The Boys of England (Black Butler One Shots)

I Was Driving

(Modern Claude x Reader)

I don't know if you'll like this one. Hopefully you do.

~§~

Your knee bounced up and down impatiently as you sat uncomfortably in the blue, plastic chair.

I was driving.

I was driving.

I was driving.

The clock ticked obnoxiously loud, as if every agonizing second proceeded to get slower with the next click.

I

Was

Driving.

You weren't going that fast, you weren't breaking any laws.

Or we're you?

Doesn't matter, you were still driving.

They keep saying it wasn't your fault, that you were just as much a victim.

I was the criminal here.

I was driving.

Another tick.

The door across the room opened without speed, and all you saw, in the blur of tears, was a long finger, motioning for you to enter.

Was I still driving?

No, no the thing beneath you wasn't a pedal, it was stiff, murky, carpet. You had to be walking.

I don't deserve to be walking.

Maybe if you had just slammed on the brakes harder. Maybe if you hadn't convinced him to come with you to see that new horror movie. Maybe if you wasn't driving...

But I was.

I was driving.

Another wooden door opened, this time possibly slowly, and your eyes gazed at the dreadful sight.

He looked so pathetic, a hideous white uniform draped over his pale skin. His usually bright golden eyes were closed, but his breathe was steady. A bandage over his throat made you nauseous, and your hand gripped the unknown woman's arm for support.

"He needs surgery to remove the glass in his throat, it's very serious."

I was driving.

"It could damage his vocal cords, he may not be able to speak after this."

His silence would be my fault.

"But he kept mumbling something about needing girl who had the most beautiful face in the whole crowd, and wore skinny jeans and a blood-splattered tee. I assumed it was you."

You should've been the one needing a guy with a stern face, but a secretly sweet attitude, who would be telling the nurses that they were doing everything wrong. You should've been the one laying down in the bland room, a light cloth stained with blood around your neck. You should've been the one in the passenger's seat. You should've been the one who got the most impact from the truck.

I should've been him.

But all you did was nod, letting go of her so she could go, closing the door behind her. The sound made his eyelids twitch, causing them to open, and meet yours.

"Hey..." A raspy, low, whisper, escaped between his bruised lips.

They should've been mine.

"C-Claude... I... I'm so..." Another tear slipped from your eyes, down your cheek, and splattered to the ground.

"Shh... Come here..." He almost smiled as you walked over, head lowered, trying not to choke on your effortless sobs.

I was driving.

"It was your turn, you know. His light was red, yours was green."

I was still driving.

"You realize I need surgery..."

Yeah, because I was driving.

"And I might not be able to whisper sweet nothings into your ear ever again."

You wanted to smack him, even as you blushed. How could he still be himself and coldly flirt with you when his life to death ratio was favoring the side you didn't want to win?

"But I might be able to whisper to you and stick around you forever. ____, I need you."

No, no you most certainly do not.

"I can get through this."

Of course you can, you're Claude. You're too profession and strict to lose to a stupid shard of melted and cooled sand.

"But I can't win this damned fight without you. I need you here, for me."

"Claude, I couldn't possibly-"

"Please? Stay in the waiting room. I'm always better when you're around."

Obviously.

"Promise me...?" His round, yellowy eyes stared up into mine, and for a second you thought he, who never does, would cry.

"I promise."

You never kept promises.

You didn't have to promise.

He knew You would stay.

That happens when you love someone who gets hurt.

You stay to the end.

~•~

"______...?" A young nurse opened the cursed door once again. You lifted your head, eyelids drooping. You had spent the last two nights in the hospital; you probably looked like a homeless woman in your state.

People stared as you stood to follow the woman, and you took a glance at the clock.

Was it 3 a.m. or p.m.?

Or did that say 4?

You followed her back down the murky carpeted hall, back into the room the made your heart crack, and you took in a sharp breath.

The door creaked open to reveal two men peering at you.

One was a doctor.

And one was a boy who you had made your first kept promise with.

And they were both smiling.