Henry said, "Я буду стрелять."
Howie stared at him. "What?"
"It means 'I'll shoot.' 'Я прикончу тебя' means 'I'll shoot you,'" Henry explained. "So, if you hear that, you should probably be careful."
Howie blinked and then held up a finger. "Okay, one: Where did ya learn that?" He held up a second finger. "Two: Do ya actually expect me ta remember that gibb'rish?"
"It's Russian, not gibberish!" Henry chuckled. "I mean, it'll take a while, but I'm sure you'll learn! Also, I'm taking that Russian class in school. But I looked up some important stuff myself. 'Я прикончу тебя' is just an important one I thought I'd need to understand. For the future."
Howie raised an eyebrow. "How many Russians are we goin' ta encounter at yer school? Outside of yer teacher. Ah don't think she has a gun, though."
The younger one grinned. "I'll know it if she does!"
Whatever Howie was about to say was drowned out by a hard wail over the speakers. Henry squealed and clapped his hands over his ears. He heard something over the speakers, but with his hands over his ears he couldn't understand. Howie grabbed Henry's forearm, tearing his hand away from his ear. "Henry!"
Henry let go of himself and looked up at Howie. Howie expression was hard, forced almost. Howie ran to the end of the cafeteria, where a few other Toppats gathered. "Henry, Ah need ya ta come with me. When Ah tell ya to hide, do it and don't you dare move until Ah come back." He paused before a man in an icy blue hat. "Sal?"
Sal Malone grabbed a rifle and tossed it to Howie, who ran down one of the halls Henry rarely visited. Henry tried to speak, but any words that could have thought about being formed were choked out of existence. So, instead, he kept up with Howie. Howie skidded to a stop and turned to what looked to be a plain wall. Henry yelped as he collided with the teen. Howie stumbled, but quickly righted himself and took out his security card. A spotlight glared down at them, turned green upon skimming over the card, and then turned off. A section of the wall hissed, sunk in, and then slid into the rest of the wall. Inside was a space four times the size of their bedroom. Henry had no time to observe his new surroundings before Howie shoved him inside.
Henry yelped and spun around. Howie pointed to the room. "Stay here 'til Ah get back. Hide, don't say a fuckin' word." With that, he leaned in, stamped a button with his wrist, and jumped back. The door shut.
Howie's footsteps immediately went silent. Henry, shivering, looked around. The room was more spacious than he previously assumed as he found more area beyond the door's sight. Some chairs lined the walls as well as a few medical, mobile beds. A large medicine cabinet was to one corner as well as a pantry. Henry opened the door, finding plenty of water bottles and canned food.
Henry closed the cabinet and suddenly found himself in a chair, too numb and confused to understand how or why he got there.
Distantly, he heard the sound of footsteps. Henry stopped breathing. However, the footsteps didn't stop and quickly faded.
He gulped and curled up into himself, trembling too hard to have a sturdy grip on himself. "Stay here 'til Ah get back. Hide, don't say a fuckin' word." Howie's words echoed in his mind. Well, don't say anything. Have that covered. Words couldn't even form in his mind, much less escape through his throat.
…
Was time moving?
…
Henry fell over as his world jerked to the side. Although he fell across the seat, a sudden pain gripped his chest. Henry grabbed at his chest, fingernails digging into his shirt. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. No, no, no, no, no, no! No one was going to help him. God, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. Someone please come in, someone please come in, oh no, no, no, no!
Henry gasped for air, but it was as if he was underwater. Nothing that went into his lungs alleviated the pain. He was dying. That was it. He was going to die. He was going to die. He couldn't breathe. His chest hurt. No one was going to help him. He was alone. He was so alone.
The world jolted, bucking him off the seats.
Henry choked on a wail. Shivering and sweating and cold and in pain, Henry curled up into himself. Centuries passed as Henry vainly tried to struggle against whatever force was oh so slowly killing him.
Someone please help, please help, please help, please–
There was a loud hiss and the door opened.
"Henry!"
Through a fog, he could hear the voice–feminine and sharp and loud.
The woman knelt beside him. "Henry, can you hear me?"
Henry coughed and shuddered, wrapping his arms tighter around his chest.
"Henry, it's okay. I know you're scared, but it's over. You're alive and okay." Her voice was soft and gentle and slow. "Just breathe. Take a breath in. Can you do that? Just breathe in."
"C-c-can't–"
"You can. Loosen your arms. If you press on your chest, it's harder to breathe. Let go, Henry, and breathe."
Henry didn't want to do as she said, his chest still hurt. But, with further encouragement, he relaxed his grip on himself. There! Yes, there! He gasped and coughed. He followed her instruction on how to breathe. It was achingly slow, but he persisted. As he stayed focused on her instruction and followed it, he could feel himself starting to relax. The pain began to ebb. The panic started to fade.
"That's a good job," the woman hummed. "You're looking better already. See? You're alive. You got scared, but that's okay."
Henry shakily pulled himself to his knees. He hiccupped and drew his sleeve over his face, damp with sweat and tears. "I-I'm… I'm o-okay."
"Yes, you are just fine," the woman insisted. "That was a panic attack. They're very scary, but you can get through them. Like you just did!"
Henry nodded. Panic attack. He didn't like panic attacks. He looked up at her. Sitting beside him, her soft, dark eyes on him, was Carol. "C-Carol?"
Carol nodded. "I'm here."
Henry's eyes welled with tears and he sniffled. "D-Dad?"
Carol quietly started to get to her feet. "Wait here, Henry."
"N-no!" Henry grabbed her sleeve just as she went to leave. What if she left him and the panic attack came back?
"Okay, Henry. I won't leave you." Carol sat back down, cross-legged this time in a more permanent stance. "Stay calm. You're not hurt. I'll wait here until someone finds us and ask them to find Reginald. Is that okay?"
Henry let go and sat down again. "O-okay."
"You are just fine, Henry," Carol soothed. "You're so brave, you know that?"
The boy whimpered and scrubbed his face with his damp sleeve again.
"Howie! There you are. Fetch Reginald."
"Ah-Ah–okay!"
It wasn't very much longer–Carol said perhaps two or three things Henry could hardly catch–before Howie came back. "Henry?" But this voice was not Howie's.
Henry looked up and there Dad Reginald was, ruffled and suffering a long gash along his arm, but alive. Henry cried and launched himself up at Dad Reginald. The man had hardly gotten to one knee by the time the boy was on him, wrapping his arms so tight around him it almost impaired the man's breathing.
The shivering came back, but it was okay because he could still breathe–sorta. He was crying, and that was bad, and he tried to stop, but it couldn't. But he was okay, because Dad Reginald was there and he was alive and Henry was alive, too. But now, as the worst of the panic was over and his little body expended all his energy on the struggle to stay alive, he stopped his trembling.
Then, Henry was no longer on the ground. He held on tight, burying his face in Dad Reginald's chest. But even though he wasn't on the ground, he wasn't falling. He was being held and that was okay. He wasn't a baby, he could walk, but he was also really tired. In fact, they hadn't gotten very far before the decision to cling to consciousness was no longer his own.
The first sense that came to Henry was feeling. But it was faint, as if he was swaying on the line of dreams and reality. His head hurt a little, but he lay on something really soft. He was warm. He heard a voice near him, but Henry wasn't too concerned with it. It was quiet; hardly anything more than a whisper. Maybe he had imagined it, maybe it was just the echoes of his dream. A dream of corridors filled with comforting darkness, a darkness that wrapped its arms around him and guided him further into semi-blindness. Dark corridors flowing with soft whispers like water through a thin, bubbling brook. Masculine, feminine, cracked by prepubescence or deep with age…
Exhaustion tugged at him, its coercive whispers guiding his mind back into the realm of dreams. Still, he was awake. He should get up. He couldn't go back to sleep, that wasn't right. When he woke up, he got up. That was the rule.
Henry opened his blurry eyes and yawned.
"Howdy!" the gentle, happy voice appeared beside him. "Henry, are ya awake?"
Henry sat up and looked up at Howie. "Huh…?"
"You've been asleep a while," Howie informed him. "Don't worry, we've saved some breakfast for you."
"Thanks."
"Ya know what you need? Some water, a change in clothes. We can meet Reginald in the cafeteria."
Henry perked up. Okay, he wasn't so tired anymore.
He was normally good at reading his friend. They had been together for years. Ever since he… arrived on the aircraft. Reginald had been a sporting fellow, sharp and fiercely loyal with a great mind. Right Hand Man had taken a liking to him, but it wasn't a very quick process. Reginald was very steep in the politics of the Toppats, often drowning himself in everything he could find. He didn't necessarily follow people like a duckling, no. No, Reginald was the leader, the planner, the doer. He got things done. Right Hand Man did not consider himself a follower, per-say, but he knew his place. In fact, Right Hand Man considered himself wary of Reginald at first, knowing him a dangerously ambitious man with an even more dangerous silver tongue. Right Hand Man knew ambition well, and his intimacy with such ambitious people was the poison that robbed him of his life before. Yet… Reginald proved him wrong. Reginald was not merely ambitious, he was loyal and protective and sought to better the clan.
Then, under circumstance that Right Hand Man and Reginald would both rather take their last breath than speak of, he saw the assumptions he made of the man die. Reginald's admission of his wariness to Right Hand Man himself were broken, and the two saw eye to eye. Then, they found that great minds think alike. Right Hand Man had a name, then, and he found it in the very person he thought was like the ones who'd stolen it from him.
But now, as Right Hand Man watched Reginald stare at his breakfast with an intensity that could have cooked it, he found himself… at a loss. Confused. Uncertain? There was no clear answer to question Right Hand Man had. What was going through that man's head?
Right Hand Man looked up upon hearing the small noise of shoes on the floor. Reginald liked to point out how good Right Hand Man was at picking up the slightest noise. "Perhaps you traded your voice for your hearing," Reginald had once mused, his mind not very clear at the time of speech.
"And perhaps you traded your 'earing for your voice," Right Hand Man had shot back, his voice a tad slurred and hard. But Reginald knew there was no malice there and they laughed.
Two people walked into the cafeteria. One was the teenage recruit, Howie. He held onto the younger boy's hand. Henry walked by him, staring ahead with owlish eyes. Poor kid, he'd thought to himself yesterday evening. The stress of the evening had taken its toll on every member on the ship, it seemed… all but one. But a leader needed to be confident, fearless. A scared leader led a scared crew. Even if Right Hand Man would not be the first to raise his voice in agreement or defense of the man, he still knew Terrence to be their Chief.
"Dad Reginald! Uncle Right!" Henry's cheerful yell split the silence.
Reginald sat up straight, his attention immediately caught by the boy. Right Hand Man's expression did not change, but he could hardly put down a smirk. Now he knew what Reginald was thinking about.
Henry rushed away from Howie and barely made it to Reginald in time for the man to leave his seat and go down to one knee. "You're okay! Thank you!"
"Henry, boy, you're awake." Reginald could still state the obvious, it seemed. "Carol and Howie told me what happened."
Henry's eyes shut and he tightened his grip on Reginald. What that boy had been taught was a hug was what Right Hand Man had been taught was the proper grip for a suplex. But even if the kid was looking for a fight, he was too small to do any damage that way. But Henry wasn't going to do any damage, intentionally at least. "I'm sorry." The boy's mumbling was hardly audible through Reginald's shirt. "I got really scared even though I was safe."
"Henry, we all experience panic attacks," Reginald said in response, one hand on the boy's back and the other on his head. Right Hand Man knew Reginald's right arm to still be a little tender. After all, the bullet that "grazed" his arm had left a bad enough gash. Reginald had insisted Right Hand Man needed help more than he as he was actively being bandaged. But it wasn't that true; Right Hand Man had suffered worse for longer. "You won't be alone again."
Howie signaled to Right Hand Man toward the door to the kitchen. Right Hand Man gave him a short nod. Howie quickly walked off. Howie would do well with some sign language lessons. They served Right Hand Man and Reginald well. Right Hand Man knew quite a bit about language; after all, some of the easiest advantages that conspirators had was a language only shared by them. Perhaps Right Hand Man should work some language lessons into his self-defense lessons for Henry? The boy was taking Russian. But that would be a lot in one place, and a physical lesson shouldn't be mixed with a thought-heavy one lest both get neglected.
Henry let go and then hopped into the spot between Reginald and Right Hand Man. Was it any other living soul who had done something so stupidly ballsy, there would be a rather strong exchange. But, like to so many other things, the boy was an exception. It helped Henry looked up at him with those bright blue eyes glimmering with excitement and a wide smile holding only the trust and happiness and innocence a child could claim. A child who called him "Uncle Right" with a charm that could turn anyone's heart soft. Most people, that was; Right Hand Man was immune to such ways, but he did know when there was trust to be had and trust to be protected. Henry was one of those instances.