Chapter Text
When he wakes, the first thing he feels is nauseous. He buries his face in the pillow and tries not to groan. He waits for the roiling feeling in his gut to subside.
His thoughts are thrashing. There’s really no other word for it; he’s awake enough to be aware of the bed he’s in, the scratchy blanket around him, the footsteps and chatter of the nurses outside, but his mind is conjuring impossibilities at rapid-fire speed with the ease and self-evidence of dreams, and half of himself looks on from the outside, mystified. He wonders if he could just get up, and then he wonders if the fact that he doesn’t means he cannot or he does not want to.
Someone is beside his bed, he thinks. The blanket is pulled higher around him, and a voice says gently, “Rest, Private Nicholls. You need to rest.”
He gives in and slips back down.