Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

Author's Note: Well, I did say (or had Lucy say, in any case) that Peter and Edmund usually fuss at each other when one of them is sick, sooo…::impish grin:: Actually, in all honesty, although this can fit into the universe I created for Nighttime Demons (with some solid inspiration from elecktrum) I just wanted to have an older Peter interact with an extremely young Edmund. This is the brainchild (well, bit of brotherly fluff and angst) of that muse. Please enjoy!

Rating:PG/T

Summary: Peter's ignored an illness too long, and it leads to some unintended, though not unexpected, consequences…(Book and Moviebased, Non-Slash)

"Speech"

/Personal Thoughts/

Dream (italics)

Fever Dreams

By Sentimental Star

It is a strange dream, to be sure. He's never had one quite like it. The memories and fragments of memories have coalesced in the oddest form possible and still, somehow, are in a frighteningly logical order, as if the dream were a memory itself.

Granted the beach is the beach at Cair Paravel—with a few features he knows are from a beach they visited when they were very young, in England many years before the War ever claimed their father. And Edmund (funny how Edmund always seems to appear in these odd dreams of his) is a great deal younger than he'd ever been in Narnia—while Peter has become thirteen again.

But still…he is almost certain…

IOIOIOIOIOI

They'd gone holidaying to the beach a lot when they were younger. They haven't since the War began and Narnia. He's quite certain Edmund isn't supposed to be this young—they had no Lord Protector or anything of the sort in Narnia, and his little brother is far too young to actually rule a country, but not so young that he can't imagine it.

It's almost sunset, and Mum has since caught, warmed, and dried the girls. Oddly enough, they are both older than Edmund, and yet, are still far younger than they're supposed to be. But he knows they've been to Narnia, and so, is at an utter loss to explain this.

Ed is still among the rocks, splashing and searching through the tide pools. He has always loved water, and his older brother distinctly remembers how difficult it always was to get him to come away.

But high tide is coming in soon, and the rocks are no place for a four-not-quite-five-year-old to be.

"Ed…Ed, come on! It's time to go home!"

From somewhere on the top of the rocks, a giggle floats down to him. The frustrating thing is, he can't see him. He hears him, he knows his brother is there, but he can't see him.

"Pete, you've got to…"

He whips around. That's not the younger version of his brother, the one currently holding center stage in his dream. "Ed!?" he cries.

The sea roars in his ears. There's a blast of cold spray that sends him shivering. Yet another young giggle reaches him, sounding nearer here, and farther there.

"Peter, Peter, up here!"

And there, finally, on the top of one of the larger boulders near their makeshift slide, a very young Edmund waving his little arms excitedly to his very much older brother.

Lion alive, he looks so small…

He holds open a large towel, gesturing as best he can with it, encouraging Edmund to join him on the much lower, much safer ground.

"Come down here, Ed! Mum's promised ice cream after supper. Come now, time to go!"

There's another giggle and Edmund darts away, back behind the rocks and out of his sight. "Come and catch me!"

"Ed--!"

"Pete, please! I need…"

Bloody hell, Edmund sounds like he's crying…

Another laughing call reaches him from the rocks. "Catch me, Peter!"

He no longer knows who he's calling for now.

"Edmund!"

"I'm here, Peter…"

"Up here, Peter!"

The little rascal. He's at the very top of the slide, giggling and waving away.

Behind him, sea water, sea spray, and foam slam against the rocks and fly up. Edmund loses his footing.

"ED!" cried as his little brother topples and falls…straight into their slide.

A shriek of childish laughter, and an extremely wet, extremely delighted bundle comes tumbling to a stop at the bottom of the slide.

He's forgotten how to breathe, but now he releases a heavy breath and takes in a deep lungful of air. Shakily rolling his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips in spite of everything, he holds out the towel again and unconsciously infuses all the love and relief he is feeling at this moment in his voice: "Come on, you imp. In here. It's time to go. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to build a nest like a gull and sleep here tonight. Perhaps I should let you, hmm? Since you love the water so much…"

Edmund, laughing at the thought of anything other than a bird building a nest, rolls to his feet and scampers across the sand to him.

Caught up in his waiting arms and wrapped snugly in the thick warmth of the towel, the four-year-old giggles sharply and buries his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

He lets out a long sigh and murmurs affectionately against the dark hair, "My imp…Lion how I love you."

IOIOIOIOIOI

When he blinks unusually heavy eyelids open after the dream ends, it is perhaps because of it that he is unsurprised to find a worried Edmund, back to his proper age of seventeen, hovering over him.

Instantly, overwhelming relief floods his younger brother's face. "Praise the Lion," Edmund breathes, "you're going to be all right."

Baffled, not entirely sure this isn't some strange extension of his dream, Peter opens his mouth to ask what the younger man means…and promptly groans. Suddenly very aware of the aching in his limbs and the literal sea of sweat covering his body, he moans, bringing a hand up to his flushed face, "Aslan's Mane, Ed, what happened? Urgh. I feel like Oreius stomped on me…"

It wins a desperate snort of laughter from his brother. "Nearly. And while I doubt very much Oreius would have appreciated the sentiment…" the beloved face tightens and a cool, wet cloth brushes tenderly over Peter's forehead and cheeks, "You came home from Uni sick, Peter. This is the most coherent you've been in over two days."

"Sick?" Peter mutters, unconsciously leaning into his little brother's hand. "I don't remember being sick."

"That's because you were a bloody idiot and ignored it too long," Edmund snaps tightly. Peter knows that tone; it means the seventeen-year-old is at the end of his endurance and on the verge of breaking down.

"I'm sorry?" he murmurs helplessly, uncertain of what has passed and still more than slightly fuzzy on the details surrounding it.

His younger brother lets out a long, tremulous sigh. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. But damn it, Pete…! Take care of yourself next time, since I'm not there to do it for you!"

Of all the things Peter loves about his brother, this is one of the things he loves the most—Edmund's ability to give, give, and give, and still be snarky about it in the meantime.

It also tells Peter a little more about the situation surrounding his apparent illness. He presses his palm to Edmund's cheek (ignoring how his brother's eyes widen and tear for the moment), before murmuring, "I collapsed on you," remarked knowingly, "didn't I?"

"Quite literally," Edmund mutters thickly. "As soon as you walked through the door, actually."

Peter cups the back of his brother's neck in his free hand and gently urges him down. Edmund frowns petulantly and resists, but the older boy is insistent and really, the seventeen-year-old isn't trying that hard. The inevitable result is Edmund pressed up against Peter's side and neck, half-lying on top of his twenty-year-old brother.

Turning to brush a kiss against Edmund's already damp cheek, Peter lightly squeezes the slim shoulders under his hands…and frowns. "Ed, you're burning up. I can feel it through your shirt."

"It's nowhere near as bad as yours was," whispered, as he pushes his hot forehead into the crook of Peter's neck.

"Close enough," the older boy grumbles, rubbing his back. "You selfless ass…knowing you, you've spent every waking hour in this exact same spot."

"Actually," observed with incorrigible humor, however thick the voice that speaks it is, "as Lu will tell you, I've spent every sleeping hour here, as well."

Peter gives a strangled moan. "Did you eat at least?"

"Depends on your definition of 'eat.'"

"Lion's Mane, Ed!"

Edmund winces, but makes no move to leave his brother's arms.

Peter starts muttering fiercely into his hair, "You're sick, you blinking idiot. I hate it when you're sick!"

"I'm fine," Edmund murmurs tiredly.

"You're sick."

"I'm fine."

"Edmund!"

The younger man raises his head to glare hazily up at his brother. "Pete, frankly, I don't care. You're home," he buries his face against his brother's neck. "That's all that matters."

Peter blames the sudden wetness of his cheeks on his fever.

The End