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Immortal	By : zoni Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 4535 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji. I do not make any money off of my fan fiction.

Chapter List
- 5
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Chapter Six

The cup of tea tumbles from my young master's hand, spilling tea across the edge of the bed and onto the tile floor. Something is wrong. In an instant, I am by his side as he pants and clutches at the front of his hospital gown. "Young master, what is wrong?"

"My... chest. Hurts. Can't breathe," he says, panting. He was fine only moments ago, but even as the words sound wrong as they leave his mouth. Rough. His heart is speeding up. The electronic heart monitor by the bed has not been disconnected. I can hear the sound of the beeping even above the quickened sound of his pulse.

I waste no time in pushing the button that will summon the nurse. A voice crinkles over the intercom that is built into the side of the bed. "How can I help you?"

"Mr. Randall is having difficulty breathing," I respond.

Less than a minute later, a nurse knocks briefly and then enters the room. At my side, my young master's eyes are wide as he struggles to breathe. The nurse quickly checks the monitors and then pulls out a stethoscope, pressing the end to his back and chest. In an instant, she has put a hand on my young master's shoulder and pushed him back. Her hand hits the controls on the bed, elevating the head of it even further so that he is sitting up as much as possible. "I'll be back momentarily." She looks directly at me. "Do not let him lay back down."

I nod even as I watch her leave the room. Her fast-paced walk does nothing to soothe the worry that I can feel as I listen to the sound of my master's heartbeat. His skin feels too warm against my own as I reach out and take his hand, trying to give him something else to focus on. He looks at me and I can see panic in his eyes even as he clings to the hospital gown, as if pulling it away would make it easier to breathe. I try to keep my own voice level as I tell him, "You must be calm, young master."

His hand tightens on mine as a rough cough shakes his entire body, the sound a crackling wheeze even as droplets of blood drip from his lips and onto the blankets. His eyes are wide in shock as he looks at the red droplets on his fingers as he touches his lips. Without warning, his entire body shakes and I can do nothing but watch in horror as he vomits blood. I can hear myself shouting. "Young master!"

As if on cue, the door to the hospital room opens and the nurse from before enters, followed by a doctor and four other nurses. In an instant, the room is crowded and filled with the urgent sounds of the medical team working. The doctor descends upon my young master, checking all of the same things that the nurse did previously. The others look at the monitors and push syringes of medication into the spare valves on the IV that is still attached to my master's arm. My young master's eyes are wide as he watches all of this, not really seeing any of it. He is staring straight at me, terrified as he mouths my name. I can feel a sharp pain in my chest as I look at him, but there is nothing that I can do. He is afraid. He is in pan. And there is nothing that I can do. I watch him helplessly, feeling trapped by my own uselessness. Fear, cold and cutting, slices through me as my eyes meet his. I tighten my hold on his hand. Then, I can hear myself shouting mindlessly as his eyes roll back into his head and his entire body begins shaking.

"Get him out of here!" I can hear someone shouting. All around me, the nurses and medical attendants are in a frenzy. I can feel myself being pushed back by two of them, but I do not want to leave my master's side. I do not want to let go of his hand. I must not let go of his hand, for I am certain as I never have been before that it will be the end if I leave him now. And yet, there at my side, one of the nurses is telling me that I can do nothing for him here. I will help him more by stepping aside and letting hem work. No matter how much I may fight it, no matter how much I may wish to save him, I know that they are right. I take in one last, long look at my young master and allow myself to be pushed out of the room.

Outside, I watch as the door shuts. There is nothing that I can do except to stand here and listen. I cannot sit. I cannot go and patiently wait as they work over my master. From inside of the room, I can hear every sound, every wheezing cough from my master and every practiced and true order from the doctor. This is the closest I have ever come to feeling terror, true horror at anything. Even when I knew he had been in an accident, it was not nearly as bad as holding his hand and watching the look on his face as he realized what was happening to him.

From nowhere, a nurse appears at my side. She has very clearly been sent by the medical team that is in his room. "Mr. Michaelis, let's go sit and talk for a moment."

"No." I do not want to leave this door. I do not wish to be any further from him than I absolutely must at this moment.

"I know that this is difficult, but we need to discuss what is happening with Frederick," she says, gently. "The doctor has already called for--"

From inside the room, I hear a sound that completely erases everything else in the world. The flat, low sine that indicates that the heart monitor has stopped registering a pulse. I may not have been in a hospital in recent years, but even I know that sound. His heart has stopped. "Young master!"

I take a step forward, unable to stop myself. There is a low electric buzz and I can hear a defibrillator charging and then discharging. A long moment passes and I can hear nothing but that flat electronic sound of the heart monitor. Then, the buzzing charge and another discharge. The sine dies, replaced by the slow and pulsing beep that tells me that his heart is beating once more.

A man in scrubs pushes past me, guiding a low, collapsible medical bed with straps. He opens the door to my young master's room and slides inside. At my side, the nurse does not react to either the man or the sounds coming from inside the room as the door swings open. She also has not remarked on my method of addressing my master. Looking at me, she says, "The doctor has already called for several tests, but they are getting ready to take him into surgery. This is an emergency, but we still need for you to sign a release."

"A release?"

"Yes, like the release for treatment that you signed when he was admitted to the hospital. This one, however, is for the surgery. They believe he has internal bleeding. You are his guardian, correct? Your name is the one listed on his file."

"Yes," I say without a second thought. In any other situation, I might have paused to wonder why my name was listed anywhere on his file. At this moment, it doesn't matter. All that I can think about is my young master and the feel of the warm connection still present at the back of my mind, slightly dimmed by his unconsciousness. The nurse presents me with a small electronic signature pad that is hooked to a computer on a rolling table. I sign quickly and then look at the nurse. "What is happening to him?"

She looks at me momentarily to see whether I actually asking for an answer, or simply a distraught parent looking for someone to talk to. My momentary panic has already faded, and I once again look every bit as serious and competent as I should. Deciding that I am genuinely asking and fully capable of dealing with the information, she replies. "Frederick's blood pressure dropped, and he has had a seizure. They believe that he may have hemorrhaged, which is the reason that they are taking him to surgery. For now, the best thing that you can do for him is to sit and pray, Mr. Michaelis."

The familiar words are a taunting reminder of the first night that I came to the hospital. That does nothing to stop me from shouting as the crash cart, followed by the doctor and nurses, comes out of the room with my young master on it. I get only a momentary glance of him before he is wheeled out of sight. Just seeing him makes my heart ache. For now, what he needs most is the help of a doctor. Not a demon. Once again, it seems that all I can do is wait.

Whatever expression is on my face right now, the nurse seems to feel as if I need some reassurance. "He has an excellent team taking care of him," she says. "Would you like to sit in the waiting room, or would you like to stay here once they get it cleaned up?"

"Waiting room," I tell her automatically. I don't want to stay in his hospital room. She leads me down the hallway and through several others before she shows me into a lounge, much different from the one that I was in the first night. I barely register the thought as she tells me that she will be back with information when possible. Sinking into a chair, I stare at the sage green wallpaper and focus on the fading feeling of my young master in the back of my mind. That simple pull is the only thing that tells me that he is alive, and even then I can barely feel it.

During the time that I served him before, my young master had never been truly seriously injured. Under my careful watch, and that of his other servants, he was kept blissfully safe. It would be untruthful to say that he was never injured. He was, and with some frequency. However, he had never been injured to this extent. I wonder if I would have been able to remain as stoic then, knowing that medicine at the time would not have been able to save him. The doctors now have some chance of healing, of saving and repairing the damage even if it is severe. A century ago, he would have died in my arms. Now, he may die in the arms of a stranger.

Hours pass, and I sit and continue to stare at the wall. My mind is exhausted and, for once, I prefer not to think. This changes only when I look up to see a woman in scrubs standing in the doorway. I stand as she walks over to me and shakes my hand. "Mr. Michaelis?"

"Yes."

"I'm the surgeon who worked on Frederick. He is out of surgery. They are cleaning him up and taking him back to his hospital room," she tells me.

"Tell me what happened." Something in the tone of her voice tells me that something has not gone as planned.

"Frederick has suffered a lot of blood loss. The internal bleeding that was repaired hemorrhaged, and there was inflammation in his lungs. His heart stopped, and we had to restart it. While we are uncertain of the exact cause, which may be tied in with the blood loss, Frederick experienced a series of seizures both before he reached my operating room and when he was being brought in." She pauses, giving me a moment to digest the information. "Frederick was unconscious for a very long portion of time. He is currently unresponsive. There is some concern that a blood clot may be involved. There is also a possibility, however slim, of stroke. I have ordered a series of scans to check and see if that is the case. When the results are back, I will come and discuss them with you."

"If there is a blood clot, what would the treatment be?"

"Ordinarily, we would treat with blood thinners or surgery, depending on the severity and location of the clot. However, due to the difficulties with internal bleeding, our options would be more limited," she says. "However, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Seizures are not that uncommon in children who are undergoing trauma, and your boy has definitely handled the lion's share. He's a very strong young man."

"Thank you." He is. I have never appreciated that fact so much as I have over the past week. "When can I see him?"

She glances up at the clock that hangs forlornly on the wall. "He should be in his room now. The tests should be back by tomorrow morning. I'll come in and talk to you then."

I nod and shake her hand before walking directly past her to get to my young master's side. The door to the room is slightly ajar as the last of the nurses finish up their work. As I walk inside, they nod to me and collect their things. In a moment, I am alone with him once more. Looking around the room, you could not tell what had happened only a few hours ago

. Before the emergency, he had been talking with me and making use of his talent for sarcasm. Now, he looks completely different. An additional monitor has been added, with more leads connected to him. In the quiet of the room, the only things that I can hear are his shallow breathing and the electronic beeping of the equipment that he is still hooked to. I sit down by the bed, reaching out and taking his right hand into my own hands.

At the other end of our connection, I can still feel him, but the feeling is wrong. Faded, muted and dimmed. He is still there, but he does not know that I am here. Not even on a subconscious level. It does not matter to me that he looks like a mess. His skin is yellow and waxy, his hair is plastered to his scalp. He smells of iodine and a dozen other chemical concoctions, all of them revolting. It does not matter. The only thing that I want is to see him open his eyes. It feels as if my entire world revolves around that and only that.

What was the word that the doctor used? Unresponsive. I wonder what she wasn't telling me. Much like I have done countless times for my young master, doctors give precisely as much information as needed. Never more. His hand is so small and even more pale than my own. He still looks the same. All of features are the same, and my young master has always been a fair sight to look at. However, I cannot shake the sense that something is missing or wrong. For now, the only thing that I can do is sit here and wait for the doctor to come and discuss the results of the tests with me.

Sunlight trails in the windows of the hospital when the doctor walks into the room. It is nearly noon and nothing has changed. My young master lies quietly sleeping in his hospital bed. The doctor from last night walks into the room and I nod to acknowledge her, not bothering to let go of my master's hand. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Mr. Michaelis," she says. Her voice doesn't match the words. "I have received the results from the scans and chemical tests that were performed yesterday, and we should discuss the results."

"All right," I say. "What did you find out?"

She pulls up a secondary chair and sits near me, close enough that she is able to look at me directly but still far enough away to give me space. Hospitality. Kindness. These are not good signs. "This is very difficult for me to tell you, Mr. Michaelis.

"When Frederick was brought into my O.R. yesterday, he had already been unconscious for some time, even though he was still seizing. This was probably due to the loss of blood. However, we decided to look for other problems. We ran a number of tests, both with and without contrast, to see if we could see a blood clot that might have been responsible for part of this. However, we were unable to locate one."

"So, that means that there was no blood clot?" I ask. I am listening to her words, but my eyes have drifted down to my young master.

"It's possible that there was a clot in his lungs which was dislodged or broken up by his body. Due to the chest pain and difficulty breathing, combined with his high heart rate and the low fever that he was running yesterday, we suspected a pulmonary embolism. A clot in the lungs. As the clot was not found, there is nothing I can really do on that front." She pauses for a moment, looking down at my young master. "However, my major concern, regardless of the other difficulties that we encountered, was brain damage. Due to the seizures, the difficulty breathing and his heart stopping, Frederick's brain was without oxygen for a time. At the moment, Frederick is in a vegetative state." "Vegetative state?" I ask, my eyes turn from my young master to the doctor in an instant.

She looks as if she is about to start choosing her words very carefully. "We ran a PET scan to look at his brain activity and response to stimulation. He has very little brain activity. When we look at the brain, there are different levels of activity, in different areas of the brain, that we would expect to see from people who are awake, asleep or who are in a coma. Even people who are in a coma dream and think, on some level. They respond to outside stimulus. Frederick shows no quantifiable response to outside stimulus of any variety. Only very barely on an instinctual level."

"Are you saying that he is brain dead?" I ask, disbelieving. I can feel a deep sense of fear settling into my heart.

"No," she responds. "With brain death, all functions cease. He would not be able to breathe unassisted. However, at the moment, his body is running on auto-pilot. His heart beats and his lungs move, but he is not there. I am sorry, Mr. Michaelis."

"Will he recover?" I am not certain that I actually want to hear the answer to my own question. And yet, I still have to know. At the moment, I am uncertain of what I am feeling. Fear? Anger? There is not a word for this emotion, as though the very edges of my mind are crumbling.

"As a doctor, I am supposed to give you hope while still remaining realistic. In ordinary situations, I would tell you that we would need to wait and see if there is any improvement." She looks at my young master once again, her eyes uncertain. "But, very honestly, there is... very little chance of recovery. I have been in this line of work for thirty years and I have seen this situation more than once. We can wait. We can see. However, based on my own experiences, I do not believe that recovery is likely or imminent. It would take a miracle.

"I will leave the two of you alone for a while and collect some paperwork. My shift ends in an hour. While you don't need to think about it just now, it might be a good idea to consider making arrangements for his long term care. While our hospital is well equipped, there are facilities that are much better equipped to care for someone in his condition. We can, of course, keep him here in case he does recover. It would be my recommendation, though, to go ahead and consider other options. We can discuss this later. I am sorry." She stands and shakes my hand once more before turning and exiting the room.

Unresponsive. Vegetative state. Is this what humans feel like when they are overwhelmed? I am capable of handling nearly any situation that I might come up against. Even for a demon, I would consider myself to be highly competent. For once, I am in a position where I do not know what I should do. I run my thumb over the soft skin of my young master's hand in my own. He looks as though he is just sleeping. In a way, I suppose, he is. A sleep without dreams, one that he might never wake from. There are all manner of monitors and tubes attached to him. The other arm has an IV attached and there are several tubs snaking under his hospital gown. I do not know their function or purpose. Even so, I understand quite clearly that my master is not able to function on his own any longer.

This is not a situation that I have anticipated being in. I am uncertain of what to do, even as I can feel my heart breaking in my chest as I study his face. I have sworn eternal service to my young master, to never leave his side and to follow him wherever he might be. Wherever he is now, he is not hear. I have no way or means to follow him to that dark place. He is not a normal child. He will never age. He will never die a natural death. His injuries are not severe enough to kill him, and the doctors will make certain that his body will continue to function in a way that will sustain life. Unconscious for eternity. What kind of existence is that?

It hurts me to see him like this. He is helpless in a way that he has never been before. I move closer to the bed and reach up, tracing the lines of his face with my fingertips once more. I can feel an uneasy sense of loss settling into my heart as I realize the options that I am contemplating. Irreverent and against tall of the promises that I have made him, even through these past few days.

Nearly a week has passed since I first found my master once more inside of that coffee shop. Unexpectedly and foolishly, I had followed him. The way that I felt when I first saw him standing in the doorway of my apartment still surprises me. I had never thought that, in all of my long life, one small human boy might be enough to cause me to wish to give up my own desires and ambitions simply to follow him. When he had told me that he, too, had cared more than he should I knew that my life had no meaning beyond him. I have never loved anything the way that I love him, and there is nothing that I can do to bring my young master back to me.

How many times have I come close to losing him? A bullet, a knife or some pervert who wanted to destroy him in both body and soul. All of these things have threatened to take him away from me. Each time, I have come to his aid. How easy it has been to tear them apart, to break them and destroy them so completely. To save him.

In the beginning, he had been an amusement for me. In my life, I have found myself bored by the paltry exploits of humans. The goals and lives of my own kind are even more tedious, offering no amusement or interest. Though he was small and broken, I had offered him myself in exchange for his soul. A pitiable price for service until the end of his short life. At that time, I could never have imagined what would happen. I kept him safe, though not out of any real care for him. And yet now, I have difficulty recalling that emotionless promise. Even I could not say exactly at what point it changed, at what point I began to want him to live. And now that I have come so close to being able to allow him that, and to serve at his side, something so insignificant as this will steal him away from me. My young master. The only master that I will ever want or desire in any sense of the word.

I can still feel him through the bond that our contract affords us. At the back of my mind, there is warmth and light. It is barely there. Muted and dimmed, it is nothing more than the dying coals of a fire that once burned bright. This is how it felt while he was in surgery. I had assumed that it was the medication affecting him. Instead, it would seem that something outside of our control has managed to do far worse than our contract or I ever could.

A few days ago, my young master told me something that ways very heavily on my mind even as I lift his hand and hold it to my chest. I can still hear him saying the words as if he had spoken them only moments ago. He had said, 'My entire existence should have been forfeit the moment that my revenge was complete. No, before that. The moment you and I agreed to the contract. I finished my half of that. Taking my soul was your part. I never wanted to live this way for this long.'

He looks incredibly fragile. The weight of the words that he told me echo in my mind and they tell me everything that I need to know. I do not believe that my young master would have wanted to exist like this, either. He is so beautiful, even now. I wish that I could have told him that. Though I know he cannot hear me, I whisper, "I will be by your side, no matter what may happen, until the very end."

My heart feels like it is tearing into pieces as I do what I know that I must. Very slowly, I lean over the bed and press my lips to his own. Against my mouth, I can feel the warmth of his hand the pulse of the heartbeat. However, the wonderful warmth that made my young master who he was is gone. Still, I allow myself a moment to simply feel him. Then, I breathe. There is a quiet moment before the body shudders as the soul detaches itself and flows into me. I could not tell you how his soul tasted, for it was beyond description. The taste matters little when it feels as if your entire world is being pulled into darkness. That vague, warm light at the back of my mind goes dark as I pull away from his body.

Without its soul, the body will die quickly. The heart stops beating even as I pull away from him and stand, stepping away from the bed. Nurses come into the room. A doctor. I barely notice. They can try, but nothing that they do will revive the empty husk that was once my young master. The body has no meaning to me without him inside of it. I have done the thing that I so recently promised not to do. I have devoured his soul. Pain, deep and interminable, hovers just beneath the numb surface of my mind as I realize this. Turning, I walk out of the room and out of the hospital.

Outside, the day is cold. I am aware of the hospital building behind me. The sounds of cars on the streets tell me that there is still traffic, even now. Though there is a light breeze, the sky is clear enough. Even with all of the buildings around me, the sky seems to go on forever. Eternity. That is a very long span of time, and one that I am almost guaranteed to see out. I am immortal and never-ending. Unless I am killed, by one of the few things that are capable of such a thing, my life will never reach a natural end. This is not something that I have ever really pondered or cared about, but never before have I broken a promise to a master. What does one do when they have sworn themselves to someone who no longer exists?

I never put the glove back onto my left hand after showing my master the mark of our contract. Looking at it now, the skin is pale and flawless. There are no black lines marking the skin there any longer. Every trace of the contract that I had with my young master is gone. Memories and belongings are all that I have left of him. The photograph, my old uniform. If I so desired, I could acquire his rings. I still have the loose leaf tea that he enjoyed so much. They are petty little trinkets of no real value to someone such as myself. It is sentimental. Foolish. Ridiculous. Precious. One master for all eternity. It is a strange thing for a demon to want. Unheard of and bordering on idiotic, even for myself. Then again, I have never been truly typical of my kind. I had desired nothing more than to be by his side until the very end, and so I had been.

There are many emotions that demons do not feel. We have the same emotional range as humans, perhaps even greater. However, when we do feel, we do so with a depth that few humans could appreciate. This capability, this weakness, is something that humans cannot comprehend. There are very few times when I have allowed my emotions to effect the way that I have lived. After all, I know better than to become attached. I know better than to become overly involved. I know that I must keep my distance, because this pain that is cutting into me will stay with me for far longer than any mortal man will ever live.

I do not know what I will do now. I know that I will live. For me, there are few things that have ever managed to stay with me for longer than the span of time it takes for me to find some new distraction. I can count the number of them on the fingers of a single hand. Of these things, it is remarkable that one of them has managed to occupy my mind for more than one hundred and twenty years. The one thing that I will always remember is my time in the service of Ciel Phantomhive, the master that I loved.

---

Author's Note:The end. I want to thank everyone that has stuck with Immortal through all six chapters. This story really has been a delight to work on. I will be very sad to no longer be able to continue working on it. I would like to offer my thanks to Natalie R. and Alex M. Natalie is a nurse and Alex is an ER doc. They both helped me out with the medical problems and situations in this story. They even put up with my really weird questions! You guys are awesome.

Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think. Also, keep an eye out for my new Seb/Ciel fic that will be coming soon - Memento Mori!
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Immortal