[flashback] in the bleak midwinter long ago

[2goodarms]

The materials started coming in from the Front last week, a few days after the protein blocks: boards, risers, gym mats, army blankets, rolls of fabric that might have been curtains or carpeting. They've been putting together bunks, stacks of them, under the direction of the armed guards.

By unspoken common consensus, the very end of the last car gets curtained off for Gilliam and the others recovering from their voluntary amputation, and the first makeshift pallets are carried back to them.

The work shift is over for the day, and protein blocks are being distributed. Under a guard's watchful eye, one person -- a different one each day -- is tapped to bring food to those who can't walk out to get it for themselves.

Today it's Curtis.

The cloth pulled tight around his right arm used to be a bandana. The wound beneath it split open again last night; he hasn't been able to stop picking at it. Before, a cut like this might've meant stitches. Now it just means pain biting his arm as he cradles the protein blocks to his chest.

Curtis doesn't look up. Nobody looks at him. They part like the Red Sea when he moves, like the train cleaving through the ice. Even in this small space, they find room to get out of the way.

They still wonder if he's got a knife.

He stops in front of the curtains, exchanging an uneasy glance with the guard.

Comments

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"Show him you're supposed to eat it," suggests Tanya. "Don't just tell him."

[2goodarms]

Curtis shakes his head, but...what the hell. He breaks off a tiny piece of the blob, shows it to Edgar, then pops it into his mouth.

"Mmm," he says weakly, trying not to gag. Once he's swallowed: "See? It's food."

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"Try putting it in his mouth," Gilliam suggests, for all the world as though kibitzing in a chess game.

Tanya nods, and looks expectant.

[2goodarms]

By this point, Curtis' sighs may as well be punctuation.

He pulls off more of the blob. "Your turn," he says to Edgar. "Open up. Aaaaah."

"Aaaaaah," Edgar mimics, and swiftly, Curtis seizes the moment and crams the protein into his mouth.

[hate_gettin_older]

The aaah cuts off with a startled-sounding mmph!, and Edgar's face creases in a puzzled frown. His mouth works a couple of times, gumming the strange new thing, trying to decide whether or not he approves of this development.

And then comes a clearly visible moment when he decides that yes, this is food and he will eat it.

[2goodarms]

Oh, thank god.

Curtis sags with relief. Okay. He can get the baby to eat. That's one thing down.

"Guess it tastes better when you don't know other shit exists," he mutters. Once Edgar's swallowed the first mouthful, he offers him a second one.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"It's not that bad," Gilliam murmurs, eyes alight as he watches Edgar lean forward in anticipation of the next mouthful.

[2goodarms]

Curtis pulls a face, but otherwise doesn't deign to respond.

He doesn't recognize me. Maybe that means Edgar won't know about the other things that existed before now, either; that he's already forgotten his mother, screaming, and her blood all over the floor. A little more of the fear dims.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar chews industriously for a little while, swallows, and looks to Curtis in open expectation of more.

(Gilliam is silently watching Curtis's face.)

[2goodarms]

"Guess we're gonna have to start asking for a protein block of your very own, huh," he says to Edgar as he hands over another piece. "Probably last you a couple days."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Gnomnb," Edgar agrees with his mouth full.

"Will you tell the guard?" Gilliam asks him. "They must have some way of keeping count."

[2goodarms]

He nods. "Yeah. If they'll listen."

There's only a little bit of protein block in his hand now; once Edgar's swallowed, he gives him the last piece and wipes his hands on his pants. It doesn't do a lot except smear the grime around.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Oh, wait, don't --" comes Gilliam's voice in mild alarm, overlapping Tanya's "Ah dammit --"

Edgar has apparently decided to try squishing the last bit of protein block into his fuzzy hair, and (to judge by his laughter) is delighted with the results.

[2goodarms]

"Oh, fuck's sake, Edgar -- "

Curtis grabs for both of the baby's hands this time.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar protests blurrily, wriggling his messy fingers. He wasn't finished!

[2goodarms]

"No," he says firmly. "Food isn't a toy. The only thing you do with food is eat it. Okay?"

[hate_gettin_older]

"Buh," Edgar grumbles.

"Yeah, good luck convincing any kid on that one," Tanya says, amused.

[2goodarms]

"When the hell do they grow out of that?"

Because if -- if -- him feeding Edgar is gonna be a regular thing, it'd be nice to know how long he has to put up with it.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Tanya gives him a dry look. "Depends on the baby. And on the mama. Least another couple years."

[2goodarms]

Curtis can't stifle his wince at and on the mama. The small spell that Edgar cast breaks, reminding him again where he is, why he's there.

Silently, after a moment's consideration, Curtis lets go of Edgar's hands. His fingers go back to the cloth on his arm -- but not to rub at it this time.

Instead, with a second wince, he unties the bandana, and reaches for Edgar with the cleanest part of it he can find.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Tanya grimaces, but doesn't stop him. There's no way to get anything cleaner; there's barely enough water for everyone to drink.

(The guards have told them there'll be more water in time. They haven't said how much more, or how much time. Nobody's optimistic.)

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar, meanwhile, doesn't appear to mind being wiped off with a grimy bandana. Or not much, anyway; he squinches up his face in what looks like perplexity, but doesn't whine or cry.

[2goodarms]

At least it'll get some of the goop off his fingers and out of his hair.

"Yeah, I know," he mutters anyway in response to that face. "Maybe we'll get lucky and we'll all get baths soon, huh?"

How hard can it be to get extra water? They're surrounded by snow. Surely Wilford can get his shit together and, who knows, grab some of it as the train rolls by.

(That coal under his ribs flares brighter again.)

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"Hope so," mutters Tanya. "Bad enough we got that sorry excuse for a latrine without all the babies gettin' diaper rash."

[2goodarms]

Curtis pauses midway through wiping down Edgar's fingers. The slowly dawning horror on his face is nowhere near as severe as before, but it's a bit panicky nonetheless.

Diapers. He didn't even think about diapers. And Edgar's so young that there's no way he's toilet-trained yet.