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Battat is...hard on people. His fellow Pippins when they don't pull their own weight, his partners when he feels that they're not living up to the Mike Standard while taking up the mantle- even that damn cat that comes around Mike's room sometimes just to mess with him isn't spared his wrath when he's in a mood.
More than any of them, Battat is hard on himself. Mentally, the first to punish and the last to forgive. Physically...well, that's not- it's not on purpose. He isn't starving himself because he thinks he doesn't deserve the meals. He isn't bleeding (usually), he isn't biting (on purpose), he knows better than to bring any harm to his King's-- to- to his boss's favorite employee. Mike, of course. Tenna's favorite employee, Mike.
Battat's poor self care is typically an accident. His neglect is due to a blasé attitude about keeping a tight schedule for eating and sleeping. He's used to eating when hungry, so when he works through lunch, the feeling fades and he doesn't remember to come back to it later. Nowadays, if he has time to work, he works. If he has time for other things in between, some come before others. Food comes after fascinating new idea, and fascinating new idea can fall higher or lower on the scale compared to Spend Time With Partners, depending heavily on what he's doing currently, the time of day, what day it is, whether Pluey is in a mood of his own, what song is playing, whether Jongler is in a mood of their own, and how much coffee he's had all day.
His immune system is working hard, locked in 24/7 to keep him upright, and sometimes, once in a great while, it falters. Like he's failing to keep up with himself. And gets knocked on his ass for days at a time as a result, hit with every status effect at once and hitting the floor.
He's in bed now, plagued by a stubborn fever hot enough that it leaves his vision out of focus when he does manage to pry his eyes open. He sees a shadow loom over him, and gentle claws smooth across his head just the way he likes. A warm and damp washcloth is taken away and replaced with a cold and damp washcloth. The relief nearly drops him into a fresh sleep.
He's so warm, and so heavy, and he whines softly as he shifts to try and see who's tending to him, before the ache in his bones forces him back into the pillows. There are usually only two or three healers and apprentice healers on the premises, and revive mints and dark candies are rare to come by. They're generally reserved for wounds, he knows this, but it always makes him feel warm and fuzzy to know he's worth the extra support. The extra love.
There are no mints or candies now. Just himself, feeling hot and cold at the same time, and exhausted but too tired to properly rest. The Pippins is weighed down, bundled in one thick duvet rather than the silks and fineries of the great big canopy bed. He must be in his own room this time. He feels so...alone. Things must be terribly dire in the kingdom if he's been left by himself in this state, typically being fawned over and kept company as he recovers from illness. He tries to shift again to a more comfortable position, imagining four hands tending to him, and holding him close where he's safe. He can't help the tears of frustration and sadness that suddenly appear when he gives up.
Even the door opening and closing gingerly outside the muffled fabrics of the royal canopy doesn't bring him any comfort. The King always calls to him. Always. It must be something big. When the ruby broke an arm, some years ago now, the King put everything on hold, even sending out the ambassador for the Club Kingdom to lie with him and coo over him.
"How's he holdin up?" A deeper voice, one he doesn't totally recognise.
Someone plays music that muffles the rest of the conversation, but if the Pippins really concentrates on the sax solo, he swears he understands a deeper meaning in the notes.
He closes his eyes, and lets the tears fall across his face and soak the pillow.
"Boss?" For a moment his heart flutters. A gentle touch finds his cheek, and then pulls away. "Well, da fever feels better'n dis morning."
He sniffles softly, and forces a clammy hand from under the blanket to wipe his eyes.
The music is so soft. It's never been a huge priority in the castle, but he loves it. It feels like it's just for him.
"All afternoon? He must be feelin real bad. Boss?" The familiar voice addresses him, the gentle hand now on his shoulder. "Hey. Batts."
His chest feels hollow when he opens his eyes again, and sees a stranger. He just wants his King. He doesn't want to be by himself anymore.
"Dere you are, buddy." The Zapper above him tilts their head the way they do when they're pleased. "You haven't eaten."
He blinks again. Wipes his eyes and tries again. He jerks upright suddenly, nearly crashing their heads together, and the room wavers around him for a moment as his brain struggles to keep up while being a step ahead of him. His vision settles into focus in a way that has his heart racing. Like it's too close, and too far away, too real when he doesn't know what real even is. A sharp note from a woodwind makes him flinch, but he allows the shadow nearby to brace him.
"You..." He looks around, dazed. This isn't his room. This isn't the royal chamber, with the personal fireplace and huge canopy. "Where...?"
"Oh, we's thought it was da best course'a action to keeps you in da Mike Room to rest. We called you in sick, and I been Mike while Plue takes care of yous." The shadow comes into focus beside the Zapper, a Shadowguy chirping at him as he kisses his forehead and replaces the cold compress. He doesn't have the energy to process how inappropriate that is of a royal healer- especially considering how incorrect the situation feels beyond that.
"B-but I....home..." He mumbles weakly.
"I'm sorry, boss." The Zapper hums, sitting on the edge of the nest. Bed. They're not supposed to be so casual, are they? The thought dissolves into nothing as Jongler goes on. "I knows you don't like anyone in your actual room, so we's been keepin an eye on you in here."
The Pippins....is Battat. Battat is his name. He has one of those now. He's in TV World. He hasn't seen his King in years.
He bursts into tears.
I-it wasn't- it's not my home," he blubbers helplessly, the hollow feeling in his chest crumbling inward and crushing his heart. "It's not home, it was never home-"
Jongler gently shushes him, helping Pluey lie him back down, and- oh Heaven, Pluey. Has Battat been disregarding him as the help all day? He would be sick, if his stomach wasn't as empty as the rest of him.
"I'm sorry," Jongler says softly. "Dat must be real confusin." They don't have any idea. How could they? Battat would rather waste away to nothing than tell them what a bad person he is, a bad partner, for wanting to go somewhere he doesn't belong, instead of the bedroom of a missing person. Instead of the arms of people who love him. He will never, for as long as he lives, let them find out that he lived his life in a castle, the lapdog of a King. The favored possession, the shiniest thing in the room. Not a sick boyfriend, but a- a fancy purse with a smudge on it.
"So dat means home is here, right? Wit us. We's always here for you, Batts." Jongler goes on, and Battat cries harder.
"Y-yeah."
He has a name here. He has Jongler and Pluey, the latter of which has crawled under the covers with him. Battat throws an arm around him and holds on tight. He doesn't need his King. The King. He's not Battat's, and- and Battat is not his. He has people who love him here, really love him.
"Let's get some soup into you, okays?"
"Can...can we s-sleep first?" Battat wipes his eyes on the blanket, but Pluey pushes a tissue into his face before he can get his nose on it. "Um. With you too?"
Jongler laughs, and it's a soft and beautiful sound that he loves. "Yeah, sure boss. And then you eat."
"And then I eat."
He doesn't belong to Jongler or Pluey. He belongs with them. He just has to remember that.