Ivan seemed to have quieted down after he fell out of his chair. He was no longer murmuring incoherently, though he still shivered a bit. One would have thought he would have woken himself up by now, but he was well and truly out of it.
As it happened, this is basically what happened every time he tried to sleep. Ever since the plague hit and his family was forced to emigrate, he'd been plagued by terrible nightmares, forcing him to repeat and relive his worst memories. Occasionally these would cause problems far worse than simple nightmares. Occasionally he would wet the bed or wake up in a full on night terror. Because of all this, he was always low on sleep and was starting to face the consequences. 
Ivan still lay shivering on the floor of the cleared out area, his lips moving slightly though he did not speak. His forehead was now drenched in sweat, tears sliding down his flushed cheeks. The poor child moaned in pain, on the verge of waking up.