Travic [surname] had one primary problem and two sub-problems.

The overarching problem was that he was sick. Quite sick. The kind of sick some people didn’t recover from. He’d been sick for days and hadn’t noticed, seemingly fine until he very much wasn’t.

Enter the first of his secondary problems: Vick had accidentally passed the illness onto his youngest son; Emmet getting sick had been the last tumbling straw before the weight of it all finally fell into place. He’d done everything he should have as promptly as he could, even if days after the fact, his own symptoms magnifying under the sudden comprehension– calls made, warnings to get tested issued, supplies ordered same-day delivery.

Which brought him to the second problem: his eldest, miraculously, had tested negative. He didn’t pretend to understand how that worked when the pair was always in direct contact with one another, but Vick would take what small mercies he could get. And while that was [undeniably] good news, the issue was was keeping Ingo healthy. Stuck in the house with his his immediate family, he was almost certain to catch [it] eventually, no matter what precautions Vick belatedly put into place.

The only solution his foggy mind could put together was to call for help, and so he had. Drayden was on his way to Anville Town; Ingo could stay with him until things were better. Soon, all Vick would have to worry about was getting two of them through this.

‘Soon’ could not come quickly enough.

“INGO.” He [idk], but his usually booming voice came out as something gnarled and [?]; it was little wonder the six year old startled at the sound. Hands frozen in the air, he turned meekly, eyes wide and uncomprehending as he idled at the side of his brother’s bed.

He was only trying to help, Vick reminded himself; he couldn’t truly be angry about that, but it still sounded [angry] when he forced out, “Back up. Don’t touch. Go sit on the couch until I come talk to you.”

Worrying at his bottom lip, Ingo glanced back at his brother, eked out something in a much quieter voice than usual, and darted off, eyes on his father until he rounded the corner.

Vick sighed, the usually [?] of the medical mask hot and stifling to his raw senses. He would endure it. He had to endure it, for Ingo’s sake. If there was anything he could do to prevent further exposure, he would [do it] to spare his eldest this [danger/suffering].

Not even an hour now, and Drayden would be there.

Thoughtlessly, Vick found himself doing precisely what he’d scolded his son for just moments prior; his hands automatically moved to Emmet’s face, brushing damp hair away from his eyes, to no response. He’d been asleep for hours, which, in Vick’s experience, was infinitely preferable to suffering through the day fully conscious.

That said, he still needed another dose of medicine, and whatever fluids Vick could coax him into drinking. They would give it a shot after their respective older brothers left, he decided; best to let him sleep while there were so many other things vying for attention.

Glancing up at the clock, Vick grimaced and got back to it. His body ached with every step, but, dutifully, he trudged back out to the bathroom and scrubbed his hands under the hot water. This time, when he admitted himself into the twins’ room, he didn’t let his tired mind take the helm, instead beating a direct path for the jet black dresser.

Clothes, at least, were easy to pack; going through each drawer in succession there was no way to miss something vital. It became orders more difficult when he tried to to remember what else a child would need while away from home. Snagging a ragged Purrloin plush on his way out, he turned his attention to raiding the bathroom.

He found himself repeatedly checking the time, and constantly surprised by how much had escaped without his notice. It wasn’t fair to have left Ingo waiting for so long without [cause], but Vick had yet to spot him peeking around any given hiding spot, so odds were he’d found a way to entertain himself.

Vick hoisted the bag over a shoulder, and the effort left him wheezing. It meant he was all too ready to let it [flop] down onto the nearest couch cushion when he reached the living room.

To his surprise, the TV wasn’t on– not even at the low volume his aching head had dictated for the past few days. Neither was there a library book or a fidget toy to be found, just Ingo on the far side of the couch, hands tugging at the sleeves of his sweater, wilting under his father’s gaze.

Ah, shit. He thought he was in trouble.

“Look, bud,” Vick croaked, but combined with the strain of hauling the bag out, it sent him into a coughing fit before he could say anything of substance. He turned away, head spinning, and tried to stifle it into an elbow.

As he regained his breath, there was a knock at the door, and he gratefully shuffled toward it.

[not gonna bother w/ the greeting rn (I DO think it would be funny if Drayden is also wearing a mask, but it kind of just looks like his beard is a different color at first glance)]

Drayden squared his shoulders and strode past, kneeling in front of the couch so they were on the same level.

“I see you have your bag packed. Are you ready to go?”

Instead of any verbal answer, Ingo made a sound of confused protest. The look Drayden shot Vick wasn’t much better.

“I know, I know. It’s for your own good, buddy– and uncle Drayden promises to take great care of you, right uncle Drayden?” His throat burned as the sentence stretched on, but he could do this. Just a little longer, now, until his son was safe from him.

Drayden inclined his head, eyes pinching as he made the effort to look nonthreatening, and offered his hand. Keeping an eye on Vick, watching for what he was meant to do, Ingo tentatively reached out to mirror it; when it closed around his, he nearly flinched.

“Good boy,” Drayden rumbled, ruffling his hair with a free hand and encouraging him to stand up, too; moving to take the travel bag, Drayden scooped up the cap sitting at the top and settled it over the mess he’d made.

“His coat’s by the door,” Vick said, backing off to leave a good six feet of space between them. It was only as that coat was settled over Ingo’s shoulders that he [vocalized] again, a high whine that Vick knew from experience would only grow louder if it was allowed to continue.

“Ingo,” He said, and he was trying so hard to be what the situation called for, but his mounting exhaustion still shone through, “I know. I’m sorry, but this has to happen. I love you. Have fun with uncle Drayden.”

The door swung shut, and Vick all but collapsed against the wall in his relief.

—

Drayden wasn’t great with kids. As part of being a gym leader, he had to deal with older ones on a semi-regular basis, but his experience with six year olds consisted entirely of Ingo and Emmet.

He wasn’t prepared to look after a child, even if only for a few weeks.

But Travic had asked for help. His brother and nephew were sick, and the biggest help he could be was looking after the odd boy out. He could do that, for his family’s sake.

Only… Ingo was acting incredibly different from what Drayden knew. Usually, you had to pry the kid away, but instead of clinging to Drayden’s hand as they walked toward the train station, the little fingers poking out of his sleeves worked themselves into a nervous tangle. He had yet to speak a word, to talk about the Pokemon they passed by or ask about the ones Drayden had brought with him, and his own stubborn expression hadn’t budged from ‘deeply distressed’.

That was completely understandable– Drayden himself had only forced a smile for Ingo’s sake– but it was still troubling. He didn’t know how to connect with young kids, let alone one coming from such a tough spot.

Well, he supposed, when in doubt…

“Do you know what a Swablu is, Ingo?” He asked, readjusting his grip on the bag. The boy next to him nodded, and, somewhat [belatedly] Drayden realized that the pace he’d set was too much for someone so short. Forcing himself to slow, he continued the thought, “You do, hm? Have you ever seen one in person?”

It was met by a small shake of the head.

“It so happens a trainer brought one into the gym last week; his wings are too sparse to carry him right now, so he’s staying with me until his plumage grows in. Would you like to meet him when we reach Opelucid?”

Ingo hesitated far longer than Drayden had expected of someone usually so excitable. “…can I?”

“I offered, didn’t I?” / “Yes, you can meet him if you’d like. He’d benefit from having someone else around, and maybe he can help keep you company in return.”

[…]

He waited until Drayden set the travel bag down, and then climbed up to sit along its other side. Strangely, he didn’t move to dig through its contents once throughout the commute; surely he had something to keep himself entertained in there? Vick had mentioned at some point or other that he was being dragged to library nearly every day as the twins’ shaky grasp on reading began to solidify, so it only made sense that Ingo would have brought a book with him.

The kid pulled his legs up onto the subway bench and rested his chin on his knees.

That was… probably not a good sign.

[…]

Swablu hopped up without a second thought– the exact behavior that had landed him in Drayden’s home instead of its natural habitat– and cocked his head one way, then the other. The difference it wrought in Ingo’s expression was subtle, but unmistakable; despite his clear interest in the bird, however, he stayed put.

It seemed to take that personally, fluttering its [?] wings with enough energy to give itself the tiniest bit of lift, nipping at the pair of hands that dared to not to pet it. Surprised rather than hurt, Ingo reeled backwards, and Swablu jumped again. Its weight was negligible– there was absolutely no way the little guy could bowl over a human, no matter what their age– but Drayden still held a hand out, steady against the boy’s back, to keep Ingo from tripping.

—

Ingo usually liked school– really, he did!– but if he’d had a say in it, he would prefer not to go today.

The test he’d had to take that morning, to make sure he wasn’t sick after all, said he was okay, but he wasn’t so sure; this wasn’t his first time staying overnight at uncle Drayden’s house, and the last time they’d been here, the guest room hadn’t felt so cold. He remembered being sick once, too, and how much more intense everything had felt against his skin– how cold it was when he tried to sleep without a blanket, but how unbearably hot it was when he changed his mind and pulled it back over himself.

It wasn’t exactly the same– he’d been cold with the blankets and even colder without– but it still made him worry.

He didn’t want to accidentally break a rule. He didn’t want to go to school sick and risk making anyone else sick.

Plus, he was all the way in Opelucid City. School was in Anville Town. He didn’t know how long it took to get there, but he was pretty sure class started before the first horns sounded in the rail yard. If he had to take the train to get there, he’d definitely be late. Being late was rude. He hated it, and it didn’t matter that uncle Drayden promised to ride with him today; that was nice of him, but it didn’t fix the problem.

Also! He didn’t have his backpack. He didn’t have any of the practice sheets he was supposed to have filled out, or the library book he’d wanted to show the teacher, or his water bottle or the little key chain he could fiddle with without bothering anyone or–

He bit down on a whine building in the back of his throat, and when that began to fail, stifled himself against his jacket.

More than anything, he knew that Emmet wasn’t going to be with him today.

He was going to get to school late and without any of the things he was expected to have, and that would have been bad enough, but he was going to be alone all day today. And tomorrow. And the day after that. Ingo didn’t know when he was going to see his brother again, and it made him want to scream.

That wasn’t allowed, though; he definitely wasn’t supposed to yell, because people always got mad at him when he did. It was extra important that he follow the rules right now. He was already in enough trouble.

And that was why he was going to go to school, even though there were a million reasons not to, and it was the verylast thing he wanted right now.

Swablu chirped and frantically flapped his wings, painstakingly making his way onto the back of Ingo’s chair, and then hopping down onto his head. It was a little heavier than his hat, but in a nice way. While it stayed there, it was easy to focus on the warm fluff instead of the school day that awaited.

Uncle Drayden laughed when he saw them. Ingo liked that, too.

[…]

[after school]

“Here you go,” Uncle Drayden said, holding out the familiar black-and-red-and-blue backpack. Ingo took it with numb fingers and dislodged the ‘thank you’ stuck in his throat.

He only peeked inside when he was back in the guest room, where nobody could see. Piece by piece, he unloaded it onto the much-too-big bed: the homework he hadn’t been able to hand in, the book he’d been so excited to share, his water bottle and the rubber key chain– and more, beyond that. His library card and the pouch he kept all his best pencils in, the stretchy Clodsire toy Emmet hated so much he refused to touch it, and that Ingo liked to stick to the walls, the hooded sweatshirt with the ears that he’d wanted to wear yesterday, but had been in the dryer.

He was struck, again, by the desire to scream.

Instead, he gathered it all up, put each item where it belonged for tomorrow, and went to bury his face in Swablu’s fluff.

--

If a process was uncomfortable for an adult, it stood to reason that it would be even less tolerable for a child. Drayden knew it was asking a lot for Ingo to [tolerate] another test, but he couldn’t help his concerns. The boy woke up slowly every morning and kept a coat wrapped around him indoors; both of these habits would lessen as the day progressed, but the fact that he was so consistently chilled and fatigued was worth paying attention to.

The test came up negative once again, ruling that potential cause out. It was a relief for obvious reasons, but troubling, too. There were no other symptoms that suggested he had a run of the mill cold, and while he was a bit stilted at mealtimes, he didn’t raise a fuss about eating properly. At first, Drayden had been worried for how little the child ate, but that [concern] had been settled with a bit of research; the amount it took a six year old to go about the day was a great deal less than what an adult needed.

He was advised to let his nephew be; not only was he having to adjust to staying in Opelucid for the time being, but he wasn’t used to being on his own. The coat was likely a comfort object, he’d been told, and it stood to reason that he had trouble sleeping so far away from home.

Drayden had been unable to leave well enough alone, though. He didn’t want to create a reliance, but Ingo and Swablu were getting along so well that he thought it might help; Swablu could roost on the headboard, and the presence of another living being might help his nephew sleep through the night. Well after Ingo had gone to bed, and just before Drayden himself planned to retire for the night, he cracked the guest room door open to let Swablu toddle in. The bird did exactly that, and Drayden’s attention moved to the little form on the opposite side of the room.

It seemed the advice held weight after all. Over the blanket, Ingo had spread his coat out like an ill-fitting bed cover, plainly finding reassurance in it. He might not have noticed a conflicting detail if not for the beeline Swablu bid toward its new friend. It plopped itself down without a care, and while it didn’t have the weight to wake the child, it disturbed him just enough to make a hissing exhale audible from the doorway. Drayden hesitated in the threshold, wondering if he shouldn’t do something, but waking Ingo up now– on a school night no less– would do nothing to help the trouble he had getting started in the morning. He decided it would keep until the daylight hours.

When he witnessed the usual routine the next morning, he could have kicked himself for not connecting the dots the night prior.

“Ingo,” He said gently, and waited for a response before going on.

The boy paused what he’d been doing to put both hands on Swablu– restraining it from hopping up onto the table and going to town– and looked up at him. Not for the first time, it pinged at Drayden how strange it was to see someone wearing a coat at the breakfast table.

“If you’re getting cold at night, I can find you another blanket.” That made sense, didn’t it? A smaller body would get cold much easier, and if he was trying to curl up tight enough to hide under that jacket all night, of course it would leave him exhausted.

Ingo stared at him with paradoxically ultra-bright and sleep-dulled eyes, and eventually said, “S’okay.”

“It’s no trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about. Do you want to see where I keep the extras? You can pick one out, if you’d like.” […]

Something twitched in the child’s expression, but Drayden couldn’t tell what it meant. He zipped his coat all the way up, then buried the bottom half of his face in the collar. Swablu pecked at the dangling zipper.

That was… fine. Regardless of that [puzzling] response, Drayden would make sure there was an extra blanket available for him tonight, whether or not he worked up the courage to ask. What was making him so nervous, though? It wasn’t out of character for him to avoid raising fuss when he needed something– the twins were shy about that, but would flag down an adult for their brother’s sake– but it was strange that he would actively reject an offer of help.

Drayden brought it up that afternoon, during the daily check in with Travic. His brother still sounded awful, and he didn’t want to make things any worse, but Vick would endure the discomfort in a heartbeat to ensure his wayward son’s wellbeing.

“He does run cool,” Travic rasped, and then paused– either to rest or to give the whole of it some thought. “I’m not sure what he was trying to tell you, though. He can’t know if it’s a bad texture without feeling it. And he didn’t say anything?”

That part had mystified Drayden since the initial commute to Opelucid. Historically, it wasn’t difficult to coax Ingo into a conversation, but his nephew had stayed silent even with the promise of meeting a new Pokemon in the near future. He should have been asking about Swablu until he’d had the chance to see it in person, but instead, he’d curled in on himself and waited out the train ride. Drayden understood that he might be scared by how quickly things were happening around him, but the forced indifference was incredibly out of character.

“Not a word.” He confirmed grimly, “We may have to have a talk tonight, just to get this ironed out.”

“Be gentle, Dray. He’s the one you need to watch out for with the RSD.” […]

Unseen, Drayden rolled his eyes. “I’m not a Druddigon; I have thick skin, not rough skin.”

On the other end of the phone, his brother stifled a coughing fit and then wheezed, “Just be nice to my Goomy.”

Drayden snorted. Personally, he thought an Axew would be more appropriate– or maybe a Noibat– but he’d let Vick have this one; he had to be worried for both of his kids. Speaking of…

“How are the both of you faring over there?”

Travic caught himself before he could snort. “I honestly think Emmet’s going to sleep this entire thing off. I’ll get him up to eat some soup, and he nearly zonks out in the bowl. At first I was worried, but he’s not fainting. It’s just that he doesn’t have the energy for more than one task in a row.”

“Poor thing.” Drayden said [?], careful not to let his amusement at the mental image come through.

This time, Vick let his [amusement] out in a puff of breath, “That poor thing’s got the right idea. I wish I could sleep all day.”

“I should let you catch up on your rest, then.” […]

The [amusement] settled into a [?] sigh, “Yeah, I think it’s about time. Tell Ingo we love him, and I’ll talk to you later.”

“I will. In the meantime, rest well.” He said, and shut his Xtransceiver off.

That didn’t help very much; if anything, Vick’s concern only made it worse. While Drayden stood by his initial assessment– his brother was probably just seeing things through a skewed lens as a result of his illness– the fact that he hadn’t been able to pin down a potential cause for the behavior was confounding. Unfortunately, the next best expert on the topic was unconscious, sick and six, so they’d find no quarter there.

Drayden was somewhat startled to realize that, given his [sporadic] visits and the previous [timeframe], that made him the third best [reference]. He ran his hands over his face and braced his elbows against his desk.

He tamed dragons and guarded the gates to the Pokemon League like he himself was a drake. Surely he could talk to a little boy about a blanket.

It was much harder when he found hopelessly confused silver eyes fixed on him over the uppermost edge of the blanket he’d handed off for inspection. He knelt down and made to lower it, but aborted the gesture as he realized he’d seen the same thing that morning when Ingo had hidden his face.

Instead, he asked as gently as he could, “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The child lied, the word thick in his throat and reluctant to come out.

Drayden sighed, and what might have been frustration under different circumstances only turned into [?]. “We’ll come back to that. You’re struggling, and I want to help; is there anything I can do to make this easier for you?”

With that reframing, Ingo paused and thought about it. He almost said something, but the first word came out muffled, and he belatedly lowered the blanket before trying to say his piece. “What are the rules?”

“There are no rules; if there’s something on your mind, I want to hear it.”

Ingo gave his head a harsh shake. “Not the rules for right now. I don’t want to get in trouble again, so I need to know what I shouldn’t do.”

Drayden felt his brows furrow. “What do you mean by that? Did something happen at school?”

There was a quiet, “No,” but that was all.

Right. He needed to be clear, and right now he was getting distracted.

“Are you asking about my household rules?” He tried, and was relieved to get an affirmative, if only because he was on the correct track. “You don’t need to worry about anything like that. I know you won’t get yourself into trouble.” Not alone, at least.

To his surprise, it earned him a nervous whine, and the blanket crept back upwards.

“Do you… want rules?” Drayden asked, slightly baffled. He didn’t think Travic imposed any major restrictions over the twins at their age, so he wasn’t sure where this was coming from– but, sure enough, Ingo nodded from behind the safety of his fleece shield.

Running a hand through his hair, Drayden [?]. “I don’t currently have a list of rules. We could make one, if that would help put your mind at ease.”

Ingo nodded again and held the blanket up for Drayden to take back.

He hesitated. “Ingo, you’re going to need that tonight.”

His nephew’s pale eyes flicked down at it and then, questioningly, back to Drayden. “Is that one?”

Drayden resisted the urge to pass a hand over his face.

“No, it’s not.” He said, and proceeded to bargain with the six year old, “Why don’t I put this away for now, and you can decide on a blanket after we’ve made your list? Does that sound acceptable?”

The blanket was held out again, more insistently than before. Drayden couldn’t help but wonder if he’d picked a bad texture to hand over after all, and that was why he was so intent on getting rid of it. Once they’d settled this, he’d have to get a definitive yes or no.

He went to get a blank sheet of paper– encouraging Ingo to go grab his pencil case in the meantime– and they spent some time at the table drafting up a set of child-accessible house rules. For every new addition, Drayden handed the page over to Ingo to number, which he did with an adorably intense focus. The [list] consisted of things like ‘no going outside after dark’, ‘no hitting’, and ‘brush your teeth before bed’, and Drayden was a little proud of how competently parental it sounded. It was a little embarrassing that several of the rules came from the child in question and not the adult, but a collaborative victory was still a victory.

Drayden had made Ingo’s clumsy spacing work by using deliberately legible, large letters to spell each rule out– ideal for a new reader who might want to review them when he got nervous. It meant that only ten items fit on the page, and he’d thought that would be enough to put his nephew’s mind at ease, but again, Ingo proved him wrong.

He stared at the number for ‘no hitting’ for a few seconds, tangling his fingers up. “What about touching?”

For a second, Drayden’s heart seized, and then he forced himself to [idk].

“Can you explain what you mean by ‘touching’?” He asked, voice deceptively even.

“Uh.” Ingo said, and pushed away from his chair to where Swablu was perched [on something]. He paused and looked to Drayden, seeking permission to demonstrate, before setting his hand on the bird’s head.

Drayden bit back a relieved breath. “That’s perfectly fine, Ingo. You’ve been holding Swablu this whole time– I think he’d be upset if you stopped now.”

Swablu tilted back to nibble at a finger, and the two of them stayed there in silence.

“Is there a reason you were so concerned about that?” […]

The boy’s eyes dropped to the floor and he took his hand back, where it and its partner curled into uncertain fists, pressed against his chest. As promised, Swablu chirped indignantly, but now wasn’t the time to indulge its whims.

“Dad got mad about it.” He admitted, shamefaced, to the tile.

Drayden had to be missing context here; that didn’t sound like Travic at all. He could tell the twins no when it was warranted, but he wouldn’t get upset with them out of nowhere. Maybe they’d misread each other, or something else had caused Vick to come across more harshly than he normally would– as the man himself had reminded Drayden, Ingo was prone to rejection sensitive dysphoria.

Given Ingo’s abnormal silence, Drayden half expected the explanation to stop there, but to his surprise, it surged on– unable to be held back now that the dam had been compromised.

“I didn’t know I wasn’t s’posed to. It was okay before, and– and I just wanted to help, ‘c-cause Emmet wasn’t feeling good.” The boy blurted, hands raising as if to physically stop himself from speaking, but they idled in the air without following through on the threat. “But dad got mad and told me to sit on the couch, and then he called you.”

Okay. That was… a lot at once. Much, much more than Drayden had expected to get. Working from what he knew, Emmet had been sick, and so Travic logically wouldn’t want Ingo getting too close, let alone making physical contact. That made sense. It would seem sudden since the twins were so frequently in close quarters, and it only became a problem once Travic realized the severity of the situation. That tracked, too. Why did Ingo think his father was mad at him, though? Just because he’d been sent to the couch?

“Why do you say your dad was upset?” […]

“He sounded really scary. And then he sent me to time out.” The boy’s lip trembled and, in one quick motion, he snatched Swablu up off of the [whatever] to hide his face against it. The bird squawked at first, startled, but caught on quickly and shuffled around in his arms, trying to do something to help soothe him. Ingo didn’t dare emerge from behind his protector as he finally added, “And then he sent me away.”

Gently, Drayden managed to compress the remaining fluff of Swablu’s wings to catch his nephew’s eye.

“Ingo,” He said, urgent, but trying not to let it show in his voice, “You don’t think you’re here as a punishment, do you?”

There was a single, miserable nod as the child angled his face back into the Pokemon’s plumage. An anxious whine was building in his throat, and with this new understanding, it was hard to blame him.

“Hey, hey now. It’s alright, you’re not here because you’re in trouble. Your dad was worried for you and asked me to take care of you, do you remember that? You said Emmet wasn’t feeling well; he didn’t want you getting sick, too.” As much as he’d hoped it might get through, it obviously didn’t. This had to have been building since [timeframe], too big to be quelled now– and wasn’t that an awful thought? All this time, and Ingo thought he’d been [punished] for trying to help his brother feel a little better.

Drayden tentatively set a hand on his upper arm, and was promptly shaken off. Swablu chirped reproachfully.

How… how else could he help? It seemed touch was against the rules for now, and words weren’t [getting through]. Swablu was safe, though– a warm, child friendly weight. What could he take away from that? Drayden stood and backed off several paces, but stayed well in range and never fully turned away. With the gap he’d made, he quietly called Druddigon over and sent it to the closet in the hallway, gratefully relieving it of its cargo once it returned. It didn’t stop him and seek praise for once, too wary of the crying child to linger.

Drayden gave the fabric a vigorous rustling, hoping the friction would help warm it up quickly, and then approached again. Careful not to make contact, himself, he draped his coat over Ingo’s shoulders and then knelt back, waiting to see if that was at all helpful. The lining was the closest he could get to Ingo’s own coat– the whereabouts of which escaped him in the moment– it was weighty without being heavy, and it would give him something to retreat into.

It didn’t calm him in and of itself, but it did seem to help; he turned away from Swablu’s plumage and buried his entire face beneath its wide collar. Drayden made sure not to touch anything but the fabric as he adjusted it for better coverage, and spoke slow, soft words meant to comfort. Eventually the little boy cried himself out, and Drayden was able to use his [fatigue] to herd him to the guest room, where he might feel safer.

He lingered in the threshold, at a total loss for what to do. There was nothing he could say right now that would help, but he didn’t want to leave Ingo alone after such an intense emotional outburst. Swablu paced the bed and, lethargically, Ingo dragged himself up onto the mattress with it, all but collapsing as soon as he got there. He pulled Drayden’s coat up over his head and curled up into a forlorn ball.

Drayden’s eyes wandered as he tried to figure out what to do, ultimately landing on a plush Purrloin laying atop the bag Travic had sent along that first day. He scooped it up and set it on the pillow, in easy reach, but to little response.

“Would you like me to stay for a little while?” He asked, and got an indistinct sound as his answer. With touch off the table, he was unable to offer a reassuring pat, and it didn’t feel right to keep talking when the boy was already overwhelmed. Drayden compromised by seating himself at the very foot of the bed, where one of them would have to move for any contact to occur. “If it doesn’t matter to you, I think I would feel better about staying for a minute. Is that okay?”

Ingo didn’t bother to answer this time, and Drayden kept him company until the emotional exhaustion got the better of the boy. When he was sure his nephew was asleep, he moved back to his linen closet and selected a different blanket this time, gently spreading it over the same area as his coat. When he woke up, he’d be able to burrow under the covers, but until then, the coat wouldn’t be enough to stave off a chill.

After a moment of watching the small lump slowly rise and fall with each breath, Drayden glanced to Swablu, trying to judge how it might respond to its friend’s distress. What he found was that the bird had worked its beak under the blanket and wriggled underneath. Once the smaller lump neared the slightly-larger one, he heard a soft, muffled cooing.

Swablu seemed to have the situation under control, at least, even if Drayden didn’t. He made sure to leave the door ajar when he stepped out, just in case that helped at all, and ran a hand through his hair.

He didn’t know how to fix this, but his brother had to be told immediately.

Drayden passed a hand over his eyes and went to grab his Xtransceiver off of the living room table, trying to work out how he’d broach the problem; he didn’t want Travic to panic and make himself worse, but they had nip the belief before it rooted itself any deeper.

With a resigned sigh, he turned the device on and dialed his brother’s number.

—

“What do you mean?” Travic [?], sounding like he was suffering the immediate aftermath of being punched in the chest.

“He thinks being here is his punishment for breaking an unspoken rule.” Drayden confirmed, grim faced, and triple-checked that his study door was shut tight. While it wouldn’t hurt Ingo to hear the truth of this matter, it wouldn’t do for him to realize how poorly his father was doing.

“I– I wasn’t mad at him. He just needed to get away before he caught–” His brother broke off abruptly, and at first Drayden thought it could be chalked up to the ragged cough that tore from his lungs, but realized shortly thereafter that it was the other way around– a sudden inhalation had, instead, sparked the coughing fit. “He put himself in time out. How didn’t I see that?”

“Trav, you had a fever of [?] degrees.” Drayden reasoned, trying to lessen the blow even the smallest amount.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. “That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change how he understood it. He must…”

There was a break on the other side of the line as Travic tried to wrestle his lungs into compliance.

“He thinks I abandoned him, Drayden.”

Ah. Drayden… hadn’t thought of it in that light, but he did suppose that would make it worse on a parent, and even [worse] on Travic in particular. The twins were too young to remember their mother, but Drayden could [recall/recite] that unpleasantness all too easily.

“We’ll get this misunderstanding worked out. He’s a very smart little boy, I’m sure we can–”

“He’s six.” Travic snapped, and then looked intensely apologetic about it. “Sorry. It’s just– it’s not his job. I’m supposed to make sure he [understands], and I can’t have screwed up worse.”

Drayden sighed and rested his chin in a hand, unable to quell this particular [anxiety]. “It can’t be undone, so the best thing to do is ensure that it doesn’t stretch on any longer. I can try to talk to him, but I need to know how you want me to approach the conversation.”

“I… don’t know.” Travic said [lamely]. He pressed both hands to his face and ran them both upwards, until the heels were pressed to his eyes. Eventually he said, “I’ll call in, so keep him home tomorrow. It’ll be worse if he has to pass through town on his way to school.”

His already distraught [frown] deepened as he muttered, “All the good that does. It’s been [timeframe]. I thought sticking to his usual schedule would help, but…”

“With all due respect, Travic, what other options were there? His absence wouldn’t be excused for long if he wasn’t also sick, and the inactivity would have worn on his nerves even more than the routine. You’re not being fair to yourself.”

A rough, frustrated sound escaped Travic, and in that moment, the resemblance between him and his eldest was uncanny.

[…]

Out of an abundance of caution, he peeked into the guest room on his way past. It seemed Ingo had roused himself at some point during Drayden’s call, as the blanket had been folded into clumsy fourths and shoved off to the side. The shapes involved suggested that he’d finally maneuvered himself under the actual bedding, so Drayden wasn’t terribly concerned about that particular blanket being rejected– especially since his coat was still laying atop the child-sized lump.

“It will be better in the morning.” Drayden promised the sleeping form. “Goodnight, Ingo.”

-

In spite of the previous evening’s events, Ingo didn’t miss a beat the next morning. He got up right on schedule and started shuffling about as he did every morning so far. While he was still sleepy-eyed, it seemed likely to draw from a different source than before, and Drayden was [vindicated] to see him wandering around without a coat over his shoulders.

There was one in his arms, though, and he wordlessly held it up for Drayden to take back, staring somewhere to the left of the man’s knees.

It took a moment for Drayden to come up with an adequate response to that.

“Why don’t you hold onto that until we find a blanket that you like?” He asked, and saw a nose scrunch in thought.

“Won’t you need it?” [?]

He shook his head. “Don’t worry, I run hot; if I really need a coat this time of year, there are others I can use.”

With the [clumsy] hands of a young child, Ingo doubled it over across his arms and then frowned at the result; he frowned at most everything though, and this didn’t seem so out of the ordinary.