[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]

"I wouldn't mind keeping him in here to sleep," Gilliam starts, and looks surprised when Tanya cuts him off.

"You already been holding him longer than you should, Gilliam. It's not good for your leg, you could start bleeding again --"

(There are no fresh stains on the ragged burlap blanket that covers Gilliam from the waist down, but a close look would show that he's already bled on it at least once.)

[2goodarms]

Curtis' eyes widen. He's still bleeding this long after what happened?

The decision comes so fast that he doesn't quite have time to separate the individual thoughts, like the cars of a train blurring past: Gilliam's hurt, Curtis isn't as badly hurt as him, he gave them so much already, it's not like this can even come close to the thanks Gilliam deserves but god what else can he do --

Silently, he holds out both arms to Edgar.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar blinks up at him, then breaks into a delighted smile and leans toward him, stretching his own arms out in turn.

[2goodarms]

Tanya's watching the two of them very closely. Curtis does his best to ignore it.

"Come on, kid," he says; the hoarseness, increased by so much talking already, scratches his throat even harder. "Gilliam's probably gotta sleep, too."

How is he going to carry Edgar without dropping him? How will he get him up onto one of the beds when they're all strung together by a network of ladders?

Start with the easy part: bracing himself for the incoming pain, Curtis lifts Edgar out of Gilliam's lap to settle him into his own.

[hate_gettin_older]

With another yawn, Edgar drops his head against Curtis's shoulder and shoves half of his fist into his mouth.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"See if you can get a lower bunk," Tanya says quietly. "And sit with him while he's asleep."

[2goodarms]

Curtis nods. Doesn't speak for a moment.



"Can you tell them I'm not going to hurt him?"

He's imagining the faces as he walks out of the back room. Imagining the knives he knows they still have.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

A beat; her eyes dwell on his face.

"Yeah," she says eventually. "And you can tell 'em yourself, too. But you're the one who's gotta show 'em."

[2goodarms]

A second nod, more uncertain. He stifles a wince as he shifts his hold on Edgar.

Gingerly, one inch at a time, he clambers to his feet, moving with the stiffness of someone cradling an enormous diamond. As foul as the protein blocks taste, at least they've helped him get his strength back; he exhales an inaudible sign of relief when Edgar doesn't threaten to slip.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Gilliam looks up at him, and his smile is exhausted but very nearly as sweet as Edgar's.

"You'll be all right," he murmurs.

[2goodarms]

Yeah, I don't know about that, he thinks. "You too," he mumbles instead, for lack of anything else to say.

Out of everybody in this room, Edgar's probably got the best shot of being all right. He doesn't remember what happened; all he knows is that some scrawny malnourished teenager's feeding him, letting him gnaw his hand, and keeping him warm as he falls asleep. Pretty good life, Curtis guesses, when you're that young.

God knows if it's going to stay that way -- especially with Curtis suddenly in charge -- but maybe he can keep it going a little longer.