Chapter Text
The senior Mr. Vane had business to attend to. It was a common thing to happen to him on short notice, but he made efforts to be a good father despite being constantly busy with work. Alas, it was not possible that night, for there was an emergency while his son was laid up with the croup. He went to the door in the library and made a quick trip to the sexton cottage to ask Mr. and Mrs. Raven for assistance. They had long ago, before Mr. Vane’s birth, in fact, earned the title of ‘family friends,’ and they agreed to care for the boy for the night.
They decided to work in shifts. As it was time consuming work to care for the realm behind the door without a child to attend to, so for a time, it was merely Mrs. Raven cradling young Elliot and keeping a pot on the stove filled with herbs and water to steam in order to clear his lungs. Mr. Raven joined her at one in the morning or so. The couple was used to being up at odd hours. It is often a necessity when one has so many things they must care for.
“I have fed the cats and checked on the sleepers, dear. You go to sleep, and I will take the lad until his father returns in the morning.”
Mrs. Raven stood and handed young Elliot over. “I could have done that. Thank you, pet. His fever was 101 when I last checked, but that was at the beginning of the evening. He feels cooler now. The cough has not gotten better or worse.” She kissed Mr. Raven's hand and left for the door in the library with a wave.
Mr. Raven sat the child down on his bed. He coughed and kicked a bit, and Mr. Raven put a hand to his forehead. Dissatisfied, he pulled the thermometer from where it laid in a glass upon the nightstand, and placed it in Elliot’s mouth, careful to make sure it was under his tongue. Elliot began to whine.
“I know lad. You must be sick of it by now, but just a moment for me, please.”
A moment more and he pulled it out. 100 degrees Fahrenheit, leaning into 101. It had indeed gone down a little. He shook the thermometer and placed it back in its cup, then set Elliot on his bed to take a look at the water on the stove. It was running low. He took the pot off the heat, checked on the fire, and returned to Elliot, who was softly calling him, his voice so hoarse it was barely audible.
“Mre-Raben? Me-Raben.”
Mr. Raven wiped his running nose with a handkerchief and lifted Elliot back into his arms, swaddling him in several blankets. “Mister Raven. You'll get the hang of it.” He burst out into a long, barking coughing fit, and Mr. Raven rubbed his back. “Don't fret, child,” said he. “The coughs are merely the subconscious part of your soul sending the monsters making you sick out of your body. There they will be left to catch their deaths of cold and will have to fend for themselves against all the nice things in the world like fairies and caterpillars and such.” He saw that it was snowing outside and took the child from his bedroom and out the front door, remembering that cold air was good for lungs riddled with croup.
Elliot sat on Mr. Raven’s lap, and Mr. Raven seated himself on nothing but the snow on the bench, still wearing only his usual black suit with breeches and stockings. He didn’t even bother to flick up his coat tails. He was in no adult company and keeping them down would shield him from the chill of the snow.
“Cold,” Elliot told him. He kicked a bit, still fussing, then coughed, long and hard, looking up at the falling snowflakes. He began to cry, and Mr. Raven held the child against him, bouncing his leg to soothe him.
"Breathe deep, my child. Remember what I said about giving the monsters a chill?” In hopes of entertaining him, Mr. Raven took some snow cushioning the bench and formed it into a ball. He placed it in front of Elliot, and the child poked it with great interest, then slapped it to watch the ball disintegrate, its debris forming holes in the snow beneath it. He reached towards the snow falling outside the awning of the house and took a deep, labored breath.
“Yes, I agree it is indeed magical. Prayers often fly on snowflakes, you know. After the little prayer beings make them, of course.”
They stayed there for a few more minutes. Mr. Raven made more snowballs, and Elliot poked and smashed them. However, having a croup ridden child sit in the cold and play with snow was likely finicky business, Mr. Raven decided, and returned him to the nursery.
He tucked Elliot into bed, taking care to keep a stuffed toy animal at arm's length. Though he was uncertain if the boy had any sort of comfort item and prepared a new pot to steam. He then sat down at the bedside and presented Elliot with a glass of water. He whined and turned his head as Mr. Raven lifted it to his mouth.
“You have to drink, boy, even though it hurts.”
Elliot laid down and moaned.
Mr. Raven, thinking back to his own bouts of flus and strep throats over the centuries, decided that perhaps it would be more comfortable to warm the water. He did so, by placing a kettle beside the steaming pot and pouring it into a mug, carefully monitoring the temperature so the lad didn’t burn himself on top of everything else. He once again approached Elliot, and it did indeed go down more easily. “Slow sips,” Mr. Raven held the cup as he drank it down. “You don’t want to overwhelm your stomach.
Once Elliot was done, Mr. Raven took the mug from him to put on the nightstand. A moment later, Elliot was squirming under the blankets in discomfort and was humming in such a manner that suggested that he was about to start crying again. Mr. Raven scanned through his options. He was an untalented singer, as ravens tend to be, but he knew many peculiar songs, and was, indeed, the near personification of many peculiar stories. In fact, Mr. Raven found that nearly everything he said proved to be entertaining for a toddler or young child such as Elliot.
“Hush,” said he, “you should try to sleep now. Failing to rest makes the monsters excited, for you have less energy to fight when they attack.”
The child coughed and sniffed. Mr. Raven helped him blow into the handkerchief and put it away. “Fabric is a marvelous thing. Nearly any intelligent creature, at least in my world, can make it. It seems warmth is a powerful force…”
Well, his ability to fight monsters certainly showed talent, if he could say so himself.