Broken Boulder i'll pay my weight in blood to feel my nerves wake up

He awoke to pitch black, lethargic and aching. His mouth and eyes felt hot and dry— his nose, too, he realized, licking uselessly at it. The feeling of dry tongue against dry nose made him cringe. He sat up with a soft groan. Alarian's limbs were heavy and tired, stomach clenching and threatening to collapse in on itself. I need to eat, he thought, and immediately felt nauseous at the idea.
Somehow he forced himself to his feet; one step, two, three— he was standing at a cache now, head spinning. He couldn't remember getting there, but he was there now, and— oh. Everything spun violently and he lurched forward for a moment before he could steady himself. The wave passed as quickly as it had come. He snatched something furry and crept a few feet away from the cache.
The feeling of flesh and fur against his teeth caused his stomach to twist. Suddenly, he was starving. Alarian tore into whatever he had grabbed, gulping down a few bites before he felt the first of it hit his stomach. The pain was immediate and intense. He dropped his meal and turned away to vomit, tears already welling in his eyes. Bile burned his throat, and sharp pain flashed through his skull with each violent retch.

Something about the sound of vomiting really turned the ear. It was unlike any other noise, that dreadful hack-hawk-hork you could hear from miles away. Unfortunately, it was an all-too familiar hack-hawk-hork that floated over the air to Zamael, and his irritation morphed immediately into worry. The slim male quickly headed toward the sound, breath caught in his throat.

"Alarian," he said hastily, rushing up to sit beside his brother, drawing his tongue over his forehead in a soothing manner. "You okay, man? Food not agreeing with you?" Zamael pulled back to look anxiously into those champagne eyes, dulled with pain.

His stomach emptied itself within moments, though his brain didn't call a cease fire until several moments later. By then, tears were tracking down his face and his limbs trembled slightly. Zamael's arrival didn't register until he heard his voice; he was too exhausted to startle. Instead he was still for several beats, then shakily inched away from where he had vomited, pressing closer to his brother.
I'm fine, It wasn't that he was trying to lie— the answer was automatic. What else could he say? 'No, I'm fucking dying, thanks' ? Tempting, but... I just— needed to eat. But I can't.
Answer of the year, Alarian. He swayed slightly, ultimately favoring the side Zamael was on; it was a gentle crash, but a crash nonetheless into his brother's side. Shit, sorry. This— sucks, ugh. He muttered as he tried to right himself. Nevermind that he'd gotten himself into this mess entirely on his own.

I'm fine. Zamael's lips firmed tight, and then parted in retort, but his words were cut off by further explanation. His features softened, then, and he was about to inquire into the nature of this sickness when Alarian stumbled into him, nearly knocking him over. Only by the grace of some god did Zamael not fall, but he kept his weight braced against his brother, looking over at him with a baffled expression.

"Fucking hell, Alarian," he said, a little impatiently. He sighed, glancing at the barely-eaten bit of prey. Once Alarian had regained his footing, he padded over to it and sniffed it, trying to find any signs of rot or decay. He didn't detect anything of that nature, and looked up again, mouth watering slightly.

"Are you nauseous, or just not hungry? Do you have a stomachache?" There were several herbs that could treat these symptoms, but he wanted to be sure before dashing off to the nearest cache of supplies. Alarian needed to eat, and soon. He was a walking skeleton, to Zamael; much skinnier than he'd seen him before.

Alarian flinched slightly at Zamael's words, sinking to the ground so he wouldn't tip over again. It was hard to focus through the fog, but he tried. Both? I— I just haven't felt like eating for... awhile. And now I feel nauseous when I try. The explanation was hesitant; timid, even.
He knew it had been stupid to stop eating. Of course he knew that— but no one had said anything, so he'd never had a reason to care. It only affected him. His ears flattened slightly, half-expecting reprimand. Another part of him expected it simply wouldn't matter; habit, to expect that he was not important.

Once again, Zamael sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he collected himself. It was foolish of his brother to have stopped eating, no matter the reason. But he understood. He, too, had gone through bouts of self-imposed starvation, dead to the world. When he'd tried to worm his way out of that hole, it had been agony. It was a slow road back, and not one without some pain.

"Your stomach shrinks when you don't eat," he said quietly, opening his eyes again and fixing Alarian with a gimlet stare. "Even the slightest amount of food is going to irritate it." His mouth twisted as he thought silently to himself for a moment. "Juniper berries," he finally said. "Treats bellyache."

He didn't mention--though maybe he didn't have to--that they also had the beneficial effect of soothing a wolf in the midst of a nervous breakdown--trauma, existential crisis, what have you. Whatever was stopping Alarian from eating, Zamael would bet his bottom fucking dollar that there was a psychological component behind it. It was almost too easy.

"You got a stash of medicine anywhere around here?" Zamael asked, flicking an ear toward his brother. "Or somewhere I can find juniper berries, at least?"

Yeah, He answered tiredly, rising on unsteady paws and turning with a gesture for his brother to follow. In my den.
Alarian was determined to go there himself; he craved the safety of it now more than he usually did. The walk there was slow, as he was unwilling to risk falling again— he didn't think he could stand to see Zamael's expression if he did. His head ached, and his throat still burned fiercely, but the fog bothered him most. Everything felt hazy— he was so tired.
He didn't hesitate to crawl into his den as soon as they reached it, expecting his brother would follow. There was room enough for them both, if only because they were both small. Distantly, he wondered if he could convince him to stay; at least for the night, at least until he felt a little less like death. Alarian didn't hesitate to nose through some things (his herbs had admittedly become a mess lately) to find the berries, not mentioning that he had known only their name and that they were useful in some way until now. Zamael definitely didn't need to know he compulsively collected random plants.
How many do you think? He murmured quietly when his brother had presumably joined him.

He followed Alarian to his den, keeping close in case the boy decided to collapse again. It was an agonizingly slow journey there, but it ended eventually, and the pot of gold was a haphazard assortment of greenery. Alarian seemed to find the berries quickly, though, and asked him about the dosage. Zamael shrugged; he was only an (amateur) botanist, not a medic, but you couldn't really fuck up something as innocuous as a belly cure.

"Just a couple," Zamael said, pulling three away from the stems and rolling them toward Alarian. "You could barely get a bite or two of prey down, earlier; your stomach won't handle more than this right now." As his brother lapped up the berries and began to lay down, he cast a critical eye over the medicine stash, head pounding a little at their disarray.

"Let me organize this for you, some time," he said quietly, already beginning to shuffle things around. "No offense, but this is kind of a nightmare. I know you've had stuff on your plate," he added, tone softening as he turned to look at Alarian, dandelion stems hanging limply from his mouth. "Let me help you."

It was overwhelming enough, having Zamael so— involved. He wasn't used to anyone caring, and certainly not in this way; it was rough, and he wasn't quite sure if he liked it. But when he started to touch his herbs— oh, no, no, no.
No! He snapped immediately, rising too quickly; his vision went black for a few terrifying beats, and he glanced down, blinking rapidly. His expression was only confused for a moment, but he quickly remembered his previous panic. Don't— I can do it. I'll— I'll do it tomorrow. I—
And then he broke. Alarian went quickly from not crying at all to full blown sobbing; it was almost impressive, really. His herbs were his pride and joy— the only thing he really put himself into, all those days spent alone, aside from his hunting. Hearing Zamael's critical words, seeing the way he regarded the mess— suddenly he realized exactly how far he had let himself fall.
It's not usually like that, He explained thickly, almost desperately— as if his life depended on convincing his brother of this. It's usually more organized, I just— I just— Alarian devolved again into near-hysterical crying. It was... not his finest moment.

Any wolf unused to Alarian's outbursts might have crumbled under this onslaught, but Zamael took it in stride, blinking and setting down the dandelions before fixing his stare back on his brother, calm, measured. "Okay, Alarian, I say this with love--but I'm gonna need you to chill the fuck out," he instructed, "and lay down. You look like you're about to pass out."

The tears continued to flow, and Zamael frowned, wanting desperately to wipe them away but giving his brother space until he requested otherwise. "Hey, hey, you know I was just trying to help," he said soothingly, sitting down and wrapping his tail around his paws. His gaze had melted from fire to sunset. "Alarian, I know, you mentioned it's been rough. It's okay."

He nodded toward the hollow where Alarian presumably slept, seeing how worn in it was. "Lay down, a bràthair," he urged gently, "and I'll rest with you until your stomach is feeling better. Then I'll go find you some food." After all this time, he was happy to have back his job as his brother's caretaker. Maybe he was crazy--or maybe he was just a good fucking guy with a big heart, he rebutted that thought, scowling.

Somehow, Zamael's words registered; he moved numbly to collapse where his brother had gestured, not really seeing anything as he moved. He shifted automatically to make room for him, glancing to him with a dimly hopeful gaze. A sigh escaped him when his unspoken request was obliged. For several long moments he was quiet, collecting himself, pressing close to his brother. Slowly, he calmed; perhaps the juniper berries were beginning to work.
I'm sorry, Alarian managed softly; it seemed he said that a lot lately. He pushed his face into the fur between Zamael's neck and shoulder, voice muffled slightly as he continued. I'm sorry I'm a mess. A pause followed, then he lifted his head to meet his brother's gaze, his own hollow but more focused now.
Thank you, The words were whispered. He only held the eye contact for a few beats, soon tucking himself back into the familiar warmth of his brother's fur. It had been a long time since he had slept like this— too long, and perhaps he was too grown now for it to be quite the same, but he didn't mind if Zamael didn't. He had missed this, perhaps more than anything else.

He curled up around Alarian, wrapping as much of his small frame around his brother as he could stretch. He shook his head at the apology, smiling as their eyes met. "Don't worry about it," he assured him, giving him a swift, soft lick to the cheek. "You're all right. You just need some rest."

He let his brother cuddle as close as possible, drifting off himself. Once he was awake again, he'd bring Alarian something to eat. Something fresh, not stale hare from the cache or some shit. Hopefully the juniper berries were doing their job well enough for his brother to eat.

Zamael glanced at the herbs, resisted a chuckle, and slipped into slumber, curled around his brother. It almost felt like he was home again.