[flashback] sick day

[2goodarms]

A decade isn't enough time for illnesses to evolve from their pre-freeze state. So many of them start the same way they always have: with a chill. A lot of times, people don't even know they're sick. What's feeling a little colder than usual, needing to curl up a little tighter under your allotted blanket?

So Curtis doesn't know, for a good forty-eight hours, until the shivering doesn't quit even after Gilliam loans him two more blankets. As soon as Tanya feels his forehead, he's whisked away to the very back of the Tail, stumbling a little as the train heaves along the tracks. Everything's tilted just a little too far off-kilter, and weaves just a little too sharply whenever they go over a bump. He's grateful when he finally has a chance to sit down.

...Actually, maybe he'll lie down for a bit. Yeah. Just a couple minutes.

Comments

[hate_gettin_older]

"Can I sleep in here?"

He expects her to say no, but that's all right; it'll give him an extra edge to ask if he can come in and say goodnight to Curtis.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

His expectations are correct: "No," she says. "It's more likely you'll get sick the longer you're exposed."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar sighs dolefully. "All right," he says, "I'll just come in to say goodnight, then."

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Evie shakes her head, letting out another sigh, but doesn't argue. She whisks back the infirmary curtain to let Edgar inside.

[2goodarms]

Curtis is fast asleep, face coated in a sheen of sweat that's visible even under the dim lights; all three blankets have been wrapped tight around him like a cocoon, with only his head and the very tops of his shoulders visible.

[hate_gettin_older]

He hovers for a long moment just inside the curtain, eyes fixed on Curtis's face, tense in every muscle as though poised to break and run.

Something deep in the pit of his stomach is tight and shivering, and he wants to yell at the top of his lungs and hit something until Curtis is safe, but you can't hit a fever.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"Go ahead," Evie murmurs.

He's going to be okay.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Maybe ..."

Slowly, with deep reluctance: "Maybe I should just let him sleep, though."

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"You could say goodnight to him while he's sleeping," she suggests, softly.

If he wants.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar sucks on his lower lip for a long moment before he nods, and takes a few steps toward the bed.

"G'night, Curtis," he whispers. "You'll feel better soon, okay?"

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Curtis shifts in his sleep, but doesn't answer.



"Okay," says Evie, no louder. "You can come back to see him tomorrow morning, all right?"

[hate_gettin_older]

He nods again, without taking his eyes off Curtis's face.

And then turns without a word to Evie and pushes roughly through the curtain, leaving it swinging in his wake.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

In silence, Evie watches him go. She settles herself onto a free pallet near Curtis and watches him breathe.

There are other people in the tail who can watch after Edgar while he's this upset. Right now, she needs to watch after her patient.

[2goodarms]

Curtis sleeps fitfully, drifting in and out, alternately kicking off the blankets and tugging them close. The nausea spikes at a few points, but never gets bad enough to require use of the bowl Evie placed next to his bed. Guess that's a good thing.

In his dreams, the train melts like ice under a heat lamp, flooding the Tail, drowning him before he can reach Edgar. The Front escapes. They always escape. Wilford looks like nobody he can remember, and smiles as he drifts away on a boat constructed of corpses.

The next morning, Evie gently shakes him awake to break the news.

Half an hour later, leaning heavily on her shoulder, Curtis shuffles from the infirmary to make his way to head count.

[hate_gettin_older]

"-- scuse me, scuse me -- sorry, sir -- "

Edgar slept late this morning, with nobody on the bunk above to rouse him; he's thrashing into his too-large jacket while hurrying down the narrow aisle between bunks, making for the infirmary.

He gets to the row just in time to see Curtis and Evie emerge, and puts on a burst of speed.

[2goodarms]

Curtis looks even worse than last night: dark circles under his eyes accentuate the pallor of his skin, and even his smile is shaky when he conjures it up. "Hey, Edgar," he croaks once the kid's close enough. "How you doing?"

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar's smile is a good deal less convincing than Curtis's, but he keeps it fixed to the front of his face as best he can. "Me? I'm grand. How're you?"

He can't keep his eyes from darting to Evie, in worry.

[2goodarms]

"Been better," he says. One shoulder moves like he wants to shrug, but can't quite manage it. "But I'm here."

Evie's watching Curtis, her own concern more muted than Edgar's.

"The fuck's up with the new bullshit rules, huh?"

[hate_gettin_older]

"They're bullshit, is what the fuck's up with them."

He circles around to Curtis's far side, and without hesitation ducks under his free arm, coming up with Curtis's wrist resting on his shoulder.

[2goodarms]

"Evie said Mason's the one who told everybody?"

He leans some of his weight on Edgar, too tired to object, as they continue their slow plod to the front of the tail.

[hate_gettin_older]

"That's her, yeah."

Edgar screws up his face into a grimace of contempt, but doesn't quite dare spit.

[2goodarms]

"Bitch," he mutters. Evie shoots him a brief warning glance, but doesn't comment. "Bet she spent half the time licking Wilford's ass while she was at it."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar snickers, but takes enough warning from Evie's look to not reply.

People are forming up into rows already, hurrying past the slow-moving trio; some glance at Curtis in concern, in unease, in wary curiosity.

[2goodarms]

Curtis glances down at Edgar, shooting him another brief, crooked smile. The hand braced on Edgar's shoulder quivers with exertion, but he keeps plodding on.

They're still some yards away from the head count area when the guard's voice drifts back: "All right, line up."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Almost there," Edgar says encouragingly, and sets his jaw against the complaint starting in his shoulder; Curtis is heavy, even with Evie bracing his other side. "You just gotta stay on your feet till they count us."