Gray Around the Gills
Reader x Sebastian Solace
Commission Info
I am so happy to present a Sebastian Solace fic requested by the lovely @rinzydings! After a regular shop encounter, you can't help but notice that something isn't right with the shopkeeper, and you have to do a little persuasion to convince him to rest for just a moment.
Content Warning for sickness
———
You step into the room, now mostly dry from the chase through the underwater maintenance tunnels of the Hadal Blacksite. It shouldn’t surprise you that there are new and horrific monsters every time you take a step into the facility in search of the crystal, and yet, you couldn’t hide away your horror as you fought to escape the gaping jaws of the crocodile-like beast snapping at your feet.
A wave of ease, however, washes over you upon spying the open vent, waiting inconspicuously for an expendable. The signal for a breath of air. A tiny respite in a world crushed by great depths and monstrosities. Sure, there’s a chance to snag some goodies that will help you along in your endeavors, but that’s not what you’re really looking forward to.
The shopkeeper is quite charming, when he wants to be.
Slipping into the narrow space, you crawl, glad that your pants have dried enough to not leave you uncomfortable, squishing the fabric with every stride you take. Peering into the shop, the weak light of the space casts shadows more than anything. The small but tall room is crowded with crates and cargo boxes, and a table holding scattered documents and bottled DNA twisting in double helixes.
Until the lure dangling from Sebastian’s head flares on. You contain a smile at the sight of his face now doused in the warm yellow glow. In a place full of enemies, it’s nice to have a friend.
“Hello, nice to see you again,” he croaks in a voice that grates like gravel upon sandpaper—not his usual slippery but smooth chords, “Looking for something? A code breacher or maybe a blacklight?”
You peer up at him as you straighten, slipping a little further into the shop. The saboteur is intimidating, to say the least. He boasts a towering height with a dizzying length of a tail shimmering with scales. His flukes which so often rest against the wall are now slumped to the ground. His third arm, bandaged and soaked with old blood, hangs limply at his side. He even stoops a little, hunched in a manner that is not befitting the sharp-tongued rogue.
Your eyes narrow as your gaze roams over his person. His eyes glow a weaker light. The cyan is almost extinguished, and his fanged smile barely reaches the corner of his lips.
“Some batteries would do, thanks.” You step towards his tail. The pouches of goods are less robust than you often find upon him. How very odd.
A mere glance is all you spare his offerings before returning to peer up at him. His face is less blue-gray and more gray, pallid with an unmistakable weakness. A tremor works down his body to the very end of his serpentine body, causing him to clench his hands tightly until the claws almost threaten to puncture his own skin.
Oh no.
“Are you interested in buying something or just wasting my time?” he asks, his growl deepening into an animalistic warning.
You return to his tail, frowning as a budding concern begins to bloom within you.
“Have any medkits?” You ask, not because you really need one, but you wonder if it would have any medicine in it for him.
A sharp and wet cough leaves him. He ducks his head, as if he could hide it. Just as quickly, he snaps back, his mouth stretched wider than before.
“Third row, second pouch.”
You find it. Carefully unzipping the bag, you pull out the red and white box. A greater frown falls upon your mouth. You’ve opened a medkit a dozen times over. There’s no cough syrup in here, and if there were, Sebastian would have already taken it.
Stuffing the medkit away, you snag a few batteries. Along the way, you steal more glances at the saboteur. There’s dark, almost ghostly, circles hanging below his eyes. His breath comes out nasally, whistling slightly with congestion. Even his finned-ears don’t wiggle quite so much. The blossom of concern in the pit of your belly matures into a full bouquet of suspicion.
The batteries go into your pocket, but you stop to stare up at Sebastian. His gaze meets you with steel and malice, and pure, unadulterated exhaustion. He peels his lip back in a snarl. You, however, beat him to the punch.
“You look like crap.”
He blinks, then laughs. Ominous and dark, echoing through the shop. You remain unswayed from your position. You wonder if the slickness upon his brow is from treading water recently or due to a feverish sweat.
“I feel great,” he half chuckles, half snarls. “I could even show you how great I’m doing—a demonstration, just for you.”
He leans forward, imperious as he looms above you with ease. His eyes darken slightly, shrinking into pinpricks for pupils. A dangerous sign. You study his face, feet still planted firmly before him.
“No need. You’ve already pushed yourself too far.” You hum, musing out loud.
His eyes flash back to their full, glowing hues before he scowls. He leans back into his shady corner. His body nearly sinks to the floor. Another harsh cough tears through him and he shakes his head, his dark hair falling over his face to conceal him for the briefest of moments before he stares you down again.
You might as well try to make a fish fly. He’s not going to confess any weakness to you, and why would he? He’s stayed alive this long because he knows to not give away any vulnerabilities, to not let his guard down.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to. He could let you stand by while he gets some shut-eye. If he doesn’t sleep, his immune system has to be weakened—whatever system he has going on there.
You sigh, and decide a whole new angle to get at the saboteur.
“Alright, I have what I need.” You turn slowly away, an exaggerated walk that earns a snort of derision from Sebastian. “I guess I won’t offer any peace and quiet, you clearly have it handled. It’s not like a little rest would take care of anything going on, no, not at all.”
“Are you done yet?” his snarl reverberates throughout the small room. You even jump slightly.
Kneeling down before the vent, you continue, “It’s not like I’m doing anything super important. Sure, there’s a mission to complete, but what’s the rush? I’m in no hurry, but I can tell when I’m not wanted and there’s simply nothing for me to give to such a big, impenetrable guy like you.”
His silence is oppressive, like a weight upon glass, waiting for the first cracks to spiderweb out.
Mustering all of your control, you forlornly proclaim, “Well, alright, since you don’t need me, I’ll be on my way. It’s a shame though. A real shame when someone looks like they need to rest and they simply won’t.”
You duck down into the vent. You crawl at a leisure stroll, waiting, wishing, for that voice to call you back.
He’s not that stubborn is he?
You make it halfway, the metal banging with every press of your hands and knees.
Oh. Oh no.
You start to slow down, in fear, and one last shred of hope.
A groan rings out, quiet and gruff.
“Get back here.”
You zip on out of the vent as if it were filled with flames and smoke, leaping to your feet. There’s not a moment to waste as you approach him. He stares down at you, a strange, apprehensive cocktail of emotions pouring over his expression.
“Wow, I wasn’t sure I made my point there,” you chuckle.
His glare spears through you, but you’re too pleased at finally wearing him down. He must truly be sick to give in so fast.
“I thought you promised peace and quiet.” He shudders again. His shoulders hunker low and his third arm all but drops to his side.
“Yeah, that’s coming right up.” You reach him, careful to not touch, but still taking in what he’s enduring. It doesn’t look great. “How are you feeling?”
“As good as I look.” Another groan rocks through him before a coughing fit takes hold. His entire frame rattles with each expulsion. You watch his tail jerk upon the spasms before it passes, and he rubs his sleeve against his face, smearing something shining along the dark fabric.
He lifts his head, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His expression darkens as his lure dims.
“I just need to close my eyes for a moment. One second of rest.”
“You can take as long as you need.” You step a little closer, tucked underneath him without an ounce of fear. “It’s okay, Sebastian. I’ll stay.”
It is impossible to untangle the threads of emotion darting across his features, but it is only for an instant. He sinks a little closer. The faint scent of fish brushes your senses, followed by a familiar musk and touch of leather.
“Fine,” he mutters, “but if you so much as think about backstabbing me, you’ll regret ever being born.”
“Understood,” you answer softly. You glance over his chest and the length of his body. “You’re not hurt, are you? I mean, besides your arm.”
His third hand flexes weakly. He shakes his head. The lure flashes around the shop, highlighting how bare and concrete and uncomfortable the space is.
“It’s just a cold. I’ll sleep it off then it’s right back to selling those idiots everything they need.” He coughs once, and it sounds as if something dislodges before he swallows it down.
“Sure.” You look around. There’s not much for you to take as a comfortable spot, but you settle near the desk, against the wall that Sebastian usually occupies when he welcomes you to his shop.
Sinking down, you take out the few items you bought as well as additional research you gathered along the way. Once you have those set down, you look up to Sebastian.
You almost laugh at how heavy his eyelids hang. He nearly sways, his hands no longer clasp in a polite manner but clinging weakly to each other.
“Come on,” you gesture with a hand, “you need to rest.”
He says nothing else as he lowers himself down. You wait for him to make himself comfortable, perhaps curling upon himself and using his tail like a couch, but instead, his head finds your lap. It takes all the power within you to not react. The weight sinks comfortably on your thighs. His eyes flutter close. Carefully, he lays, his tail falling flat to the ground as the rest of him coils tightly along the wall.
He growls, the vibrations sinking into your stomach.
“If you breathe a word of this to anyone—”
“Dismemberment and no one finding the pieces. Will you get some rest now?”
He huffs, his fin-ear flicking. But you’re glad to find the fight is over. The lure upon his brow slowly dims before winking out entirely. The darkness is less unknown, less claustrophobic with Sebastian on your lap. Now it’s warm and comforting, and the two of you hide away together, away from the prying eyes and the beasts.
You watch the cyan glow of his eyes flutter, before ultimately sinking down into oblivion. His one hand slumps down, catching upon your leg where it rests gently, claws curled around the meat of your limb. As if handling a stray that will spook and run should you make sudden movement, you lay a hand upon his shoulder.
His body jumps slightly. The smallest minutiae of a twitch. Then, he is breathing deeply, clogged and nasally, but a gentle sound at last.
You lower your shoulders.
A small burning in your heart is glad. You’re glad to be here with him. You’re relieved that he’s not wounded or suffering some side effect from the genetic mutations he’s endured. It tumbles down upon you that it could be so much worse. But it’s not.
It’s just a cold. He wouldn’t have gotten sick if he would have rested for just a little bit, but how could he in a place like this?
You lift your hand gingerly. As if touching a sleeping lion, you stroke his head. The sleekness of his raven hair is greasy with sweat and watery-endeavors, but it is comforting in the humanness of it. Soft and worn and dirtied.
You continue to gently pet his head while he slumbers. His body shudders again in his sleep, and occasionally, his tail tenses, almost twisting as if to spring up and away, but he remains upon the floor. In tiny increments, you shift so you can cradle him closer. He is so much bigger than you, but you try to keep your arm around him while stroking his head. A heat radiates from his body. Then the next moment, he shivers.
He’s safe. He trusts you. You will not betray him.
The radio blares upon the desk. Your hand all but whips, snagging the device as Sebastian gives a slight jump. You hold down the button on the walkie-talkie, breathless.
But Sebastian only groans once before slumping once more. His head lays heavy in your lap. You continue to stroke his hair as you hold down the button and mutter into the radio.
“Painter, it’s me. Sorry, Sebastian is sleeping. He’s not feeling too hot. Can you keep it down a little?”
You lift the button and pray that Painter understands the severity of the situation. He would, out of everyone else here. Sebastian made him a lot of promises.
“Oh.” The line is soft, crackling through the radio waves. “He’s finally sleeping? I told him he should rest. He doesn’t listen to me.”
You laugh quietly, hiding your mouth behind your arm. Regaining your composure, you watch Sebastian’s fin-ear droop deeper in his sleep. He must be even worse than you thought to not pop up and immediately try to figure out the source of the noise.
“Yeah, he doesn’t usually listen to me either.”
“Thanks… for staying with him.” Painter’s voice murmurs quietly through the darkness of the shop. “I tried to help him but he kept telling me no, and I didn’t know what to do.”
You quietly curse Sebastian. Can’t the guy let anyone do something for him? Besides right now, at this very moment.
“Hey, you did what you could. I don’t know if you know this, but Sebastian is pretty bull-headed.”
The sound on the other end of the radio is quiet. You rub the button of the radio, uncertain if his worry is only expanding.
Painter's voice comes through, low but clear, “Which is impressive, since he’s part fish.”
“It sure is,” you murmur, stroking Sebastian’s head. He probably would have killed you by now if he were awake to hear it.
“Okay, I’ll keep a lookout for you two as well,” he says, determined. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, Painter,” you whisper then put the radio aside.
Sighing softly, you sink back against the wall. Sebastian lulls against you. His hair falls against your hand, and you gently stroke it away from him to get a closer look at his face. His cheeks have sunken slightly. Is he eating well or is he simply that sickly? You don’t like the thought of Sebastian growing weaker, unwilling to tell anyone. But you have him now.
You rest your arm around him, tucked upon his side. His tailfin twitches slightly.
He’s safe.
