2goodarms | [flashback] uneasy sleep

[flashback] uneasy sleep

Edgar outgrew his oil drum crib a while ago. Long enough that he's spent more time sleeping in Curtis's bed than he did in the crib; long enough that Curtis is used to squishing awkwardly to one side to make room for the warm weight on his other. It's not like anybody can get real breathing room back here anyway. What's losing a little more of it?

Because consensus moved through the Tail a while ago, unspoken but clear, that the full-sized cots and hammocks would only be given to people who couldn't fit anywhere else. That doesn't include Edgar yet -- and Edgar is Curtis's responsibility.

He drifted off to the usual sounds of the train rattling and Edgar breathing. The kid's not wheezing, he thought just before succumbing to sleep. Good. Don't want him catching whatever's going around the Tail lately.

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"It's okay," says Curtis, gentler now. He doesn't let go of Edgar. "You wanna come up here?"

He hesitates for a long moment.

And then nods, kicking free of the blanket and making for the ladder, not caring how the cold metal bites at his feet through his socks.

Curtis lets go, and scoots over to make more room for Edgar. As he does, he untangles his own blanket from the edges of the cot.

Once Edgar's safely on Curtis' bunk, he shakes out the blanket to wrap around the kid's shoulders. "Here," he murmurs.

The terror of the dream is still too fresh to allow for embarrassment. Edgar burrows in against Curtis's side, shivering, and buries his face in Curtis's shoulder.

He draws Edgar into a sideways hug, arm steady and secure around his shoulders.

"It's okay," he keeps murmuring. "It's okay."

He's trying hard not to cry. And he doesn't, not really: he sniffles a little and his eyes are hot and damp but that's not really crying, not like a little kid.

It's over. It was just a dream and it's over.

"Hey," he whispers. "I've still got some of my water and protein block. You want any?"

Edgar shakes his head. "'M okay."

"Okay."

He rubs Edgar's shoulder.

"Wanna talk about it at all?"

"There was a monster," he mutters. "Tearing the car open."

In the warm dark cave of Curtis's blanket, it's a lot harder to believe in monsters.

"It had claws made of ice and it tried to kill you and Grey."

Curtis sucks in a soft breath between his teeth.

"Oof," he murmurs. "Yeah, that's a bad one. I'm sorry, kiddo."

Another shudder runs through him. "Grey was screaming."

"Oh, man," he breathes, and this time, the sympathy has a touch of genuine shock to it.

Nobody has any idea why Grey doesn't talk. All the parts are there; Tanya checked, once, when Grey was younger. And it's not like he's got anything mentally wrong with him, either. He can do everything else the other kids can do, and then some.

He just never talks. Or screams, or cries, or makes any kind of noise at all, even when he's upset or scared.

Curtis can't imagine what it would've been like to hear it, even if only in a dream.

Edgar burrows a little closer, and doesn't say anything more.

He doesn't want to talk about that moment of suffocating horror at realizing that Curtis was gone, that those shining claws had come down and subtracted him from the world forever.

"Bad dreams suck," he whispers. "A lot. But this one's over, and nothing in it can hurt you."

"Yeah." His head moves fractionally against Curtis's shoulder. "Monsters aren't even real."

"Right," he confirms.

A beat.

"Plus, I mean, ice claws?" He scoffs, loftily. "We can just set it on fire and drink up the water when it melts."

That suggestion gets a tiny stifled giggle.

Excellent. Bad dreams, zero; Curtis, one.

He grins, and gives Edgar's shoulders a small squeeze.

A yawn overtakes the giggle, and leaves him blinking heavily.

He's pretty much forgotten what kept him awake before the nightmare. Curtis clearly isn't coughing now, or having any trouble breathing.

"Wanna try going back to sleep?" he asks.

He hesitates.

"Can I come back up if I have another bad dream?"

"Sure," he says. "Any time you want. Any reason."

If he didn't think he might confuse Edgar, Curtis would add, my door's always open.

"Kay."

He reaches up to wrap both skinny arms around Curtis's neck for a quick hug.

Curtis returns the hug, finishing it with a brisk rub between Edgar's shoulderblades.

"Feel better," he says as he lets go. "G'night."

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hate_gettin_older - 2015-11-30 02:58 (UTC) - Expand

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2goodarms - 2015-11-30 02:59 (UTC) - Expand

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