Work Text:
“Astre,” Ciel starts, holding five fingers up. “I will give you until I get to one, and then-”
“Shut up!” His brother screams, flailing his arms in an effort to push him away. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Ciel grabs his arms in firm but gentle hands. His brother continues to squirm.
“Five.” His brother tries to kick his shin but misses by several inches. “Four.” Astre screeches bloody murder, wrenching one of his arms free, and takes a swipe at Ciel’s face. Again, he misses, though not by much. “Three.” Ciel lets his brother go, and he tumbles to the ground. Astre glares at him.
“I hate you!”
“Two.” His brother tries and fails to spit on him. The saliva slides pathetically down his brother’s chin. Ciel stands imposingly above him, giving him a moment to come to his senses.
“I. Hate. You! Both of you!” He cranes his neck to Undertaker who watches the scene with both immense entertainment and slight worry. Still, he remains silent, letting Ciel deal with his much younger brother on his own terms.
“One.” He scoops his brother up, which despite his own small, malnourished stature is a lot easier now that his brother is five-years-old again and not fourteen like him. He holds him close to his chest, keeping his arms contained. He continues to screech, but Ciel doesn’t let that perturb him.
This is his duty as the eldest son and older brother.
A few days earlier he had been in the middle of another blood transfusion when Polaris ushered in his brother-his very much not almost-fourteen-years-old brother-with a note from Sebastian that basically read that he couldn’t take care of Astre like this, and that he doesn’t fully understand why this happened but he would find a way to reverse it. In the meantime, despite having all his facilities, he would be much safer under his and Undertaker’s protection rather than facing all the external threats that plague the Phantomhive name alone.
His brother hadn’t been happy and had been even less happy when Ciel immediately decided to force him into some of their childhood clothes that survived the fire by being stored at the townhouse. Thankfully, he had had the foresight to have it brought over weeks ago.
He hadn’t needed to talk to Undertaker to know the man was thinking the same thing. If they can manipulate Astre into being his normal, five-year-old self, then it would be much easier to dissolve the contract when the time comes. Especially if Sebastian can’t find a way to reverse it.
Which had been a lot harder than either of them thought.
Astre had been a kind, gentle, thoughtful, and most importantly, very sickly child. But his sickness hadn’t seemed to act up once since he was brought there, even after screaming at the top of his lungs for “Sebastian.” Which Ciel is always quick to reprimand him with a pop to his mouth or a swat to his bottom. Not that it ever makes him stop doing it.
Ciel makes it to their old nursery. His brother whimpers in his arms, tuckered out by the many tantrums he threw all day long. He had to do a blood transfusion earlier in the day, so he can only imagine the vitriol that Undertaker had spewed at him.
“I hate….you….” His breathing has started to become deeper, and his words are slurred with sleep. He fights to keep his eyes open, even as Ciel lays him down in his old bed and climbs in next to him.
With a practiced hand he strokes his brother’s hair, tucking stray pieces behind his ears. Astre blinks sluggishly up at him, probably trying to comprehend where he is and why Ciel is there.
“Shhhh….sleep.”
“Cece,” he whines, placing a soft hand atop Ciel’s.
He’s taken back by the abruptness of his brother’s change of mood. He struggles to find the words to respond. This, this is the little brother he remembers. The one that he recalls fondly in his memories.
“Yeah?” Cece had been his childhood nickname between them. It had started when his brother couldn’t pronounce his name when they were toddlers, but it persisted until a tutor harshly reprimanded his brother for not using Ciel’s proper name. Hearing it again makes his barely beating heart feel warm.
“Cece, I want Cece.”
“I’m here, love. I’m here.” He tries to nuzzle his face into his brother’s hair, but he is roughly shoved back with way more force than he thought possible for a sickly boy of five to possess.
“Nooo, Cece. Not Cece.” Astre shakes his head furiously, eyes going wide. “Not Ciel. You’re not Ciel. Ciel is….they took Ciel.” His breathing picks up, and it’s all Ciel can do to remain calm, holding his brother as close as he allows until the memory passes. His body shakes and he gags and Ciel knows it’s only because of his brother’s stubbornness to not eat anything that he hadn’t thrown up.
“Shhhh….shush…..everything’s alright. I’m Ciel. I’m here. I’m alright.”
His brother clings to him, tears drying on his rosy cheeks, and not for the first time, he wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.
“Cece,” Astre says, voice timid in a way that Ciel only recalls from before his death.
“Yes?”
“When are mother and father coming home?”
Ciel feels his throat tighten, and he has to force himself to say something. “Soon, baby boy, soon.”
“I miss ‘em, Cece.” His voice trembles, and Ciel can see his hands squeeze the quilt just a little bit tighter.
“Me too, Astre. Me too.”
“And Cece?”
Instead of answering Ciel brushes some hair away from his brother’s forehead. Astre leans into his hand. His forehead is burning hot.
It’s one thing after another, isn’t it?
“I don’t feel so good.”
“Try to get some rest,” Ciel says, making a mental note to have the Undertaker take a look at Astre after his nap. “You might feel better after a nap.”
“But I really don’t feel good.”
“Shhh…rest. Sh, sh, no tears now.” He wipes his brother’s face with the back of his hand. Astre sniffles, leaning further into Ciel’s personal space.
“Don’t leave,” his brother begs, hiccupping.
“I won’t. I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Ciel stays there, resting alongside his sickly, little brother. Memories of old washing over him as he recalls days past of doing the exact same thing. Only back then they had been the exact same (sickness aside, of course).
“Sweet dreams, little brother,” Ciel says, kissing Astre’s sweaty forehead. His brother, despite the pain and the confusion, smiles, already half-asleep.