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When the boat evened and the water was still once more, when all he could hear was Sebastian’s labored breathing, Ciel realized he was very cold.
More than cold, because that didn’t seem an adequate description somehow. His skin felt tight, as far as he could tell, because mostly he only registered a numbness. His joints were creaky, his muscles uncooperative, and his bones like hardened ice inside his flesh. His hair was frozen, literally frozen, sticking up stiffly at odd angles, and it hurt to breathe the air.
“You did well today,” he told Sebastian, despite the way his lungs protested. The stench of blood was heavy in his nose and he had no doubt he looked any better than his blood-spattered servant. But it was the dark stain that stretched across his chest that drew Ciel’s eye.
He’d told him to rest well once they were back, even though he knew the manor would fall into chaos without him.
He decided that however much he was accustomed to seeing Sebastian wearing blood like an old favorite cape, he hated seeing him wearing it when it was his own. He hated to see him hurt -- which was ridiculous and irrational, he knew. He would heal fast, he always did, he knew that.
But still, his stomach clenched uncomfortably every time he noticed the weary set of Sebastian's shoulders. It was Sebastian’s job to be his strength, to protect but the awkward way he was holding his body made something fierce spark and burn-- made Ciel feel like protecting him.
In all honesty, it was an asinine notion. He was a boy who had naught but intelligence and cold perseverance backed with wealth. How could he hope to aid a demon, before their contract was done? Beyond that, why did he feel such a strong desire to? It was silly.
“Young master…Please stop. For you to say such a thing…” Sebastian was talking about a storm and Ciel turned to look at him. He hoped they wouldn’t endure a storm, either. Or rather, he wanted them safe and healed completely before it broke over their heads. Storms had a tenacious way of finding them.
For now, the sun was rising and the rescue ship wasn’t far. Sebastian’s coat was maybe the only thing that didn’t smell completely like blood, a bonus to the way it felt extraordinarily good over his freezing body, over large and comfy.
He knew what would feel better. Blood smell be damned.
“We won't board right away,” he said, breaking the silence as he gazed out at the rescue ship. “If anyone sees us like this, especially Lizzy, we won’t be able to escape long enough to wash off the blood and…” he glanced at Sebastian. Did demons need their wounds treated? Would he need bandages or disinfectant? He was weak from exerting himself and surely the icy water couldn’t be good for such an open wound. Especially such a wound as Ciel had never seen his butler endure before...
Sebastian caught him looking and smiled that deprecating smile he had, eyes closed, the very one he’d seen only moments ago. “Is the young master worried on my account? I assure you there’s no need.”
Ciel was too tired to be flustered. “I’m not worried.”
His butler nodded. “So you would like to sneak onto the ship, then?”
“With all the commotion, it shouldn’t be hard for you to manage. Take me somewhere warm and isolated for a while. I want time enough to prepare the story of how we survived, at least, before facing everyone.”
“You’ve not prepared such a story already?” he inquired, and it was obviously meant to be teasing, meant to rile him.
Ciel was too tired to be riled, too. “No, I haven‘t. It will probably have something to do with unbelievably good luck, instead of a demon.” He shuddered, teeth clicking together before he clenched his jaw stubbornly. He’d been hoping the sun might be warm, but early dawn over the Atlantic was chilly and cruel, and he was already sick of shivering.
When he coughed and choked on it, Sebastian’s eyes widened.
“Pardon me, young master,” he murmured, and as quickly as that, Ciel was cradled against Sebastian’s chest and tucked in his lap. His coat was wrapped instantly and more perfectly snug around him, while Sebastian curled his body around his in a way that endeavored to shield from salty wind. His arms held him tightly, securely.
He'd known this would feel good, despite the blood smell thick in his nostrils, because this close he had no problem identifying Sebastian's scent, and that was more than enough to calm his agitated heart beat. It was familiar, the smell of some cool unnameable spice, sweet and clean.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he managed, even though his creaky fingers clutched Sebastian’s coat to his chin and he buried his face into his chest without waiting for an invitation, curling his own body impossibly close against Sebastian’s.
“Keeping you warm,” was all he said, knowing the game and how to play. If necessity could not be quoted, then Sebastian's sensibility as a butler would be called upon. There was simply no way such an esteemed butler could allow his young master to become ill. Barring all excuses, there lurked the acknowledgement they both carried in clenched fingers, that the contact was desired. But such things were never said aloud.
And so.
“You might do a better job of it,” Ciel said prickly, the bite suspiciously missing from his voice.
He wondered idly if it was backwards, for one’s main source of comfort to be a demon after your soul.
It probably was.
But After he’d known nothing but hatred. Nothing but hatred and Sebastian.
It wasn’t astonishing that after so long, after everything that had happened, After -- he’d become attached to his death. His demon, his protection, his life.
“My apologies,” Sebastian intoned and Ciel could hear the smile in his voice. He ignored that.
Instead, Ciel sunk into his butler, relaxed in the familiarity of it. He knew the shape and feel of this body as well as his own, was utterly at ease here. Sebastian was bigger, was able to wrap him up completely in his stupidly long limbs. It felt right, it felt good.
Sebastian had always been unnaturally warm, too. Though it sometimes irked Ciel, he couldn't be more grateful for it now, even if regaining the feeling he'd lost hurt. The ice of his bones was thawing, but for each new inch of sensation rewarded came the sting of pain, all in maddening sluggishness.
And yet.
For all the hurt there was one constant. These hands were gentle with him. This body warm and pliable for him. Demon or no, he was Ciel’s.
Occasionally a bare hand (gloves long since rendered beyond help) would stroke through his hair, fingers massaging his scalp, ruffling, sometimes simply cradling his head close. Ciel couldn’t decide if it was to dislodge the frost and small icicles or if because Sebastian knew it soothed him.
He would allow it for now, blame his almost certain hypothermia and drowsiness. It was a good excuse, just for now.
Like this, he could feel the rise and fall of Sebastian’s chest. It was irrational, he knew it was, but that was perhaps more of a comfort than anything else. They’d played his death as a trick before, but he’d never seen Sebastian like this and those cursed Shinigami were always reminding him how much he'd detest to lose Sebastian. No, he wouldn’t like it at all. For more than the loss of his knight, the loss of his chance at revenge.
They were reminders he hated.
Reminding him -- when he didn’t need the reminder at all -- what terror and fear was.
When he saw the Undertaker’s Death Scythe cutting through Sebastian he’d reached out as he fell, more than instinct, more than reflex, and he'd been completely unable to help the desperation of his grasping fingers, unable to stop his chest from expanding to scream his butler's name. He’d felt a vicious flare of anger -- but couldn't even decide at whom it was directed (Sebastian for letting himself be wounded? The Undertaker for hurting his butler? At himself for reacting the way he did?) -- he’d felt the sickening whoosh of falling, the pull of gravity, but more than anything he’d felt scared. After the fall, lying on top of his demon and covered in his blood, he’d been blind with heart stopping panic (Sebastian? Sebastian!). It was interesting how a name could hold so many words in it. Don’t leave me now, you’re not allowed. Open your eyes! I need you, Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian--
“Sebastian,” he murmured sleepily, embarrassingly lulled like this, “Let’s go, now.”
“Somewhere warm?” Sebastian asked.
“You’ve already taken care of that, idiot. The ship, and mind no one sees. I’m tired.” It was part truth, but the whole of it was that he wanted quiet and peace with his wounded butler.
He wanted to protect him as much as he was always being protected. When the Undertaker had stood in front of them, Death Scythe poised (so maybe I’ll just have you disappear) Ciel had tensed with fury, fueled by terror and something bright hot that seared everything in its path. He’d been close to spreading his arms and snarling ‘you can’t have my butler, he’s mine, no one takes him away from me, no one.’ Even if the Undertaker had meant to kill both of them, or only Sebastian, it hadn’t mattered. The fear had slithered away into foolish bravery, into the need to protect. To keep.
Miserable, the Undertaker had said, Sebastian made him miserable. He’d gotten it wrong, all wrong. Ciel may not have been the happy child he used to be -- he was already miserable After and he always would be, wouldn’t he -- but there was no doubt in his mind that he’d be despairingly lost (more than miserable) without Sebastian.
It was why, shifting gravity aside, sinking ships not withstanding, the necessity of being held forgotten, Ciel had clutched hard at Sebastian, held on tight and didn’t let go.
He was certain he’d never be more glad for a ship beginning to sink ever again.
Words stuck in his throat, but they would have made him feel stupid to utter them.
You’re alright though. You’re alright. You’ll never leave? I will never leave you and so we must protect each other. That is an order, Sebastian, an order…
Of course he wouldn’t say such nonsense aloud.
“Yes, my lord.” There was amusement there, but he held Ciel tighter as he stood in their little boat. (And what a sight they must make, child and demon, near drenched in blood, dark and weary, pressed together intimately, decapitated, rotting corpses floating all around).
At the moment, all he wanted was to stay close to Sebastian, listen to his demon heart beating against his ear. He wanted Sebastian to rest somewhere they wouldn’t be bothered and he didn’t ever want his warmth to leave.
Not now, not ever.