"What are you doing, Podge?" Preston calls out across the courtyard. Nigel lifts his head and looks at the group gathered around a bench. There's five of them, including Preston, and they seem a bit dodgy today. Nigel decides to ignore them – he's had enough of Preston's attention lately. The nickname 'Podge' is only the latest in a list of things that Nigel hates that his brother does. He does kind of have to walk by them though, and that opens him up to more comments from the older boys. He can't wait until his brother graduates out of the school.

"Don't be like that," Preston says as Nigel walks in front of them. "Come here. We want you to try something." For some reason it makes the others laugh and nudge at each other. "Come on, Nigel," he cajoles.

A sigh passes through Nigel's body, but he gives in. He knows something is up, but he'll either end up involved in whatever his brother wants now when he has some free time before he needs to be in the kitchens, or later when he needs to be somewhere. Nigel turns towards them and a part of him all ready regrets it. He has reading he'd like to complete, and assignments to do.

"What are you doing?" Preston asks again.

"Nothing. What do you want?" Nigel's longingly thinking of the text on the ancient scrolls from the Ottoman Empire sitting on the table by his bed. Preston's friends are hitting each other, and watching Nigel and Preston in earnest.

"That's no way to talk to your brother." Preston looks him over, the laughter gone from his face. "You look thirsty. Drink this." Preston holds out a flask. It looks innocent enough, but then Nigel can't see inside of it.

"What's in it?" Nigel asks suspiciously.

"Just drink it," Preston goads his brother. His tone is familiar – it's impatience that his little brother is questioning him.

Nigel hesitantly reaches out and takes the flask from his brother. Sometimes it's easier to just get it over with, and Nigel isn't in the mood to drag this on. Preston's face is mostly impassive but with the touch of impatience he's all ready noted. Eyeing the boys, Nigel takes a drink from the flask. It's disgusting, and Nigel immediately feels his stomach churn. He coughs and sputters as Preston and his friends burst into laughter.

"Look at his face!"

"He's all red!"

"He actually drank it, the fairy."

"I don't feel so good," Nigel says to Preston, clutching his stomach. He feels funny, itchy. His body is too big for his skin. "Preston," he whines. It's childish, but right now he doesn't care. "I can't –" He stops speaking. It's like there's a lump in his throat.

Preston doesn't even turn around, busy laughing with his brothers at the prank they've just successfully pulled off.

Nigel is beginning to panic. He doesn't know what's happening, but he's too hot and the itch is all over his body. His chest feels tight.

"Hey," one of Preston's friends say, catching sight of Nigel. "He doesn't look good."

"Is he all right?"

Nigel barely hears them. He's too busy trying to breathe through his mouth and is struggling to get enough air.

"Podge?" The laughter dies from Preston's face. "Nigel?" he tries instead when he doesn't get an answer. "What is it? You're swelling up."

"Oh shit," one of Preston's friends say when Nigel throws up. As much as this isn't going to endear Nigel to them, that's the last thing on his mind right now. He's just trying not to burst into tears, but it's getting harder the worse he feels.

He hardly notices as Preston takes him by the arm and starts to lead him in the direction of the nurse's wing. Preston isn't speaking, and Nigel is relieved that he doesn't need to think about his responses. They move inside and down wooden panelled hallways and floors. The air is stuffier than usual, is the only thing Nigel notes before they enter a room with bright fluorescents. Preston deposits him in a chair but he's there for maybe seconds before he's being moved into another room and shoved onto a bed. He's dragging his fingernails all across his skin, which is red and bumpy even as he tries to breathe.

The nurse – he assumes they're the nurse – is saying something to him but Nigel doesn't understand, can't make the words make sense. They pull out a needle and Nigel flinches – he hates needles – but Preston places a hand on each of his shoulders and keeps him in place. Nigel scarcely feels it as the nurse injects him, there are too many other sensations on his skin, and all he feels is itchy and numb.

It doesn't take long for the adrenaline to work and Nigel just breathes, grateful for the air even as his heart beats at what feels like an alarming rate. He wonders if this is what it feels to have a heart attack. At the same time he feels like he could run a marathon right now, and he doesn't run. He'd be worried if he didn't feel better overall.

"All right?"

Nigel looks to his left to see Preston, and what disturbingly looks like worry on his face. He nods. His heart is still too fast, and his breathing is trying to keep pace. He's tired even as he's energized and talking seems like too much.

Preston looks down and scuffs the toe of his shoe against the floor. "Good." He pauses for a moment. "I didn't know –" he stops and takes a breath. "We just mixed a bunch of different drinks together. Jason learnt about it in America, it's called swamp water. I didn't know…"

Nigel stops listening; he doesn't care. He feels awful and just wants to be left alone. After a few moments, Preston leaves Nigel to it, despite the disapproving look of the nurse who's busily checking his vitals.

"You'll be just fine," the nurse assures him. "Just an allergic reaction. We'll keep you here for a bit to make sure you're okay, and I'll give your mum a call." The nurse bustles off, presumably to make the call, and Nigel thinks about how he can't wait to get away from Preston.