Chapter Text
"You really don't have to do all this rubbish. It's just a scratch."
Robert huffed indignantly from the fussing. His chin rested on one hand while the other arm was extended to his butler, Billings, who was currently tending to the aforementioned injury.
It had been acquired from Robert trying to scale a large elm tree earlier. He had been hoping one of the maids would pass by and- upon seeing him- rush back inside to retrieve his father. It was meant as a good lark if his father came out and spotted him.
Robert grinned and reached for another branch while imagining the man’s face turning bright red. Imagining his ordinarily eloquent father reduced to a fuming, sputtering buffoon as he demanded his son get down.
Unfortunately, it was not Robert Lanyon’s lucky day.
Instead, while climbing and thinking about this, Billings happened to be walking past. He had looked up the moment the boy shrieked after loosing his footing, plummeting two stories.
Robert felt something rake into his forearm on the way down, but it didn’t register over the raw horror. After hitting the ground and not dying, he just laid there for a few moments, gasping while the blood pounded in his ears. Billings had ran faster than Robert thought possible of an old man to check on him. Astonishingly, nothing turned out to be broken. The tumble had only left him with a bad scoring and a bruised ego. Not the best case scenario, but also not the worst.
Now back inside the manor’s sunroom, Billings was pissing Robert off. He was getting worked up over nothing, finishing up tweezing bark out of the wound.
He put the tweezers down and wet a small washcloth, patting it clean and shaking his head at the protesting.
"I really do, young master. It's quite a sizable 'scratch' that could easily become infected. Your father would have my head if I didn't dress it properly."
“It’s not even-“
Robert grit his teeth and hissed as the butler accidentally rubbed the cloth against the open cut.
Billings immediately corrected himself by going slower, but still eyed him pointedly.
“Mhm..”
The boy blushed and looked away.
"Whatever! My father couldn't care less about how I’m treated. In fact, I'm sure he'll give me a lecture later about the stress I put you under."
He heard as Billings sighed and the washcloth was removed. Robert shuddered as something slimy replaced it, looking back to see the butler slathering a healing salve over his arm.
"Don't say that. You know Master Hastie cares deeply about your wellbeing."
Robert snorted incredulously, forgetting for a moment about the disgusting goop on his skin, "Does he now?"
Billings just nodded as he moved on to the bandages.
The boy rolled his eyes, muttering, “Then he’s sure got a funny way of showing it. Ignoring your son for most of his life doesn't exactly sound loving."
He stayed silent for a minute stewing on it. Then, to Billings' annoyance, threw his hands up in exasperation.
"And the times he actually does talk to me, it never fails to loop back to how I’m some kind of disappointment! It’s ridiculous!”
Robert sat back and put his injured arm down again, the bandages now too loose. Billings grumbled and began rewrapping them.
“Your father does care, you’re just too young to understand how right now.”
Then under his breath, “And too entitled..”
It was meant to be a quiet remark, but not it was not quiet enough. It fizzled through Robert's ear into his brain and set his teeth on edge.
“Oh that’s rich! So while he gets to scrutinize everything I do, I shouldn’t throw a fit? Because it’ll all make sense in a few years!”
Billings flinched very subtly, realizing the boy had heard him. He bit his tongue and instead focused on finishing securing the tightened bandages. Robert’s voice was rising to a shrill pitch.
“Yeah, because what do I know? After all, I’m just a foolish child! My father is free to inform me on how much of a goddamn failure I am as a son, and I should just shut the hell up and take it!”
The dressings were done, but Robert continued.
"I'm not nearly as good as the other boys! I screw up constantly- or I'm too loud, or too sensitive, or too boring.. I should get a hobby, pick out a nice career early. Something. But when I try to, it's never enough."
He now curled into himself on the chair. Billings wasn't sure whether to stay or leave. He'd definitely struck a nerve, but wasn't sure how or if he should apologize. Robert's voice was shaky as he muttered the last words into his knees.
“It doesn’t matter how many studies I take up. It doesn’t matter how hard I try. I will never be good enough for him.”
Billings stayed silent for a moment, then, "You're not a failure, young master.."
Robert lifted his head, giving a glare that could kill instantly. His cheeks were slightly damp.
"Leave me the hell alone, old man.."
"But-"
"I SAID GET OUT."
At that, the butler flinched. He'd never heard the boy's voice so full of hatred before. Billings gave a small nod, and quickly shuffled out of the room. A passing maid asked if Robert was alright, and the butler simply told her that he should not be disturbed.
...
Robert continued sulking in the quiet, hugging his knees like a child. Billings was right, he was acting like a spoiled brat. The only problem was Robert didn't know how to fix that. His little outburst set loose a whole slew of thoughts and emotions. And he couldn't control any of them. Maybe that's precisely why he felt all the worse. Robert had yet to find one thing in his life to control.
...
At some point, Robert must've fallen asleep. There was a horrid crook in his neck, and when he raised his head back, he felt some sort of scratchy cloth. Looking behind himself, he found that it was one of their tweed throws. He rolled his eyes and removed it from his back. Robert began to get up, but a teacup on the small table in front of him caught his eye.
"What the.."
In touching it, he found that it was lukewarm. Despite this, he felt compelled to take a sip.
"Hm!"
It was peppermint, his favorite. He was shocked. The servants typically only served them black tea, as per instruction of his father. It was supposedly a much more refined drink to have.
What was even stranger, the tea contained a dash of cream. It was exactly how Robert preferred his teas.
He looked around, then plucked the cup and saucer from the table. Robert slunk to back to his room, hiding the dishes the whole way. He preferred to not think about who exactly was behind the gesture or why.