FIC: Fever (Five Muppets River Never Met, 5/5)
Title: Fever
Fandom: Firefly/Muppets.
Ship: Serenity.
Spoilers: not so much.
Rating: PG
Summary: River's skin is boiling when she wakes up.
Notes: Part five. Previous parts here. This part has been waiting on my hard drive since I finished part one. And I finished my paper, so now... I post.
1000 words
River's skin is boiling when she wakes up. It isn't a fever- she knows fever, the rise in body temperature far above normal that is the response to an infection, but she doesn't have an infection, she's broken but it's not an infection and she can't burn it out of her system- but she's on fire all the same.
"Today?" she asks, and when she realizes the words were spoken out loud she laughs and laughs and laughs. Simon sees and smiles at her and does not understand. But she never expected him to.
River's skin is on fire, and she doesn't care because life on Serenity is strange and disquieting and not the natural order of things, but naturalism is an outdated view, back from when there was still nature and they were all still human beings, not machines spitting out answers like cheap calculators in the bottom drawer of Simon's next to the other things that River isn't supposed to see.
The new shipment is here and River likes being in the cargo bay when they are. Mal lets them roam free because what else will they do with them? The floor is littered with feed and with droppings and River cannot imagine cleaning it up. At first she wonders if chickens cannibalize their young, the way humans are so happy to devour anything that can overtake them.
But slowly she gets more comfortable, and soon River finds she likes to sit with the chickens (getting her dress dirty, but that's okay, everyone on the ship thinks, because it keeps her out of their hair and keeps the chickens from bothering anyone else). She tells them stories that she thinks they'd like to hear. Fairy tales about princesses being locked in their towers until the wicked witch with the blue hands calls upon her friends so they can all rend you limb from limb and mind from brain.
River likes to tell stories that people and chickens can relate to.
It's dirty here, but it's cleaner too, down with the chickens and the grime, and it doesn't take long before she learns their secrets. Chickens don't have a lot of secrets, but they have more than anyone would think. Except River. River knew.
River knows how to listen.
It takes her days to learn their speech, but now that she does she realizes how much they seem to convey with each cluck.
Her skin is boiling and her ears are burning and they are telling her their stories.
They are just chickens; they shouldn't feel like this. They shouldn't love and hate and care, because they are chickens and that is not what they do, and they are just on Serenity as free passage to the slaughterhouse.
But if River is more than just a broken shell of a girl, there's no reason that chickens can't be more than what they are already. And if they have a story she's willing to hear it.
They tell her the story of a hero, one who will rescue them. They have, she thinks, lived much more exciting lives than she. She's had adventure, and chaos, but they have the fairy tale.
There's fear, at first, that their blue hero is her enemy. But his hands are fuzzy, and they do not hurt. They press gently but never hard, never trying to break her. They are trying to resurrect her as one rather than push her down because she is a girl and not a toy to destroy for fun.
They play games, the chickens and their hero and the girl all by her lonesome. River's skin tingles and she dances with them, spinning and twirling as is their custom because it would be rude to be with the chickens but expect them to act like her.
There's something freeing about this, about being part of a group instead of outside of it for once. It doesn't matter what you are, human or chicken or whatever as long as you have the same ideals, the same fervor. And they do. River is used to being one inside herself and one outside herself and watching everyone else coalesce and she's just the girl who is many pieces of nothing.
But this isn't that. This is groupthink without groupthink and she finds she likes it. River likes the supersaturation that comes with these friends, the way colors seem to adjust to accommodate their flaming plumage and fur.
She can't stop talking about it, can't stop telling the stories they tell her so that she can preserve them for everything. Because she's learning so much, and maybe, just maybe, she can teach everyone else too.
River is boiling over with fervor and excitement and knowledge.
But- no, no. Never simple, never truth, when everything can be complicated. Looks from everyone that seem to break time in half and she doesn't understand, she doesn't understand.
Simon tells her that she's feverish, that she's hallucinating. Simon says she doesn't understand what she's saying.
He tucks her into her bed and they won't let her go out to talk to the chickens, to let them know she can't see them.
"Blue hands," she whispers from bed. "Their hero. Blue."
"We checked," says Mal, and he's trying to be reassuring but she's not reassured because he can't be right and everything he's saying hurts so much. And he's telling her he hasn't seen a living creature besides the chickens anywhere, and if he did they'd be dead. And that's not helping. Doesn't he get that's not helping?
River's body is shaking, in the bed, and Simon says they need to stop talking to her but he does not understand why.
River's skin is burning and her brain is boiling and in her mind she is still dancing with all of them, a wing in one hand and blue furry fingers curled into the other. And in her sleep, River smiles, and and relaxes into the sheets and rests.
Fandom: Firefly/Muppets.
Ship: Serenity.
Spoilers: not so much.
Rating: PG
Summary: River's skin is boiling when she wakes up.
Notes: Part five. Previous parts here. This part has been waiting on my hard drive since I finished part one. And I finished my paper, so now... I post.
1000 words
River's skin is boiling when she wakes up. It isn't a fever- she knows fever, the rise in body temperature far above normal that is the response to an infection, but she doesn't have an infection, she's broken but it's not an infection and she can't burn it out of her system- but she's on fire all the same.
"Today?" she asks, and when she realizes the words were spoken out loud she laughs and laughs and laughs. Simon sees and smiles at her and does not understand. But she never expected him to.
River's skin is on fire, and she doesn't care because life on Serenity is strange and disquieting and not the natural order of things, but naturalism is an outdated view, back from when there was still nature and they were all still human beings, not machines spitting out answers like cheap calculators in the bottom drawer of Simon's next to the other things that River isn't supposed to see.
The new shipment is here and River likes being in the cargo bay when they are. Mal lets them roam free because what else will they do with them? The floor is littered with feed and with droppings and River cannot imagine cleaning it up. At first she wonders if chickens cannibalize their young, the way humans are so happy to devour anything that can overtake them.
But slowly she gets more comfortable, and soon River finds she likes to sit with the chickens (getting her dress dirty, but that's okay, everyone on the ship thinks, because it keeps her out of their hair and keeps the chickens from bothering anyone else). She tells them stories that she thinks they'd like to hear. Fairy tales about princesses being locked in their towers until the wicked witch with the blue hands calls upon her friends so they can all rend you limb from limb and mind from brain.
River likes to tell stories that people and chickens can relate to.
It's dirty here, but it's cleaner too, down with the chickens and the grime, and it doesn't take long before she learns their secrets. Chickens don't have a lot of secrets, but they have more than anyone would think. Except River. River knew.
River knows how to listen.
It takes her days to learn their speech, but now that she does she realizes how much they seem to convey with each cluck.
Her skin is boiling and her ears are burning and they are telling her their stories.
They are just chickens; they shouldn't feel like this. They shouldn't love and hate and care, because they are chickens and that is not what they do, and they are just on Serenity as free passage to the slaughterhouse.
But if River is more than just a broken shell of a girl, there's no reason that chickens can't be more than what they are already. And if they have a story she's willing to hear it.
They tell her the story of a hero, one who will rescue them. They have, she thinks, lived much more exciting lives than she. She's had adventure, and chaos, but they have the fairy tale.
There's fear, at first, that their blue hero is her enemy. But his hands are fuzzy, and they do not hurt. They press gently but never hard, never trying to break her. They are trying to resurrect her as one rather than push her down because she is a girl and not a toy to destroy for fun.
They play games, the chickens and their hero and the girl all by her lonesome. River's skin tingles and she dances with them, spinning and twirling as is their custom because it would be rude to be with the chickens but expect them to act like her.
There's something freeing about this, about being part of a group instead of outside of it for once. It doesn't matter what you are, human or chicken or whatever as long as you have the same ideals, the same fervor. And they do. River is used to being one inside herself and one outside herself and watching everyone else coalesce and she's just the girl who is many pieces of nothing.
But this isn't that. This is groupthink without groupthink and she finds she likes it. River likes the supersaturation that comes with these friends, the way colors seem to adjust to accommodate their flaming plumage and fur.
She can't stop talking about it, can't stop telling the stories they tell her so that she can preserve them for everything. Because she's learning so much, and maybe, just maybe, she can teach everyone else too.
River is boiling over with fervor and excitement and knowledge.
But- no, no. Never simple, never truth, when everything can be complicated. Looks from everyone that seem to break time in half and she doesn't understand, she doesn't understand.
Simon tells her that she's feverish, that she's hallucinating. Simon says she doesn't understand what she's saying.
He tucks her into her bed and they won't let her go out to talk to the chickens, to let them know she can't see them.
"Blue hands," she whispers from bed. "Their hero. Blue."
"We checked," says Mal, and he's trying to be reassuring but she's not reassured because he can't be right and everything he's saying hurts so much. And he's telling her he hasn't seen a living creature besides the chickens anywhere, and if he did they'd be dead. And that's not helping. Doesn't he get that's not helping?
River's body is shaking, in the bed, and Simon says they need to stop talking to her but he does not understand why.
River's skin is burning and her brain is boiling and in her mind she is still dancing with all of them, a wing in one hand and blue furry fingers curled into the other. And in her sleep, River smiles, and and relaxes into the sheets and rests.