Chapter Text
Your name is Ellie fucking Williams, you are five and a half years old, and you are not scared of a little thunder.
That's what you tell yourself as you shiver under your thin blanket in the children's ward, anyway.
Thunder booms again and you curl up tighter on your cot, but you're not crying because soldiers don't cry. You're not crying. The ceiling is obviously leaking again, like it does every time there's a storm, and that's why your cheeks are wet and your eyes sting.
Soldiers don't cry. Soldiers don't cry. Soldiers don't cry.
A squeaky gasp escapes you when the walls shake with the next bright flash. You feel the tremor—something ancient and terrifying and angry discontent to merely be heard, demanding to be felt as well—in your bones.
Soldiers don't cry. It's just a storm. Soldiers don't cry.
You squeeze your eyes shut and pull the blanket over your head. You are not scared. The storm can't hurt you. It's just a bunch of water and dust and electricity. You will not hide under your cot again. You will not get caught curled up in the supply closet with your blanket. You will not look for Lieutenant Hughes, who not only is the only person that doesn't make fun of you for being afraid, but is actually nice to you. Because you're not afraid. You're not afraid, and you're not crying.
Soldiers don't cry. Soldiers don't—
The walls shake with the force of the thunder again and you roll out of bed, clutching the blanket to your chest. You look around the barracks, ashamed, to make sure no one is awake to see you in this moment of weakness, and you dart to the door leading to the hallway.
Cautiously, you ease open the door and slip out, blinking in the harsh fluorescent lights. A chill runs up your spine. The empty hallways have always been unnerving to you. As a matter of fact, you're starting to feel quite silly standing in the hallway, alone, where you're not supposed to be, your ears ringing with the silence that should be the sound of your fellows breathing. You start to open the door to the barracks again. Storms aren't so ba—
The lights go out as thunder crashes and you nearly jump out of your skin, your socks slipping on the slick linoleum floor. You fall and land on your rump, but the dull throb of pain in your tailbone is nothing compared to the surge of panic you feel next.
At some point, you had let go of the blanket.
Blind and terror-stricken, you pat the cold floor around you, searching for the scratchy cloth that has been your companion no matter what. Relief is almost enough to overpower the fear accompanies the next roll of thunder that booms just as your fingers land on fabric.
You scoot back so your spine is pressed against the wall and bury your face in the blanket, shaking and not crying.
A bright light pierces the barrier of your blanket and you tense, expecting thunder, but the light remains constant and there is only a quiet sigh of resignation.
"Oh, Ellie…"
You lift your head and squint in the bright light. Lieutenant Hughes settles down on the floor next to you, putting down his flashlight. He sighs again and rubs his face.
"What am I going to do with you…?"
You hunch your shoulders and toy with a loose thread on the blanket. The last time he was caught being too nice to you, you didn't see him for two weeks and he came back with his arm in a sling. You're half-tempted to run down the hall and catch the attention of another soldier, knowing Hughes would chase after you. The other soldier would only see you running away, and Hughes doing his job. Hughes wouldn't get in trouble again if you did this, but your bones feel heavy and your shoulders sting with phantom pain just thinking about it.
You look up when he chuckles bitterly to himself. "Fuck it."
He moves into a crouch and scoops you up, balancing you on his hip as he stands. Thunder booms again and you throw one of your little arms around Hughes' neck, the other clutching your blanket tightly.
"Shh. It's okay. We're okay," he croons, opening the door to the barracks. "The thunder can't get us. We're safe."
Where your own assurances had failed, Hughes' succeed, and you find yourself starting to relax. He carries you to your bunk and lays you down, then crouches beside you and gently eases the blanket from your grip. You let him; you know he wouldn't do anything to hurt it.
"You don't need to be scared of thunder anymore," Hughes says tossing the blanket over you and pulling it up to your shoulders. "You know why?"
He looks at you expectantly and smooths back your hair.
"Why?"
He smiles. "Because you're Ellie fucking Williams, and you have a blanket that can protect you from storms. As long as you have it, you're safe."
You look down at your light blue blanket, chewing your lip in thought. Decided, you pull off the blanket and hold it out to Hughes. His brow furrows in confusion.
"What? Why are you giving me this?"
You know all about how dangerous soldiering is. They tell you about it in school, and there are diagrams and pictures of what happens to bad soldiers. If the blanket would keep you safe, surely it would also keep other people safe. Unfortunately, as you are five and a half years old, the best you can do to express this sentiment is a single word.
"Safe," you say.
Hughes gapes for a second, then closes his mouth and clears his throat. You think you see a couple of tears spill down his cheeks as he smiles and pushes your hand away, but that's impossible. Soldiers don't cry.
"I, ah, appreciate the sentiment, Ellie," he says. He clears his throat again and laughs quietly. "But the blanket only works for you."
"Why?"
"Because it's yours."
"Nuh-uh. Ferd..Feds..F-E-D-R-A's." You point at the tag on the blanket that reads, 'Property of FEDRA.' "Says so."
Hughes frowns and rips off the tag. "Now it's Ellie's."
You stare at the place the tag used to be, amazed. They had always told you to never touch the tags on any of the blankets or clothing. Now you know why. If it didn't have their name on it, it wasn't theirs anymore.
You hug the blanket to your chest and turn your wide eyes on Hughes. "...Mine?"
He makes a noise similar to the one you used to make when you cried—you learned how to stop making it when it woke other people up and they pulled on your hair and hit you—but he's laughing, too. He nods and smooths back your hair again. "Yeah. It's yours, kiddo. But the power stops working if you tell anyone about it, so keep this between us. Never ever tell anyone. Okay?"
You nod very seriously and bury your nose in the fabric. "Never ever."
Hughes sighs shakily and wipes his eyes. "Go to sleep now, kiddo. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"
You smile and nod, curling up on your side. You toss a portion of the blanket over your legs, but hug the rest of it. "'Kay."
He smiles back and stands up, then crosses the room to the door. He's gone just as the next peal of thunder booms out, but you don't jump.
Your name is Ellie fucking Williams, you are five and a half years old, and you are not scared of a little thunder.