It hurts.
He just wants to close his eyes
He just wants to sleep.
A Butler's work is never done. A Butler doesn't sleep.
A Demon's work is never done. A Demon doesn't need to sleep.
But he's so tired.
He wants to sleep.
Blood is soaking the wooden floors, and his undershirt is sticking to his skin.
Each breath, as unnecessary as they may be, sends agony racing through him. This only causes him to breathe faster; a vicious cycle.
His eyes drift shut.
The Young Master is straddling him. He's yelling, calling the name he'd given him.
"Sebastian? Hey!"
A pain rushes through his contract mark, the tetragram beginning to soak his white gloves with blood.
Blast. He'd just changed those, too. The Young Master insisted his gloves be clean, even after fighting zombies.
He groans.
A gloved hand shoots up, grabbing the child by the shoulder, trying to stop him from shaking him, from causing him more pain.
He can't sleep yet. The Young Master is in danger.
"You're loud... I can hear you just fine."