Brand New Day

Chapter 4
Chapter Four

Ryder is stretched out on the couch watching the local news when he first becomes aware of the progressively crisping agony behind his left eye.

For the past six weeks, he’s been getting a lot of headaches for no particular reason, - even went to see a specialist and all, who offered an unsurprisingly vague, bullshit answer, suggesting that they may be linked with stress of some kind - so he takes no notice.

However, in the rare case that he were actually honest with himself, the young teen would admit to feeling… off. Not one-hundred percent, but certainly not under the weather as such, either. Nothing terrible enough to warrant a, let’s say, thirty-percent when calculating overall fitness - a hundred being his personal best, which measured against the likes of, well, Daniel, maybe, wouldn’t be nearly as high considering his naturally scrawny physique.

Even so, Ryder takes inventory of all those minor details that contribute to this off-ness, and in that big, bad brain of his, unearths an abundance of information that can only lead one, logical conclusion. One he conveniently chooses to ignore.

It’s nothing, he assures himself, even as the pain greedily reaches out and engulfs the central area of his forehead. Nothing. He gives a jerky nod. Absolutely nothing.

Yeah, right.

It will be nothing, though, by the time he’s finished with it. Ryder is positive that so long as he maintains the belief that it is all in his imagination, then he will eventually gain control over this ludicrously excruciating headache.

Ryder pays no heed to his worsening symptoms, and when the nausea first begins rearranging his entrails, he has the good grace to blame it on some psychological factor which he has yet to account for.

Pining down the newsreader’s voice as he drones on and on about the world’s latest screw up is infeasible with his eyeballs reeling from the sunlight the way they are and Ryder’s attention soon drifts.

"A number of shots were fired through the back window of a property-" He tunes in for about two more minutes, before he’s quickly swept away once again. This is not necessarily a good thing as it provides little distraction from the niggling pain in his skull, which he imagines is equivalent to his brain exploding time and time again, and wow, isn’t that a grisly image? Not the smartest scenario to conjure up for someone currently flattening their hand against their weak, flip-flopping stomach.

"-The young mother was left badly shaken but thankfully unharmed. The local authorities urge anyone with any information on the attack to come forward-"

The pressure surges - building and building with such intensity that Ryder can scarcely bear it. He breathes roughly, lids slipping half-way closed as the room spins in and out of focus. The black dots in his vision expand - merge together like a dark sheet cast over his eyes as the approaching shadows welcome him in…

And the only thing he can comprehend beyond the forceful throbbing invading his central nervous system, is a voice, a real voice, coming closer and closer, while he frowns blearily-

A hand suddenly grips his shoulder. Grounding him.

"Ryder?" Felecia asks in an uneasy manner that suggests she’s called more than once. “Is your head bothering you again?”

Ryder shakes his head - bad idea - and swallows hard against the ensuing onslaught of pain. “I-I’m fine, Felecia, thank-you.” His voice is so far away, even to his own ears. “It’s nothing.”

The woman eyes him in what might be alarm, but it’s hard to tell when everything is so blurry. "Are you sure you’re alright? You’re looking a little pale."

Then why does he feel so viciously hot?

"I-I-" A wave of dizziness overcomes him, and he squints, slurring, "M’good."

I don’t feel so good.

The pain has gotten so bad he doesn’t know whether to either puke or scream, or both.

"Ryder? Ryder!" Someone snaps their fingers in front of his face. Now that’s just rude.

Not getting any response, they repeat, "Ryder!"

He blinks slowly.

No, better to keep his eyes closed from now on. Aware on some level that something’s being asked of him, he garbles, "M’fine," with rubbery lips. Sore all over, the teenager can feel himself getting light-headed and it’s almost a relief.

Distantly, he hears fingers pressing buttons and then the same voice saying, “Mr. Ellis? I am so sorry to call you while you’re at work, but- Oh, no, nothing like that! God, no! He hasn’t done anything. Ryder just - could you please come home? He‘s really not well.”

It’s at that point that he sways dangerously to one side and tumbles off the couch.

…

To say the kid looks awful would be an immense understatement.

Daniel jerks sideways a little when he sees him. Pale skin wan and worryingly close to grey and with his coppery brown hair dishevelled, his nephew appears wretchedly exhausted, lying slumped on the floor and sniffling softly.

Rushing over, Daniel breathes a sigh of relief to see that he’s still awake, if only just. Knowing that attempting to stand will only end in disaster, he kneels down next to him and delicately manoeuvres the young man’s head onto his lap, grimacing when the kid lets out a tortured moan.

"What. Happened?" he directs the question - demand - at a hovering Felicia and scowls when Ryder flinches at the noise. Lowering his voice, Daniel tacks on, concern saturating his tone, "How long has he been like this?"

The woman looks deeply troubled. "I-I don’t know-" Ryder shrinks away from her voice, turning and nuzzling his face into his uncle’s thigh, and she whispers, "I swear, sir, he was okay in the morning. Around one o’clock, however, I noticed that Ryder started zoning out. I think he’s having a severe migraine. My mother used to get those pretty bad. From what I can gather, the poor lad seems extremely sensitive to light and noise. Earlier, I spotted him massaging his temples and at one point, he also appeared fairly close to being sick. I recognise the signs when I see them."

Daniel throws a desperate glance downwards, unsure how to proceed.

"You’re sure that’s what it is?" he murmurs, unable to repress his sudden panic. He’s about one groan away from checking Ryder into a hospital. "He-he," he takes a deep breath, heart quivering, as he says with difficulty, "He’s in a lot of pain."

"Like I said, this one seems to be at the worst end of the scale."

Daniel frowns at this knowledge, tightening his grip unthinkingly. He feels so goddamn helpless.

Noting the tension in Ry’s upper body, he faintly requests, "Could you dim the lights, then, please, Felicia? It might help." She nods, walking over, pulling the blinds and flipping the light switch.

Cracking open a lid at the unexpected darkness, Ryder squirms and snuffles, as he gazes groggily up at his uncle.

"D-Dan?" The tiny, dismal voice filled with sleepy confusion makes the other man’s chest hurt. "Wha-what..?"

"Right here, buddy," Daniel smiles.

"H-hurts," Ryder whimpers.

"I know it does," the older man pacifies in what is awfully similar to a coo, as he breezes a hand through the kid’s hair.

"Gonna be-" His voice grows faint and he gags, "Gonna b-be s-sick, D-Dan-"

All of a sudden, Ryder springs up, retching violently all over himself, which only aggravates his headache and causes him to cry out in anguish. Instinctively, - not caring about their audience in the least - Daniel rubs calming circles on the boy’s back, uttering sympathetic words here and there as he feverishly pukes up his guts. "It’s okay, kiddo. It’s okay. I know. I know."

By the end, Ryder is breathing hard, tears dripping from his eyelashes, and Daniel is looking a little fatigued himself.

Falling back weakly onto Daniel’s chest, appearing completely and utterly out-of-it, the young man sniffles miserably and clumsily reaches up to wipe his nose with his sleeve. Quickly blocking the action, Daniel lightly taps him on the nose, then teasingly admonishes, "No. Bad boy." He withdraws a handkerchief from his inner pocket, and holds it to the kid’s nostrils. "Blow," he instructs, and winces when the teen’s face crumples in pain as he does so.

"There, there," he pats him gently, "All better." But it’s not better, as Daniel is all-too-aware, watching Ryder give a hushed sob.

Eying the vomit-smeared clothes, he ponders their options for a moment, before turning to Felicia. "Could you please do me a huge favour and bring me a pair of Ry’s PJs? I‘d do it myself, but well…” He gestures to the teen currently sprawled on his lap and clutching at his shirt.

"Noooo," Ryder protests pathetically.

Daniel doesn’t even take his eyes off the woman, promptly shushing the kid while he vaguely brushes fingers through his hair, and continuing, "Oh, and if you could find a warm blanket or something, that would be greatly appreciated."

“No problem, sir. I‘ll be back in one moment.” True to her word, she returns within minutes, handing him the desired garments and quickly excusing herself once again.

To Ryder’s unadulterated horror, as soon as the woman leaves, his uncle strips him down to his boxers and begins helps him into his pyjama bottoms. He hasn’t the energy to do it on his own and he’s too uncoordinated anyhow. Head throbbing beyond belief and getting woozier by the second, his fingers fumble uselessly at the material for several minutes before Daniel loses his patience and steps in, effortlessly completing the intricate task.

It is because of this, he reckons, that Daniel doesn’t even allow him to attempt to fasten up his own shirt. After peeling off the old, contaminated one and tossing it into a foul-smelling heap in the corner, the other man directs his arms into the sleeves and quickly buttons him up.

"Can do it m’sef."

Daniel ignores him.

Settling the teen against his torso with ease, all the while maintaining a steady hold, his guardian drapes a fuzzy blanket over and around him and after a while, even begins to gently rock. Ryder, although dazed, is seriously beginning to worry that Daniel’s honestly forgotten he’s not a child.

It is pretty relaxing, though, he has to admit, and to his displeasure, his eyes soon start to get droopy and he yawns.

"That’s right, Ry, go to sleep," Dan whispers, stroking his hair, "It’s okay."

As he will later come to vehemently deny, Ryder drowsily burrows into his father-figures chest and, - despite still feeling reasonably wretched - there’s something so content about this moment that he helplessly closes his eyes and soon falls asleep.