Chapter Text
Bzzz, Bzzz, Bzzz
Rusty rolled over and cracked open his eyes. His vision slowly focused through a pounding headache, pulsing with each grating buzz of the alarm.
‘ Monday, 07:02’
The boy smacked the clock until it stopped making noise and closed his eyes.
Rusty could tell he was getting sick on Friday but it didn’t think it was too bad. As the weekend progressed, it got a lot worse.
A deep breath sent him into a coughing fit. His chest felt tight and he wanted to barf.
Rusty hated being sick. Not only because he felt bad but because he’d have to tell his parents. His dad was never too happy when he or his brother would say they didn’t feel well. ‘Toughen up!’ he would say. Mum was always much more concerned but neither Rusty or his brother wanted babied. Rusty wanted to be strong; In the army you can’t let a cold or even the flu stop you from doing your duty. Digger felt like he was too old to be treated like a pup when he was sick.
The kelpie was able to hide his condition by spending most of the weekend in his room, with some bogus story about devising a super-secret plan to spy on the Terriers with Jack. He explained away not wanting to eat Sunday’s meal by saying he snuck a snack late in the afternoon, much to his parents’ displeasure.
There was no hiding this. He was so weak; he could barely pull himself out of bed. The boy was exhausted and felt terrible.
He heard footsteps quickly patter by his door and come to an abrupt halt.
“Rusty?” His little sister poked her head through the door, “You awake?”
“Yeah...,”
“Well, you better hurry downstairs! You know dad doesn’t like it when we’re late for brekkie!”
“Coming...”
“Digger called early this morning,” Mum spoke to Dad as she cooked, “He said he and his mates were having a great time on their autumn school trip... Says it’s been a bit chilly out there but no rain, yet – I'm glad I made him take that extra jacket.”
“Right before winter holiday definitely isn’t the best time to go on an extended weekend camping trip...,” Dad sipped his coffee and picked up the newspaper.
“I guess this was the only time they could get a reservation on the grounds, it must have been a busy year... He also wanted to remind us that they’ll be back at the school around four tomorrow and ready for pick up.”
“I should be off by then; I’ll get him before I head home,” Dad acknowledged.
“Mum...,” Rusty rasped, dragging himself into the kitchen, the smell of eggs making him more nauseous, “I don’t feel too good...,”
Turning toward her son, she nearly dropped the pan on the cooktop. His legs were unsteady and he looked as if he were about to fall over. “Oh, my!” She hurried over and ushered him to a chair, “Sit down, sweetheart.” Dad looked over the paper at him from the table. “You look awful, honey... Tell me what’s wrong.”
“My - My tummy hurts... My head hurts... My chest hurts...,” he was trying hard not to cry.
She helped him up on the chair and placed a hand on his forehead, “You’re burning up! Poor thing...”
“Is Rusty gonna’ be okay?” Dusty had hopped off her chair and stood close to her brother, clearly concerned.
The boy had another painful coughing fit.
“Seems like your brother’s caught a bug,” she rubbed soothing circles on his back.
“Caught a bug? I hate bugs!” Dusty grimaced, unaware of the phrase actually meant, “Where’s it?! Is it like a mozzie or a blowie or,” she was cut off.
“Not that kind of bug, dear,” her mother smiled, “A ‘bug’ like the sniffles.”
“Rusty has the sniffles?”
“Maybe a bit more serious than the sniffles but nothing a little medicine and a lot of water, rest, and extra attention from mum can’t fix, right?”
Rusty smiled weakly and nodded.
“You head back up to bed and try to get comfortable, I’ll phone the school; tell them you’ll be out today.”
“Now, hold on a minute,” Dad finally spoke.
Rusty flinched at the interjection; he knew what was coming.
“We can’t just keep the boy home from school because he has a little cold.”
“It’s more than ‘just a little cold’,” Mum turned to him, “He’s running a fever and can barely stand! He’s in no condition to go to school today!”
Both Rusty and Dusty lowered their ears as their parents argued.
“Our boys need to learn how to deal with being sick without you babying them!”
“I baby them because they’re still just babies!”
“He’s seven years old and his brother is almost twice that! They need to toughen up!” He looked directly at his son, “The real world doesn’t stop when you’re sick, are you going to let it stop you?”
He was right. Rusty wanted to be strong like his dad, he didn’t want to let him down.
“No... No, sir,” Rusty looked back at his mum, “May I – May I please go to school today?”
“See?” Dad scoffed, “He’s fine.”
“Honey...,” Her tone immediately softened, she knew what was happening.
“Please...?” Rusty whispered.
Mum begrudgingly sighed and waved off her children, “Both of you go get your things... I’ll get your lunches and Rusty some medicine.”
The morning ride was quiet, save the occasional cough from Rusty.
The boy had just about dozed off when the car parked
He reluctantly opened his eyes, tilting his throbbing head to shield them from bright sunlight.
Dusty’s stop.
She squeezed his paw and spoke in a tone that imitated their mother, “Remember if you need to cough to cough into your arm... Sniffles are ‘con-tay-gee-us', which means you can give them to your friends if you’re not careful.”
“I will...,” Rusty promised.
Mum unbuckled her from the car seat and helped her down, “I’ll be right back, sweetie.”
“Bye, Rusty! Hope you feel better!”
“Bye, sis.”
As the door closed, he flew into another coughing fit. A particularly sharp inhale caused him to wheeze as a pain shot through his chest.
Was it getting harder to breathe?
Mum returned shortly and set off for Rusty’s stop.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Fine...”
It was obvious he was in pain.
“You’re not a very good liar.”
Rusty didn’t respond, concentrating hard to not throw up from the motion of the car.
“About brekkie...,” she began, “I know you’re trying to be tough for dad... He loves you and just wants you to grow up strong so you can take on anything in the world.”
“I know... I just don’t want to let him down...,” Rusty spoke quietly.
“You’re not letting anyone down, sweetheart,” she soothed, “It’s okay to let other people take care of you sometimes – it doesn’t make you weak... Part of being strong is knowing when you need to ask for help.”
She stopped in front of the school and glanced in the mirror again, Rusty was fidgeting with his paws.
“And even when you’re some big-shot in the army or some world-famous cricket star, you’re always going to be my pup all the same... Never too old for mum to bring you a blankie and hot mug of tea when you’re feeling crummy.”
“Mum...,” he laughed a little, embarrassed.
“Sorry, not sorry! You know I say the same thing to your brother, he hates it even more than you do!” She chuckled for a moment before becoming serious again, “Are you sure you’re feeling up to this? And not just because of dad?”
“Yeah!” Rusty tried to speak with energy as he unbuckled his booster seat, “I think the medicine is helping...”
He really was a terrible liar.
“Alright...,” she shook her head, “Well, you can give it a try but if you feel like you need to come home, tell Calypso to call me and I’ll be right over... And don’t worry about dad, okay?”
“’Kay,” he acknowledged, popping the door.
“Do you want me to walk you up?”
“I’ll be fine, mum,” he hopped out and closed the door.
Stubborn, just like his brother; just like their father.
“Love you!” she called from the window.
“Love you too,” he rasped.
He just had to make it through the day.