highest degree.

"Sebastian?" Ciel's manufactured alarm would have fooled all but the sharpest observer. Somewhere beyond the blur of his tears, Sebastian watched him stand up and freeze.

"Do forgive me," Sebastian said, recovering himself. His head spun with an unfamiliar giddiness, stomach turning over. He wasn't going to be sick, was he? That had not been part of the plan; it was too inelegant, too unsightly, not at all befitting the butler aesthetic.

The room tilted sideways and someone shouted, but he couldn't make out the words over the roaring in his ears. Then the floor dropped out from under him and all was nothing.

He let a bit more of his control and awareness slip away because he felt truly awful. No more play-acting; he was miserable. Even the small sliver of awareness he allowed himself was agony. Someone touched him and the rough wool of his uniform scratched against his neck and he was cold and hot by turns. He felt his body shiver and all his muscles ached in response to the effort.

"You really did a number on yourself, didn't you?" a voice asked. Bardroy.

He let awareness wash over him in delicate waves, so as not to overwhelm himself and cry out. First hearing, though there wasn't much to hear. Just the crackle of the fire and Bardroy breathing from somewhere off to the side. Smell and taste, too, revealed little information. Fire and Bardroy and illness. Touch was more interesting, though nearly overwhelming. His body hurt and the hot-cold sensation was unbearable. He began to tremble, unable to fight the base urge to keen and curl in on himself. The only solace was something soft against his skin, so wonderfully, wonderfully soft.

"Hey, hey." Bardroy's voice came gentle and concerned from somewhere above him. "Calm down."

Lastly, sight. He cracked his eyes open and immediately shut them again in response to the pain that pulsed outward from the back of his head. He opened them again, just not so wide, and found Bardroy staring down at him. "My quarters?" he asked weakly.

"You fainted." Bardroy put a hand on his shoulder, like he was afraid Sebastian might cut and run. The soft fabric between them rubbed against his skin. Sebastian fell back, limp, and looked down at himself.

Someone had dressed him in careworn white pajamas. Even buttoned to the top, they slid down to reveal far too much chest, which was flushed pink, and the sleeves ended between his first and second knuckles. But they were soft, softer than anything Sebastian had felt in a good long while. Certainly softer than anything Ciel owned, in the way cloth got when it was well-used and well-loved.

Bardroy caught him looking and adjusted himself so he could sit on the edge of the bed and still face Sebastian. "Oh yeah, lent you some pajamas. You didn't seem to have any, so." He shrugged.

"Thank you, Bardroy," Sebastian said, meaning it for the first time ever. He hadn't realized how stifling his tailcoat and trousers had been until they were off, and the relief was such that he might have shed a tear if he'd thought it would earn him any quarter. Instead, he sighed and nestled into his pillow as a shudder rippled outward from his core.

Bardroy's gaze softened and he reached a hand out as though to smooth down Sebastian's hair only to pause and pull it back. "Get some rest," he said with intolerable tenderness. "Call me if you need anything."

Sebastian nodded and blinked slowly, lids growing heavier.

"And Sebastian?"

"Hm?"

"I do mean that." Bardroy smiled, sickeningly fond. "I'll be right here."

Sebastian closed his eyes.

#hell yes love an invincible creature getting Ill

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