Carvings and Countdowns

5 RL

The day after for Remus seemed to be worse than the days leading up. His bones were back in place, but that didn't relieve the pain. Every inch of him was put back, but he still felt out of his body. It was more unsettling for him to know that he was okay now, just traumatized.

His Uncle came in swiftly and put a blanket over him. He was in a ball, curled up in a fetal position, three of the four chains still in tact.

"How you feeling kiddo?", he asked, not expecting an answer, "Here, I brought you some water. Drink up."

Remus grabbed the glass shakily and drank away the roughness that consumed his throat. It tasted of lead and blood, but he knew that after a decent breakfast his taste would be back to normal.

His Uncle wrapped his arm around him and helped him up. Remus let out a light groan as gravity set in and the pressure of his overused muscles strained to keep himself up.

Mind over matter, he thought, You're no longer in pain.

He liked having his mind back. In fact, it was the only thing that seemed to be halfway in tact still. Of course, writing would be harder because of his finger strain, and he'd have to ease back into reading after his mind was turned to mush...but he was going to do it. He always did.

Ten days, Twenty eight days, Fourteen minutes.

He repeated this over and over in his head as he stepped up each step. The fourteen minute part was a guess; how long until breakfast would be served.

His Uncle was definitely built enough to carry him up these stairs, but they both knew that Remus's pride would not allow it. By the last step, Remus's last number had turned to twelve minutes, and he didn't even bother to set a napkin to prevent the wobble of the chair as he sat.

•••••

He devoured the breakfast and sighed as he was one minute off. If his Uncle hadn't burnt the toast, he would've gotten it dead on.

"I'm gonna go for a walk", Remus sat his empty glass down and got up slowly.

"A walk?", his Uncle objected, "Let's not push it too far Remus."

Remus.

He barely called him his first name. Usually it was 'kiddo' or 'boy', rarely ever Remus. That's how he knew he was serious, but he still decided to oppose.

"Listen, I'm not an old man, I'll recover within a few days. I just want some air", he fought.

His Uncle fought it and then sighed, "Fine", he gave in, "But not too far."

"Not too far", he nodded with a faint smile and walked out the door.

He knew he looked disgusting, he knew he wreaked. He didn't care however, he just wanted the openness. A break from a cage and chains, just for a while. Of course, the openness was a blessing, but he also had another motive on his agenda.

He wanted to see Dumbledore again. He wanted to ask him how he'd help with this. If he could get anymore information, anything at all to help him from this pain, he wanted to. And he wanted to now.

There wasn't any specific place he thought to look for a strange man like that, so he went back to the place he had first seen him. That ridiculous old park bench half a mile from his house. Halfway there, he nearly turned back. His muscles and bones were aching in such pain, he thought he'd collapse at any moment. Finally, with the park bench is sight, the first feeling of relief that morning crept in.

He leaned back, allowing the sun to touch his tender skin, even if it hurt a tad.

"Oh Dumbledoo", he muttered in a sing song tone and then immediately regretted making himself chuckle. His grabbed his ribs at the instant pain.

A few moments went by, an older lady took a seat by him, reading the morning paper. She smelled of lavender. His senses were still fairly heightened. She got up and went on a bus. More moments went by. Remus began to do the thing he did best out of boredom:

Countdowns.

He calculated that the busses were anywhere from sixteen to twenty-two minutes apart. Alternating routes every other stop. Probably a stop just off of south-side, that had to be what made up the six minute difference or so.

Just as he had forgot about his pain, with his arms leaning on his legs and his hands covering his eyes, he heard footsteps.

He shot up to see if it was Dumbledore out of sheer curiosity, and the abrupt movement sent a shooting pain down his back. He grunted and leaned back in annoyance as he saw a tall, skinny boy approach the bench.

"You're not Mrs. Benson", the boy looked at him in a peculiar way.

"No I'm not", Remus answered dryly.

Clearly we were both expecting different people, he thought.

Just by the looks of the kid, Remus could tell he wasn't from this part of town, and that he most likely rarely had to take the bus. His shoes shone perfectly, reflecting the sun off of them and hurting his sore eyes. His pants looked freshly ironed, or at least folded nicely, probably by some maid of his. Even his hair, long but tidy, silky and shiny, looked better groomed than most people Remus had known.

"Dude, not to pry, but what on earth happened to your face?", the boy got awfully close to Remus and managed to open every sense in him all at once. He smelled of rosewood and magazine paper. His clear skin flowed and his white teeth reflected, "Did you get mugged?", Remus's ears ringed.

"I'm only gonna say this once", Remus spat, "Back the fuck up before I make you."

The kid did not seem intimidated in the slightest. Maybe he had felt Remus's instant regret. He didn't mean to come off so off-putting, he just needed him away. He need him out of his personal space. He needed to be alone. A cage sounded better than this right now.

"Damn, my bad, I was just concerned is all", the boy backed away and then moved his hair from his eyes nonchalantly, "Anyway, do you happen to know what time the next bus is?"

"Eight minutes and thirteen seconds", Remus sighed and got up. He last left off around ten minutes. He prayed this conversation couldn't have lasted more than two. He turned on his heel and started down the road, "Last time I ever come to park benches. Swear to God the people I run into here are batshit crazy", he muttered to himself and didn't even care that he was speaking aloud for the public to hear.

•••••

Remus laid in his bed with his knife in hand, scratching as best as he could the letters of his name. What once seemed so familiar, was a struggle to him now. His fingers cramped up and the energy was draining.

The shower helped, but not enough. He hoped that this sleep would top it all off.

One day at a time.

Ten days.

Hopefully he could make it that long.

The last thought he conjured up before falling into a sleep was a prayer:

God, I never thanked you. I know you know it wasn't me saying it, but I'm happy I'm still alive nonetheless.