Any chance of following Edison’s footsteps has disappeared in the storm. Icy needles attack Matt every chance they get while the screaming winds knock against him from every angle. It’s hard to tell how far he’s gotten from the shelter, since his steps are covered mere seconds after he takes them. He can’t see more than a foot ahead of him, if even that.

But he doesn’t stop.

He counts his steps -a trick Edison had taught him. When he’s sure he counted enough, he makes a large curve left, then keeps going forward. Hope drives him forward and he’s convinced luck is what brought the little broken shack into view.

“Edison!” he shouts, rushing up to the broken doorway. “Edison, are you in here?”

“Shh.”

The small voice comes from the corner, where a pile of old blankets rests on top of a familiar huddled figure. Edison’s mismatched armor is barely visible through the holes of the blankets he’s acquired.

“Edison, what-”

“Shh!” he insists and huddles farther into the blankets. “Too loud.”

Matt shifts into the shack, down to the pile Edison is buried under, and pulls his mask up to expose his face. “What are you thinking, staying out here?”

Edison shakes his head and closes his eyes. “Tired. Too cold.”

His words are even more muddled than usual. Any strength he had before seems to have disappeared since yesterday. His eyelashes have frost on them.

“Edison, it’s way too cold for you to stay out here,” Matt says and pulls off one of his gloves to touch Edison’s forehead. “Jesus, Edison! You’re burning up!”

Edison shivers, lifting the bottom blanket higher over his shoulders. “Too cold. Don’t wanna go anywhere.”

Matt shakes his head. “Edison, you’re sick. We can’t stay out here, especially overnight.”

“‘M fine.”

“No. You are not fine,” Matt grumbles and puts his gloves back on, looking around the shack for any kind of supplies. “We need to get you to the shelter so you can warm up as soon as possible.”

Edison groans. “Don’t like shelters. Too many… people.”

Matt scoffs. “Tough luck, bud. There are people there who can help you.”

Edison shakes his head and lifts the blanket completely over himself. “Not going.”

Matt rolls his eyes and searches the random things in the shack. He sets aside two flat panels of wood and a couple long strips of rope. An old bedframe rests in a corner, covered in broken things. Matt clears it off as best he can, scattering a few bugs with the old things.

When it’s as clear as it’ll get, he tugs it away from the wall and drags it across the floor to the doorway, wiggling it to test the sturdiness. It would hold up, for a while at least.

“What are you doing?” Edison asks from his pile of blankets.

“You’re too weak to walk and I can’t carry you, so I’m making a pully thing,” Matt answers.

Edison scoffs. “Not going, Matt. Can’t… make me.”

Matt glances at him. “Wanna bet?”

Edison rolls his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you’re sick and your sister will kill me if I don’t take care of you.”

“She… knows I’m fine.”

“No she doesn’t,” Matt objects as he tests the bottom board of the frame. “She’s scared as hell right now. The only reason she didn’t come with me is because she’s too worried to think straight.”

Edison groans. “I don’t like shelters, Matt.”

“Too bad.” Matt takes a deep breath through his nose and steps back to Edison’s pile of blankets, crouching to look him in the eyes. “Look, you don’t need to be around everyone all the time. You can be as reclusive as you want in there; I doubt anyone will mind.”

Edison tilts his head. “Reclus...ive?”

“It means avoiding people.”

“Oh.”

Matt gently brushed Edison’s cheek. “Edison, you’re sick. You need medicine and you need to get out of this cold.”

Edison furrows his brow and tightens his lips. He exhales slowly and finally nods. “Fine.”

Matt nearly gasps with relief. “Good. Come on. Let’s get you on this thing. The sooner we get back to the shelter, the better. We don’t want to be stuck out here overnight.”

Edison nods. He slowly rises from the pile, sending the blankets tumbling to the floor. Under the collar of his armor and clothes, Matt can tell he’s sweating. He’s shaking, too.

Matt helps bring the blankets over to the bedframe. He sets them out like a nest and looks for other things to help keep Edison safe and warm while Edison climbs in with the last couple blankets in his hand.

“Where did you find all those blankets anyway?” Matt wonders and brushes the outer ones curiously.

“Found them in here,” Edison answers, looking around the shack as he buries himself again.

“Huh.” Matt shrugs and gently tucks him in. “Cover your face. The snow is bad out there.”

Edison nods and huddles into the pile, burying himself completely. Matt brushes his hair before his face is covered, then pulls down his own mask and walks around to the end of the frame. He ties the panels of wood to his boots; makeshift snowshoes.

The legs on the other end drag in the snow, leaving a deep, double-line trail behind them. Snow piles on the blankets quickly, but Edison packed them all in tight enough that they stay in place.

Wind howls around him. It’s getting dark; he can tell because the snow is getting harder to see and because the cold is sharper. It hurts more in the instances it slips past the cuffs of his sleeves. He takes a very short break to tuck the ends into his gloves and glances at the pile. It hasn’t moved.

Counting his steps is a bit confusing on this trip. Since he has to take shorter steps, he counts a for extra steps before making the curve right. From then on, it’s back to hope and luck to bring the shelter’s door into view.

An exceptionally strong gust pushes Matt to his knees all of a sudden. It holds him down, but he manages to look back at the pile of blankets. It’s caught on the frame, otherwise it most likely would’ve tumbled away by now.

The wind dies a little, just enough for him to get back up and pull the frame some more. Barely three steps away, another harsh blast sends him down again and the frame lurches with him, suddenly much lighter. It doesn’t take a genius guess to know what they means.

The pile of blankets is in the snow when Matt looks back, upside down and losing the big cloth squares on the bottom. It’s not long before Edison is left with only a couple, held tight against his body. The wind is too loud for Matt to hear the coughing, but through the sheet of snow, he can see Edison’s shoulders moving.

Matt fights the wind to turn around and struggle through the snow. He wraps one of the blankets around Edison’s head and folds around his body, holding him tight. Another bout of coughing makes him tremble.

When the wind dies down again, Matt pulls himself back to his feet and lifts Edison up into his arms.

“I thought… you couldn’t carry me,” Edison grumbles.

“I thought so too, but looks like I changed my mind,” Matt replies.

Edison chuckles and coughs again, curling against Matt, who tightens his arms.

Matt’s even slower now, trying not to trip on the wind or snow. Every step he takes is careful. He counts them, mainly out of habit at this point. He can’t remember how many he’s supposed to take before he gets to the door. He makes it to around sixty-two when he sees the gray rectangle in the near distance.

Another strong blast pushes him down before he can reach it, though. He holds Edison under him, shielding him as much as he can until the wind dies down again. It takes longer than before, though.

Air beats against him like an angry mob. Snow piles up beside them, using their bodies as a perch to make a big boulder of soft ice. The wind still holds them down when the snow has them half buried.

“We should’ve stayed in the shack,” Edison mumbles.

Matt shakes his head. “If we’d stayed there, we’d be buried.”

Edison scoffs. “We’re being buried, Matt.”

He clenches his jaw and exhales sharply. “We are not getting stuck out here.”

Edison hums, then descends into another fit of coughs. He leans away and pushes the blanket down to spit into the snow. “This is… what Maybelle had before…”

Matt looks down. “Before Victor?”

Edison nods.

“It sounds like pneumonia to me,” Matt says.

“I don’t… know what that is.”

“It’s the sickness you have. It’s bad.”

Edison nods again, slowly. His head bobs a few times before his eyes roll back and his head falls sideways.

Panic makes Matt’s chest hurt. “Edison? Edison, you can’t fall asleep. Damn it!”

The wind is still pushing against him. He can’t stand up without falling back over. Edison is limp in his arms -he isn’t even coughing anymore.

Matt squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths, fighting back frightened tears as he waits for the wind to die back down. As soon as it does, he rushes to his feet and makes his way to the door of the shelter as quickly as he can. The guard opens the door and Matt stumbles inside.

“He needs medicine and a warm place to stay.”