It had been a week since the crash. Jimmy had been pronounced captain in Curly's absence, and they had sent Curly to the medbay. Anya usually forced a few pain pills down his throat every few hours, just to get him to stop groaning and crying in pain. But they could all tell she was growing wary of the task, of looking at Curly's disturbing, injured state. She had timidly requested you to feed Curly the medication today. Just today, she promised. She'll go back to it tomorrow.

Now, you were in the medbay, which was full of foam just like the rest of the ship. Curly lay on that same damned bed, in front of the screen that emitted a low droning noise. He shifted just a bit when you entered, his beady blue eye tracking each of your movements. You could hear his breaths heave. He could hardly breathe now. He barely spoke, only croaking out a few words when it hurts the least. Instead, when people came to check on him, he just watched and whined low in his chest, in a silent plea for something to dull the pain that thrummed beneath his skin.