Conan

It took a while for Conan to return to the trailer - it was nearly dark by the time he staggered wearily up to the familiar building. He was moving very slowly - of course, there hadn't been any bounce at all in his step since the CrypticSilvers had taken Raimi back, but tonight all of his limbs felt like lead, and it took all of his power to keep moving. He hadn't dreaded the conversation he'd just had with Ben - he knew where he stood there and what the man was liable to do. No - he dreaded coming home to Summer and Collin, and seeing the worry on both of their faces. He'd left them this morning, a little more silent than normal but not giving any reason for them to assume that he was doing anything other than going for a walk about the town to settle his mind, as he had often done since his brother had been stolen from him. He came back tonight in miserable shape, which showed not only in the stumbling, weary way of his steps, but in the pallor of his face - white all the way through, with a faint tinge of green to accent it. And he was sweating mightily as if he'd run a race, even though he didn't look in any shape to be moving any faster than his shuffle. It was in this manner that he moved toward the house, almost dreading the moment when Summer would see him through the front window or the screen door and come out to meet him.

Summer Wallock

In the time since the boy's abduction, Summer and Collin both had contacted the police again and again in an effort to get Raimi back, but so far... nothing at all had come of it. Ryan had vowed to do what he could, but there was only so much he could do when he was one of the only clean cops on the force, and no one really took the case seriously or dared to upset one of their strongest allies. Frustrated beyond expression by it all, Summer was on the verge of seeking out the two gang members herself and trying to resolve the situation.

Aside from Raimi, the woman was desperately worried for Conan, who was the greatest affected by his brother's kidnapping. That was one reason she was standing at the window, gazing out in a troubled manner when the red-head came trudging back home, and why she hurried out the door a moment later. "Oh, sweetie!" She'd been worried over his declining state of health, but tonight he looked positively ghastly, and it caused an instant swell of hurt to rise in her heart, "Come along in side, and get sat down for a while." The woman moved a hand up subtly, wanting to put it around his shoulder and guide him along, but she would only do this if the boy didn't immediately flinch. She understood and tried her best to go by his anti-touch issues.

Conan

Well... he didn't flinch. He was too tired to flinch. What he did was let out a breathy grunt of something that might have been surprised as his right knee gave briefly beneath him and forced him catch his weight on the side of the house. He managed to keep from hitting the ground, and forced his leg to take his weight again only seconds after that. Mumbling gruffly, "'m fine," as if his stumble hadn't clearly suggested that he was on the last legs of his energy, and moved to mount the steps. It was a hard task, dragging his legs up the spare three steps to the porch, but he managed it with a struggle. Stubborn to the end about not wanting anybody to try to take care of him, the teen kept right on walking, his steps heavy until he reached the door and began to fumble with the screen that had shut behind Summer. He couldn't make his fingers obey him - time after time he worked them over the catch, and the refused to correctly work the mechanism that kept the door fastened, and by reverse purpose would open the door. He heaved a deep sigh at one point... and kept fighting with it, his patience fraying quickly.

Summer Wallock

Worry sprang with abundance into the woman's light brown eyes, making her quite the contrast to the stoic masks that Ben, Cass, and Conan so often displayed. She'd moved to catch him, but the boy managed to do that himself, and prevent himself from going down completely. Knowing better than to be too pushy and overbearing with her concern, Summer kept it at bay to a respectable degree, and didn't interfere until he failed at opening the screen door - a very clear sign that he was about as far from 'fine' as one could be. Smiling in that sympathetic, troubled way that had nothing at all to do with joy or happiness, Summer moved a slender arm forward to open the door for him, "Why don't you sit down on the couch, and I'll get you a bite to eat." Something told her that he probably didn't feel like eating, but she wasn't going to let him worry himself thin while in her house.

Conan

Her recompense for helping him to open the door was only a thin grunt, this one possessing little more substance than the first one he'd given. But at least he didn't favor her with a glare, which he would have done to anyone else who had ventured to help him in this way, with the possible exception of Aralyn. He merely moved inside and obediently trudged toward the couch, showing at least that he was with it enough to understand what she was saying. He didn't so much sit on the sofa as collapse into it, in a graceless motion that had him jarred briefly to one side and almost overbalancing before he compensated and managed to remain upright. It was almost as though he was drunk, the way he stumbled about as if only half aware - but the boy had never touched a drop in his life. He abhorrence for his father had transferred over to the man's taste for liquor, and Conan was now the last person in the world one would find drunk. So there was obviously something else wrong. Very obviously - as he leaned back against the couch, the eyes closed wearily, and a hand lifted to pass over the worn face, apparently not hearing the latter half of Summer's comment, in relation to finding him some food.

Summer Wallock

Opening a cupboard and beginning a short-lived search for food, Summer glanced back to Conan to make sure he'd found himself to the couch alright... and that's when she noticed just how exhausted the boy was. And yet, it was more than just exhausted, he looked downright ill in the way his complexion sported an almost greenish hue, while his skin was clammy with sweat, even though she was sure he hadn't done any running by the simple fact of how spent he was. Forgoing the venture for food, Summer stepped lightly towards the couch and set down next to the boy, with her face taken on a few lines of wrinkle as it creased in unabashed alarm, "Conan, honey... what's wrong?"

Conan

He didn't know how much time passed between when he sat down, and when he felt Summer's weight settle beside him. Reality was a very strange thing for him right now - ordinarily it was solid and steady, but today it evaded his grasp as though he were reaching out, trying to capture smoke. It shifted and churned within him - he paled still further, and his voice came out more strained this time, as though he were fighting some intense pain - or more likely, nausea. "'m fine," he repeated dutifully, and almost opened his eyes to meet her gaze and try to convince her of that, but found that he just couldn't handle that right now. But he bullheadedly insisted, "'m jus... ti-ired." Well that at least should not be a surprise - he hadn't slept at all well since they'd taken Raimi; his nightmares had increased ten-fold, waking him every night in tremors and sweating, often with a hoarse scream for his brother. During the day, he did his best to shrug off the importance of this, and had blatantly refused to talk about it. But he'd gotten so little quality rest recently - it was no wonder the boy was ill.

Summer Wallock

She wasn't going to call him out on lying, but she couldn't very well let him go on like this when he obviously wasn't doing so hot. Her voice took on a more firm quality, which in Summer, still sounded impossibly patient and tender, "You're sick, Conan." She wanted to put a hand to his shoulder, or reach forward with a cloth to damp away the sweat that hung against his paled skin, but both of these actions she resisted time and again, to avoid causing him any further stress, "I can't tell you what to do, but I wish that you would stop running yourself ragged... and I know it's tough, and it's not going to get any easier until we get Raimi back. But you have to take care of yourself as well."

Conan

"'m not si-ick," he asserted stubbornly, and yet at the same time shifted his weight against the couch so that he was more firmly supported, and had to use less energy to keep himself upright. He didn't notice that he was trembling just a bit, all over - he wouldn't admit he was cold, likely due to the fact that it was still wintery outside and he was bathed in cold sweat. And he didn't know that he was so blatantly showing the he was ill, otherwise he wouldn't have denied it so powerfully. "'m jus' tired," he repeated again, as if with the belief that saying it one more time would make it more true.

Lately I've been winning battles left and right,
But even winners can get wounded in the fight.
People say that I'm amazing,
Strong beyond my years.
But they don't see inside of me -
I'm hiding all the tears.

Summer Wallock

"You are sick, and you need to lie down." Summer countered softly, standing up so that she could recover a quilted blanket that was draped over the rocking chair. If it had been Greg who was displaying these signs, she'd have had him in the car by now and on the way to the hospital - it was only Conan's fear of the place that kept Summer from suggesting this just yet, but if his condition worsened, that's precisely where she planned to take him. "Lie down, Conan, you've got to rest up." She tried to coax, taking the risk at putting a hand to his shoulder at this point, since he seemed to be so out of it anyway.

Conan

He didn't again attempt to argue with her... probably because he just couldn't muster the energy. He'd been feeling the effects of this illness when he'd asked for the meeting with Ben; that explained why he'd been so drawn and pitiful-looking during his discussion with the blue-eyed manipulator. It had taken the rest of the strength he had to walk home after that, and to get into the house - right now, he was thoroughly spent. So he didn't resist, didn't even flinch when she lay a hand to his shoulder in order to convince him to lie down. Slowly, he shifted his weight and lay on his side on the couch, never opening his eyes - or seeming to notice when his shirt rode up due to the odd position, and revealing an inch or so of skin with a fresh, purple layer of bruises over the greater part of his middle, extending both up past the shirt and down into his jeans. The clothing had covered it, but now he was not sensible enough to try to pull his shirt down and hide the marks. He had met with his father earlier today, as he'd told Ben... and the elder man had greeted him as usual. That probably didn't help his sorry condition either.

Summer Wallock

It was rare to see a look of anger mar the woman's face, but it did so now. It was a subtle, quiet sort of anger, and didn't do justice to the intensity of silent fury that responded to the bruises on the boy. Summer just... didn't seem capable of raising her voice or lashing out, and this was as close as she would get to fury. Even her voice swept past the darker feeling and continued on as the soft and motherly tone it had been since she tried to get Conan to come inside and rest. "Conan..." As she was draping the blanket around him, ensuring that it was snug and comfortable, she implored lightly, "...tomorrow morning, I'd like to talk with you." Truthfully, she wanted to talk to him right now, and find out who'd done this to her adoptive son; but she couldn't justify getting those answers from him while he was in such pitiful shape.

Conan

Despite himself and his intense denial that there was anything wrong with him, Conan snuggled gratefully into the softness of the couch, pillowing his head on one arm and curling the other across his chest - where it always rested, even though he no longer had Raimi to hold while he was sleeping. The blanket settled warmly over him, shutting out the cold that had seemed to penetrate his very bones and allowing him to relax completely against the couch. He just barely heard the woman's request, making a soft sound under his breath almost like a 'hm?' and waiting for her to repeat herself before he understood. His voice heavy with coming sleep, and difficult to understand for the slur, he answered, "'kay, w'lllllll... ta'k in thmornin'"