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Burning.
It was the only word Dewey could think of to describe the… sensation he constantly felt across his skin. Dry red patches burning as he raked his nails in, only getting worse but he can’t stop because then the feeling comes back. Lips and pimples burning as he rips and shreds skin, tasting blood and liking it despite knowing he shouldn’t.
It was horrible, and yet he couldn’t stop.
He’s tried of course, he’s always trying. Long sleeves to stop the scratching, fidget toys to avoid picking, having Huey softly remind him every time to stop. All of it fell through in the end though, he always fell back to the picking and the biting and the scratching, to the burning.
Uncle Donald had given him lotions as well, hoping it would fix the dry patches. The stuff simply burned though, and it became clear that whatever kind of medication he would need for it would be too expensive. So Dewey dealt, and he scratched, and he picked, because what else was there to do?
He was doing it now even, lying in his bed and softly reaching under his shirt to rake at a larger spot on his stomach. It had formed earlier that morning and had been bugging him for hours. Now, with absolutely no distractions, Dewey had nothing left to do but scratch and burn.
Of course, his stomach wasn’t the only part of him that itched. No, it was his entire body. From the dry patch on his forehead to the ones on his feet. It was torturous and he couldn’t even think beyond the need to scratch.
“Dew?”
He paused, struggling to hear the tired whisper under the sound of his nails raking against his skin. At first he figured it was Huey, the eldest of the three was always a light sleeper and it wasn’t like Dewey was being quiet. When the bunk below started to shake though, he immediately knew he was wrong.
Louie’s head popped up not even a second later, half-lidded green eyes and a messy mop of red hair peeking up over the middle bunk. “Dude, you good?”
What Dewey should have said was that he was fine and that Louie should just go back to sleep. And maybe if he could think even just slightly more he would have. Instead though, he said, “I- the- it hurts.”
“What?” Louie muttered, eyes widening just a bit, “your skin?”
Dewey sat up with a grimace, nodding. He wasn’t sure what good telling Louie would do, considering there was no way to just fix his skin. Louie didn’t offer up anything either, ducking back down into his bunk and climbing up just a moment later with his phone and his pillow.
“What are you doing?” Dewey asked, watching as his younger brother propped the two pillows together and snuggled under Dewey’s blanket beside him. It made the bunk a bit crowded, but it wasn’t anything they weren’t used to.
Louie rolled his eyes, logging into his phone as he explained, “well we can’t do anything about your skin, right? So, I’ll just distract you until you fall asleep or the pain goes away.”
Tentatively, Dewey nodded and carefully leaned his head down against his younger brother’s shoulder. He was exhausted, and between watching Ottoman Empire and listening to Louie, the burning finally subsided enough for him to sleep.