Disclaimer: I don't own Chronicles of Narnia or its associated affiliates. OC's are mine though.
Please Review. :)
A/N: A while back I had another story under the setting of Mutual Understanding. This story is not the same because of an unfortunate computer crash a few years back where I lost a lot of my documents. This however, is a fresh stab at an old concept. It might be a one shot, or a multi chapter fic. We will see.
Mutual Understanding
Pevensie's breath comes in spurts and gasps, the ragged raw edge dragging against the blackness of the night. The slats of the bunk are all I can see in the moonlight. The glow is subtle and shades everything in layers of grey.
Pevensie's breath hitches. It cuts against the low hum of everyone else's breathing.
The bunk is still. Sleep tugs at my lids, making my eyes heavy. A listless fog buzzes as I fade quietly into sleep, the sound of Pevensie's breathing floating on the edge of my consciousness.
My eyes flicker open seconds, minutes, or hours later. I suck cold air through locked teeth. The ragged breathing in my dream is real, my brothers concaved chest hitching and sputtering beneath the weight of crumbled brick and ancient, splintered beams. My fingers curl into the woollen sheets, knuckles whitening as I grip.
Blitzkrieg.
I slap chapped lips together against the frigid air. My tongue is heavy in my mouth. Being in the bottom bunk is bad. Its a claustrophobic nightmare of too many memories running together, too many memories of evenings spent shaking underground. Its the sporadic thrum of the damp brick quivering against my back. My mother's cold hands and thin smile. My father's thick fingers, plucking hymns out of an aging, brassy guitar. It all adds and crumbles.
The memories slice quickly, and a semblance of a moan echoes across the room. Rosenbaum shifts quickly in his bed.
I splay my hand across my chest, calming the tremors. We all take turns, fighting the nightmares.
I close my eyes softly, before shifting, sliding my body into a sitting position. Rolling back the sheets I peer up at the moonlight. Dull white cuts through the tempered glass.
A slight movement catches my eye. Pevensie is there, rigid, sitting. His legs lie crooked, half sprawled off his bunk and onto the floor. He's looking at the moonlight, head half cocked now in my direction. Traces of concern line his face. Traces of apathy leave it shuttered.
The slats of the next bunk cause the moonlight to play tricks, leaving his face half left in shadow. I pull my self forward with heavy limbs, only to realize that the light hits my face exactly the same. He's tired.
Pevensie is tired, and he's terrified.
I meet his gaze with a slight if pathetic grin.
If anything, this is awkward, children thrust together, not quite children anymore. Rosenbaum murmurs and whimpers. The spell of ignorance, of willfully ignoring each other through the nightmares cracks slightly.
I turn and lay back down into the covers, pulling the grey wool closer to my chin. Edmund Pevensie does the same. Rosenbaum's breath picks up, and Pevensie shifts.
Rosenbaum streaks up, hand to his chest. He lies himself purposefully back down, catching his breath, seemingly alone in the darkness.
Pevensie catches my gaze, grimaces, and reflects mutual understanding like the blade of a knife.