Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.
A/N: Hey, everyone:grins: Since I just updated Nighttime Demons a few days ago I figured I'd have to update this one, too. So here you go, I hope you enjoy it as much as you did the last!
Reviewers: 16 reviews, thank you!
Characterization: Well :blushes: I'm glad I seem to have done so well. I've always loved exploring characters personalities and thoughts, so that I did so well with it, makes it that much better.
Period Details: :gives a content sigh: Good, I got them right and the research I did proved worth it. I'll try to stay as true to the period as I can, although I'm not sure how well I can manage it. Well, just keep trying, I guess. :grins: Thanks.
Susan and Lucy Story: I'm not sure if I'll do one or not. My stories are mainly centered around the boys. 'Course, I try to incorporate some Susan and Lucy sibling goodness into the stories I write, as well, if it's applicable. But to do a story mainly focused on them…Hmm, I'd have to think about it.
Many Thanks: Rosa Cotton, FairLilyFlower, Morwen Pallanen, paige fan, TS.Marked, liquidiamond, Frangipanigirl, Undomiel2007, Capegio, Tex110, Sera and Tails, Jenn1, Lirenel, Shauna, and ohcEEcho
"Speech"
/Personal Thoughts/
Memories
Multi-Chapter. Non-Slash.
.:Fever:.
Chapter II: Origins of Uncertainty
By Sentimental Star
(Two o'Clock the Next Morning, Boys' Bedroom)
"You're saying we should just…believe her?" he asked in no little consternation, shoulders falling.
The Professor started puffing his pipe quickly, lowering his brow at him. "Well, of course," the older man gave him a piercing look, swiftly recalling their conversation in the library to mind:
Would you die for them?
The elderly Professor continued, still puffing furiously, "She's your sister, isn't she? You're a family."
As the truth and the weight of that statement hit home, he exchanged a guilty glance with Susan.
The piercing look became stern. "Perhaps you should start acting like one."
With a heavy sigh, Peter pulled his legs up to his chest where he had been sitting on the end of Edmund's bed for the past hour and a half. Resting his head against his knees, he tugged disconsolately at the cuffs of his night robe where his arms had gone around his legs.
Well, he had learned at least one thing in the past two hours. He did not like disappointing the Professor.
Furthermore, he liked letting down his siblings even less.
Turning his head from his knees, Peter cast a weary glance at Edmund who slept peacefully in the bed.
Where had his little brother gone? Who was this stranger inhabiting his brother's body and wearing his brother's face?
"How can I understand you, when I don't even know you anymore?" he moaned softly, voice pained.
He reached out hesitantly for Edmund's forehead, but fell just short, curling his hand into a fist instead and quietly slamming it against the wooden paneling behind the bed.
"How can we act like a family, when you won't even let us in?" he growled, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face once more against his legs. /How can I do right by you and Lu and Susan when I can't even get my head out of my arse long enough to see that I've messed up something spectacular/ He mentally groaned. /We're falling apart—all four of us. It never used to be like this. Why did it all change/
Peter raised his head and rested his chin on his knees, gazing blankly into space.
There was no father there to tell him he expected far too much from himself. No mother to fuss over him when he was sick with stress. All three of his siblings seemed farther away than ever. Even Lucy.
No one was there to guide him, to assure him that his decisions were the right ones. He felt utterly and completely lost.
He had felt like this only once before, and then, both his parents had been there. Susan hadn't been so intent on growing up. Lucy…had been Lucy. And Edmund…well, Edmund had been sick with scarlet fever still…
(Flashback, Three Years)
The house rang with ominous silence after Daddy took Susan and Lucy over to Nanny's house for the day. They would be going over to Aunt Miranda's house tomorrow.
Mamma and Daddy wanted them out of the house as much as possible because the doctor had said that the scarlet fever was contagious. Because neither had had it before, the grown-ups had thought it best to keep them away for as long as they could.
Peter had originally been supposed to go, too. But he had flat out refused. He fought so hard to stay that his parents, after much argument (on Peter's part) and much discussion (on their part), decided that they would probably need an extra pair of hands anyway.
So he was told he could stay on the condition that the moment he started to feel ill he immediately tell them.
The ten-year-old turned from the door of the bedroom (through which he had been listening to his parents' conversation downstairs) to watch Edmund as he slept.
It wasn't an easy sleep. He could tell by his younger brother's restless movements under the sheets, and bit his lip as the other boy's labored breathing reached him from where the small, sweaty head lay on the pillows.
Every muscle in his body was tense and his hands, folded tightly in his lap where he was curled in the big armchair Papa had helped him drag over to the side of the bed, shook slightly.
He didn't know what to do.
Mamma was in the kitchen. He could hear her rapid footsteps as she ran from one side of it to the other, trying to find something she wanted to bring upstairs and at the same time be quiet about it.
A sudden, weak keen caused him to start so badly that he nearly toppled out of his chair.
Instantly, his eyes flew to his little brother's prone form. Arms shorter than his own struggled feebly with an unseen force.
Another louder, more urgent keen sliced through the air a moment later and in his haste to scramble onto the bed beside his brother, Peter sent the heavy armchair teetering behind him.
Just as he made the bed, the chair tilted dangerously backwards on its hind legs before slamming down quite loudly on its front ones.
Several things happened at once, then.
There was a startled cry from Peter. A sound like a shattering glass or plate downstairs. And Edmund awoke with a half-strangled, half-alarmed yell, lurching upright and colliding with his older brother's chest.
Peter automatically closed his arms around the seven-year-old's trembling body, vaguely noticing that he was trembling, too.
"PETER!" came their mother's frightened shout.
"W-We're fine, Mum!" he managed call back. Shakily, he rubbed his hands in soothing circles on his little brother's back as Eddy gave several terrified sobs, clutching his big brother's shirt.
Even as scared as they were, Peter couldn't help hearing how awfully weak they sounded, too.
They faded after a few minutes, but the younger boy did not let go of him. Painfully exhausted, he kept gripping his shirt and leaning against his chest. Every once in a while his breathing would hitch before going back to its irregular pattern.
Eddy felt like fire.
As the ten-year-old sat there, holding his baby brother, mind a blank and eyes wide, he gradually became aware that not only was the younger boy burning up, but he was shaking much, much harder than he ought to be.
The seven-year-old's hands tightened. He started quaking even worse.
Peter's mouth felt dry. He was terrified.
Moistening his lips he whispered, "Mamma."
Eddy continued shivering. His heart started hammering.
"Mamma!" he finally managed to yell. A note of panic crept into his voice. "MAMMA!"
He heard her running footsteps exit the kitchen and pound up the stairs. Two seconds later she rushed into the room, hair wild and eyes frightened.
Peter felt tears starting to sting at the back of his own as he looked at her. "Mamma, he's shaking! I don't know what to do. He's shaking so badly, Mamma!"
Quickly, their mother made her way over to the bed and placed her hand on the seven-year-old's arm, then felt his forehead.
She pulled back a moment later, eyes hard with determination.
Turning that gaze to Peter, she advised him firmly, "Peter, stay here. Daddy should be back in an hour. Keep him warm. I'm going out to get his medicine."
As she whirled and strode resolutely out of the bedroom, he caught her muttered, "Even if I have to make it myself."
Eyes still terribly wide, Peter grabbed the pile of blankets on the end of the bed with one hand and bundled his younger brother into them. Vigorously, he started rubbing Eddy's arms and shoulders and back, as he faintly remembered his mother doing once for him.
His little brother started sobbing softly into his chest again, clinging to the older boy for dear life. "I'm cold, Peter. I'm cold. It hurts, Peter. Hurts," the seven-year-old cried weakly, shaking still.
The ten-year-old felt his throat constrict. "Shh, Eddy," he forced out thickly, continuing to briskly rub up and down the younger boy's arms, "shh. Mamma's gone for medicine. Shh. It'll be…it'll be…" But he could speak no further, his throat having gone far too tight.
There was a low moan. "Hurts, Peter. Hurts."
(End Flashback)
Shuddering, Peter hauled himself out of the memory and jerked his head upright, shutting his eyes tightly against the tears that would not fall then, and wanted to fall now.
He hadn't known what to do, then. Not at all. 'Keep him warm,' that's what their mother had said. 'Keep him warm.' But how on earth could he keep his little brother warm, when he had no way of understanding the illness in the first place?
Blurrily, he opened his eyes and blinked back the moisture that had risen from their depths, swinging his head to look at the now ten-year-old Edmund who had remained asleep all through his trip to the past.
As the last of the shudders ran its course, Peter wearily unfolded himself before curling up in the corner where bed met wall, head against the wooden paneling, and clenching his hands in his night robe.
His eyelids fluttered as he kept his gaze riveted on Edmund's sleeping face, but he barely noticed as they gradually grew heavier and heavier. Until at last, they shut completely and his breathing evened out as sleep finally took him.
oOoOoOoOoOo
(Five and a Half Hours Later)
Warm, yellow light hit his eyelids, forcing Peter out of sleep. He blinked once. Twice. Before slowly opening his eyes…and wincing as a bright sunbeam hit them head-on.
Hazily, he wondered why he felt so scrunched, and why the distinct feel of a knitted blanket was pressed against his cheek.
As he steadily became more aware of exactly where he was—Edmund's bed, not his—he suddenly started upright, glancing around wildly.
He found himself at the foot of said bed, still dressed in his night robe and slippers from last night. His eyes ached from lack of proper sleep and from fighting back tears.
"Must've fallen asleep here," he muttered, rubbing at sleep-crusted eyes.
Uneasily, he glanced up at Edmund, almost dreading what he would find…and released a quiet, relieved breath.
His younger brother was still asleep, and therefore, had no knowledge of his bed's extra occupant. Had he been awake, Peter was nearly certain he would have been less than pleased to find his older brother there.
And as much as that thought hurt, he did not intend on making it come true.
Hastily, he extracted himself from the knitted throw he had somehow managed to tangle himself in and quitted his spot at the bed's end. Haphazardly, he refolded that blanket and slung it over the foot of the bed.
Only when he finished folding the throw, and stepped back, did he allow himself to relax.
Glancing out the window, he was unable to prevent the small smile tugging at his lips.
The early-autumn sun shone brightly outside and it looked as though it might be a relatively warm day. Still smiling slightly, Peter made his way over to his own bed, pulling out his suitcase from under it and setting it on the mattress. Unlatching the clasps, he began to select what he wanted to wear that day.
As he set those clothes out and his smile grew, he wondered what the others would say to a game of cricket.
TBC
