an unkindness of ravens

trente-huit

— trente-huit ; thirty eight —

HENRI HAD THE worst night he could remember in a long time and not even Soren's proximity made any difference.

That was mainly because it wasn't nightmares bothering him for once. If he could have slept for longer than ten minutes bursts, maybe, but as it was every time he managed to drift off into restless sleep his body would wake him right back up. He wasn't even sure whether he was actually sleeping half the time — he was caught in some strange, unfocused world between consciousness and sleep, seeing shapes move in the shadows. He was burning hot but then he was freezing, so cold he couldn't stop the tremors racking his body, but every time he tossed and turned to get more comfortable he felt his clothes stick to him in cold sweat.

Half the time, he couldn't even remember where he was. He was floating somewhere faraway but he was still far too aware of his aching muscles, the roil of nausea in his stomach and his head splitting headache. He saw Loren, her green eyes shining with tears, and Jean, a hard scowl fixed in place, and his parents. But they wouldn't look at him. It wasn't a dream, it was too real to be a dream because Henri was in bed and there was no gun. But where they really there? When he struggled to sit up to get a better look into the darkness, a hand easily pushed him back down.

"Don't," Soren said, his voice distant and faraway. "Just go to sleep."

Henri had no choice but to sink back against the mattress. He couldn't have fought him off even if he wanted to — he felt too weak and exhausted. "Can't," Henri mumbled, not sure if anyone heard him. He didn't know who he was talking to but someone was there, close enough that he could feel their warmth. Already darkness was clouding over his vision. "Sleepy, but...I can't. It hurts..."

"What does?"

But the darkness had already taken him away.

Even through the fragmented pieces of the night, he was distantly aware of cool fingers against his forehead, neck, cheek. He wanted to protest — every touch hurt like fire to his skin — but it also felt nice, knowing he wasn't alone. Every so often he'd slip back to consciousness enough to feel a cool wet cloth mopping his sweaty face or carefully dribbling water into his mouth. The water was heaven for his rough scratchy throat, but he couldn't find the voice to say he wanted more. So he just let himself sink back into the darkness.

The next time he was properly conscious, he wished he hadn't woken up. He felt awful. Henri could feel the sweaty sheets tangled around his legs and his clothes were damp too. He would have jumped straight into the shower if he had the energy. As it was, he barely managed to poke his head out from beneath the covers and wince at the pale daylight filtering in through the window. There was a figure standing by the window, phone to ear. It took his feverish brain to realise it was Soren.

"...can't just leave him here," Soren was saying. He sounded tense, on edge. "I don't give a shit about the banquet, but do you really think the Master will be so lenient? You haven't been gone so long, Jean. You know."

Henri had already been drifting back into unconsciousness but his ears pricked at the name. Jean. With some effort, he forced his eyes open and tried to focus around the cotton clouding his brain to listen to this conversation that suddenly felt important. The walls were shimmering now but he could hear the conversation.

"Who the hell else was I supposed to call?" Soren demanded, before lowering his voice with some effort. "I'm in the middle of South Carolina...no, I won't leave it to the Master. You know Kevin — I don't care, you know him and he can...I'm not fucking asking for your help. I just need a car to get him to hospital."