The Bracken Woods don't look at me

forward-dated to the 20th, set just outside the borders of bracken sanctuary. tags for reference

He'd slipped away from @Zamael and @Eris at some point, knowing full well he ought not be outside the borders in his condition, especially with Runion so near. He just needed a break. That was all— he'd just take a walk and come back. He'd come back. Swallowing hard, he weaved through the trees with searching eyes, guilt written freely across his face for none to see.
Lately he couldn't get the color grey out of his head— no, not grey. Silver. The color was far less common than he'd ever realized; he caught every flash of it now, and for some reason this was important. Other colors overwhelmed him, each spelling out some terrible feeling he wished he never had to revisit. But there was one on his mind now, one that wasn't grey or silver.
Purple caught his eye now. A dull sort of purple; the plant was flowering, not yet possessing of the dark, shiny berries he had come to associate with it. It would work the same, he figured— hoped. He ripped the plant from the ground without a second thought, knowing he needed the roots for this. All he could do was stare at it, then, and remind himself that he'd promised to come back— but some nagging voice touted the fact that he'd never promised that to anyone but himself.

Runion was getting much too eager. He wanted to finally do the deed, to cut off the last tie. To find the one he had come for, whom he had run into over and over already. He got to searching for the scent...and soon he caught it. Licking his lips, he drew in the scent. Savoring his oncoming victory.

As he went along, he caught sight. He wanted to run him down then and there, even take a step in their direction...then paused. A smiling face went by his mind, the feeling of fun and satisfaction at something else. How he thought about things...and it made him pause there, in the open.

He caught Runion's scent on the breeze, and turned with ears already flattened. The plant was forgotten. A number of feelings struck him at once, but most clear through it all was something that unsettled him deeply— relief. Each encounter took them a step closer to the inevitable end, he knew; he could not say when, but he knew this could only end with one of them. Perhaps both, if they were true to the luck they seemed to share through genetics.
Quick steps drew him closer to his brother, until only two yards separated them. Irrationally, he grew irritable again; couldn't they have ended this last time? Couldn't it just be over already? You, He told him, agitated and unfocused. Are a complete fuck up. How hard is it to just kill me and be done with it?

Runion noticed that there was some movement towards him. And there was then the feeling he was having, wilting away from his heart. He scowled, growling over at him. And his tail was held up high as well. Alarian was starting to get aggressive, that surprised him. "You've got friends, and have been a thorn in my side...but would you look at that? I don't see a friend of yours in sight" he started, trying to get to him.

Instinctively he took a few steps back as Runion spoke, jaw clenching tight as he brought up his friends. No, there wasn't a single one in sight— they'd all abandoned him, one way or another, even if they pretended otherwise. He was left alone to his fate, as he'd always been. And wasn't that unfair?
The will to live had been taken from him, somewhere along the line, but the weight of all that had happened recently had crushed a more pressing desire into him. He wanted to— make someone else hurt; he did that often, but never on purpose, never physically unless he had to. The realization sent a chill through him, and in the next breath he gave in to it.
He did nothing— Runion would come to him, he knew. There was no advantage here, not for him— he wasn't even fully healed. He'd die before he could even satisfy the urge. Somehow, the thought didn't bother him at all.

Runion snarled, as Alarian did nothing except just approach slightly. He returned the movement by approaching slightly as well with his lips pulling back. Then he smirked. "Well then, I shall be sure to let them know the news" Runion said with his smirk. 

But this time he did not give Alarian time to give a reply. Instead, he lunged. Snapping his jaws in his face, moving and aiming to do as much damage as he could.

It happened quickly— of course Runion had something to say first. He'd always liked getting the last word. He hardly moved as he felt teeth sink into his flesh, first piercing his cheek and ripping through. Alarian turned his head away instinctively, lunging forward to latch on to Runion's shoulder. In the next beat, he felt teeth rend his flesh again; this time at the place where his shoulder and neck joined, blood gushing hot over his shoulder and foreleg. He bit down harder on his brother's shoulder, twisting the flesh between his jaws and making no move to flee or stop the assault on his own body.

Runion was returned with attacks from Alarian. He was snapping into a frenzy now, this time he aimed to finish this. Trying to get at his face, his neck, wherever he could get to. He could taste blood as his teeth made marks, one across his brother's face. Snapping, snarling and biting and tearing.

Fire shot through his neck suddenly, and he registered a moment later that Runion had bitten him there, too; his teeth tore deep into the flesh, and blood immediately began to pulse from the wound in thick waves. He felt nauseous, the taste and scent of blood choking him now. In that moment, he let go.
The next blow to land fell across his face. One of Runion's teeth caught his brow, sailing down past it and ripping through flesh the entire way. It happened too quickly to close his eye; a ragged gasp tore itself from his throat at the sensation, eyes snapping shut just a moment too late. Blood welled quickly, carving a path down his cheek, and for several beats he didn't know where he was, or what was going on— all he knew was that it hurt.
He didn't know how long it had been— not more than a minute or two— but when he finally flickered back to awareness, he realized he hadn't gone unconscious at all. Soft flesh pulsed under his jaws, mouth filling with thick, hot blood. He bit down harder, then shook his brother violently by whatever section of him he'd grabbed. His teeth worked into the wound, deepening it as he tore further into him. His eyes were closed the whole time.

Runion was ripping back at Alarian as his left behind brother doing the same towards him. As he was fighting, he faltered. He missed, and Alarian grabbed onto his neck. Just as fangs fell into his neck, he realized very well. He realized this was it, and was trying to kick at Alarian. But instead, he was slowing. Not from blood loss, not from exhaustion...but from acceptance.

He couldn't stop. Even as he felt the fight leave Runion, he sought to tear deeper into the flesh, teeth working cruelly through various soft tissues— he didn't want to think about it. It registered, at some point, that he was holding his brother by the throat. Right as he felt something loosen, and with one last fierce toss of his head, came away with his prize— and promptly dropped it.
The first thud was loud, brief; the next was much quieter, and chilled him far more. He turned his face away, willing himself not to look at what he'd done. Again. He'd done it again. A sob ripped through him. Trembling, he stumbled towards the plant he'd ripped up earlier, only to stop with a brief, choked cry— the adrenaline was fading already, slowly but enough to feel the agony more intensely, enough to stop him in his tracks. He could only cry, losing blood quickly and covered in both his own and his brother's.

he'd not forgotten what zamael told him -- part of him has wondered if runion is the same as the stranger who attacked alarian before, sent him injured to tindómë. he hasn't brought it up, but the thought lingers.

maybe that's why he's sensitive to where alarian is today. the children are tended to (he slinks around queenie, avoidant, useless). the governor, however, is not in his den, and for the love of all that is holy, he really should not be out and about with that head wound of his. not yet. delight hasn't left bracken's borders since his arrival but today he plunges past them, trailing alarian's scent towards the woods. when the acrid tang of blood interrupts the path he's following, all of delight's worst fears slam back into him.

he runs.

it's not a long path to the aftermath. "alarian," he chokes out, frozen before the scene. delight has witnessed death before, but perhaps fate has been kind to spare him the gore of it: his traumas have been cold, bound in ice and illness. never in violence. never like this. for a moment he can't tell if the dead body is alarian's or someone else's (runion, the clever part of his mind supplies dully, an educated guess borne of running that name over his teeth over and over again). he forces himself to look away from the debased body, to take steps towards alarian until he can fall nearly on top of him, the ringing in his ears slowly overwhelmed by alarian's crying. "what," he says, and nothing else, too -- anything to be anything of use except to try and hold onto him, oblivious to the plant inches away and it's significance. zamael, eris, they need -- someone competant -- he needs to call -- he can't yet -- he does, the howl ripping out of him in a daze, too-close to alarian, probably, but -- fuck. alarian.

There was no way Zamael could ignore Delight's call, even if he was inclined; the note of horror in it was far too pronounced. It came not from Broken Boulder, but from within the woods beyond, further piquing his interest. Dropping the bundle of flowers he'd been carrying around in his mouth, Zamael took off without hesitation, long legs carrying him swiftly--though less than gracefully--through the brush, sliding to a halt at the edge of the macabre scene.

Despite the carnage, his first thought was for Alarian, and he barreled toward the sobbing form, brusquely nudging--fuck, he'd have to apologize later--Delight to the side. "Alarian, hey," he murmured, nosing over his body. Covered in wounds, the worst of which a jagged gash over his eye; that would definitely need some care, and bile rose in his throat as he realized the seriousness of the injury. He then noticed the plant nearby, and panic--and some anger, too--struck him. He scuffed madly at the ground, kicking the bits as far away as possible, scattered to the winds.

"Nightshade," he said to Delight, eyes narrowed. "Don't fucking touch it. Don't fucking let him touch it. What the fuck happened?" Zamael demanded, straightening to look at the Chancellor. His eyes shifted, then, and the rest of the scene was revealed.

Runion. Except, not. Not anymore, anyway. His younger brother's burly body lay lifeless and bleeding on the ground. . .and his head a short distance away, eyes staring sightlessly ahead. "Stay with him," Zamael said to Delight, and then he padded over to the grisly aftermath, looking down, a mix of emotions warring for mastery of his senses. He felt like vomiting, and gagged--

--and then started to laugh, deep and gurgling, the sound rising and falling like an ocean tide. Looked down at his stupid fuckwad of a brother and just let loose, thinking of all the terrible things Runion had said and done. Bullying his siblings. Becoming their father's lackey. Mating Celia, giving her children. And in the end, he ended up just like his greatest hero: dead and headless. It was too much, and Zamael closed his eyes, his laughter eventually bringing him to tears of mirth. Mirth, and pride. Pride in Alarian, who had slaughtered the two devils of their family in such brilliant fashion.

The chuckles eventually subsided, and he cleared his throat, circling round the body. With one final sneer at Runion's face, he lifted his leg and began to piss, the gilded spray bouncing off his brother's forehead. When he had finished, he sniffed, taking a deep breath, then turned around again, looking at Delight.

"I'm going to go grab some moss for Alarian," he said casually, as if nothing at all had happened. "Be right back."

He heard the approach of another, running, but he didn't lift his head until he heard his name. His chest tightened with an indescribable fear, fixing the single eye he could open on his friend and desperately searching his expression. What he found made his heart drop, but before he could react, Delight was coming towards him—
And then he was just there. He pressed against him without thinking, his own blood rapidly soaking into his friend's dark fur, and buried his face in his chest. The tears didn't stop coming this time. He couldn't stop trembling, either. He felt cold, weak— but he felt relief, too. Runion was dead. His family was safe. Delight— didn't hate him, at least not yet, and maybe that meant he wouldn't. Maybe he understood.
Zamael's arrival startled him (he hadn't registered the call, or anything after he'd heard his name), and he pressed tighter against Delight— only for him to be nudged away. Don't— The word was so quiet it could have been overlooked. He swallowed hard and clamped his mouth shut again, the feeling of air against his tongue reminding him of the blood coating his mouth. Even as Zamael inspected him, he trembled fiercely.
He flinched back when his brother noticed the nightshade, scrambling to press against Delight again. It wasn't until Zamael moved away that he spoke, words meant for Delight. I'm sorry, He managed numbly, as quiet as before. If he noticed Zamael's reaction to their brother's corpse, he showed no sign; he could only tuck himself tightly against his friend, recalling with sudden, horrible clarity the days after he'd murdered his father. An irrational thought took hold of him then, and the fear from earlier returned, forcing more words from him in a panicked rush. Don't— don't leave, please. I need you.

zamael's approach goes unregistered until he is being shoved from alarian, a keening noise ripped from his throat in feeble protest. how it must look dawns on him in slow unfurling horror -- the sticky feel of blood (alarian's) feels suddenly like a vice grip, but he doesn't get a chance to try to correct as zamael wheels on him, talking about nightshade. nightshade? it's familiar sounding, bringing vague memories of warnings from past lives about touching it.

it's only when alarian returns to him with quiet apology that delight makes the connection. "of course," he says numbly to the brother, though he doesn't really need the instruction. he winds himself as close as he can around his -- around alarian, rooted in place by the terrible scene before them, by zamael's hysteria. he doesn't look away, nodding mutely, unable to process the sudden switch in tone. 

his gaze is forced back to alarian, expression collapsing into sorrow -- for his friend, for having witnessed this. and those words! under any other circumstances would they sound as sweet. "i'm here," delight whispers, "i'm staying, i'm here, i promise." things he wants to say, wants to ask bubble in his throat like acid, laying flat under his tongue -- not now, not yet, right now there is only alarian and holding him and waiting for the storm to pass.

The howl was too terrifying to ignore, even if it wasn't meant for her. Lily was at the edge of the woods when it rang out, shivering through the trees. It sent a chill down her spine, and she stumbled over herself to race to the scene, heart pounding. It was Delight's call--had something happened to one of the pups? Or Queenie? The possibilities ran wildly through her mind, and she was terrified to find the answer.

Blood carpeted the forest floor, an ugly sight. Her eyes darted around, fell on the headless body. If she would have eaten, she would have vomited; as it was, she started to retch, head bent, gagging and coming up with only bile-tinged drool. Then her gaze strayed to Delight, curled around Alarian, who was an absolute mess.

Her mouth opened, a weak aaaaah sound coming forth. Then. . . "Al--Al--Ali!" Lily cried, racing to his side while trying to ignore the carnage. She was so focused on her friend that she didn't realize she had spoken aloud until she had hunched down, and her jaw fell open, eyes wide and blank in shock.

"Aaare y-you ok-k-kay?" she stammered, her voice hoarse and rusty after so many days of not using it. She pressed her muzzle against whatever part of his skull was not bruised or bloodied, closing her eyes. Then she opened them, looking at Delight. "Wh-wha' happ-ppened?" Lily asked, gesturing around the clearing.

skipping zamael w permission!

Delight's quiet reassurance fell on him softly, soothing like gentle spring rain, and slowly the tears abated. He could feel the shock and adrenaline fading, too, replaced by a rapidly-thickening fog. It occurred to him that they'd never been this close before, so close he swore they could melt into each other, and he'd have been okay with that. He pressed his face into Delight's fur, realizing then how much it actually hurt to be pressed so tightly against him. He didn't care.
But he was so tired, his thoughts jumbled and heavy. This would be— He yawned, tone distant and overly lethargic and muffled by fur. Nicer if I wasn't bleeding all over you... sorry. A couple beats passed and he added, mumbling, Still nice, though. He shifted slightly to lay his head on Delight, not really minding if it took some awkward twisting. This was a nice place to nap, he'd decided— or die, if that was what he was doing now.
Was he going to die? No— no, he couldn't, not now goddamnit. He wanted at least another five minutes here, just a bit longer to pretend this meant something— to pretend Delight could maybe—
Before he could die or extract more gay shit from Delight or start crying again or whatever he'd planned to do next, Lily showed up and ruined it all. Everything. Fuckin' Lily. He was glad to see her, of course; he opened his mouth to say something, to reassure her.
Then she spoke. Actual words— woah. Alarian blinked and lifted his head to glance at Delight, to see if he caught the significance, but promptly lowered it again when he realized wow, that was a lot of effort. He didn't move when Lily approached, but he tensed slightly against Delight, half-expecting her muzzle to fall on the hurt section of his head. There was no energy left in him anyway; he was fading slowly from consciousness, breathing slower now. He was just so tired.

his heart is beating too loud and it isn't just the carnage causing it. a breathy laugh tears from his throat, a humorless, dying sound, as alarian keeps talking. somewhere in his own hysteria delight thinks he's going to die, and oh, i really am cursed. out loud he says, "shut up," his voice flayed to raw emotion, desperate and affectionate and doomed. stuck to his teeth the things he should say make a sudden leap for freedom. "alarian --"

whatever he should or shouldn't say is cut off by lily's arrival. she's got words, he realises dumbly, distracted by the way alarian is settling on top of him. "hey now," he murmurs, nipping at his nose just a touch frantic as the advocate lays her head across him. to her he says dully, "what it looks like. runion." he cannot construct a real explanation, not right now, and where is zamael with his magic cure or -- he's bleeding so much, surely he can't bleed that much, do we really contain this much blood?

"i," delight stammers, unclear if he's talking to lily or alarian or both, "he's, just, stay awake, help me keep him awake, stay awake, alarian," accompanied by tiny nips, sure it hurts, hating that it hurts, but he can't die, lily knows delight's cursed, he can't die, not now! not when --

Lily racked her brain, trying to think if she'd ever heard that name before. Surely it couldn't be the brother he mentioned? She attempted to imagine a scenario in which she decapitated any of her siblings and failed miserably, instead turning her attention back to the wounded Governor. Delight was pleading with him, but he was drifting off fast, and in need of help.

"P-please st-staaay, Ali," she begged, taking a position near him--not so near as Delight, but close. She nosed him insistently, anywhere he wasn't wounded (few places to choose from, at this point) trying to be as gentle as possible. "Y-you h-have to st-stay awaaay. . .aw-wake," she urged, teeth clacking almost painfully shut on that last syllable.

Speech was arduous, and she was shaking by the time she finished those two small sentences, breathing slightly heavier. Instead of talking to him more--he'd never really liked her prattling on, anyway--Lily stayed glued to his side, trying to keep him roused. If he fell asleep now, he could fall asleep for good. . .and that wouldn't happen. Not on her watch, nor Delight's.

"M-moss?" Lily whispered to Delight, eyes inquisitive. "D-doooes any--any-won h-have--"

"Yes," Zam interrupted, his voice terse as he dropped the clumps of greenery near his brother. He fixed a gimlet stare on Delight and Lily--surprised to hear her speak, but not over the moon about it, not now--face brooking no opposition. "You can stay near him, but you have to help me. Apply moss anywhere he's bleeding; he needs it most on that neck wound, and his eye."

He spent a few minutes patching up the more serious gashes, then turned to his stash and picked up the small bit of leaves and yellow flowers. Celandine--good for the eyes, and for pain. He chewed it quickly in his mouth, turning it into a thick paste before moving close to Alarian again. "This is kinda gross. Sorry," he muttered between his teeth, before spitting the wad onto his brother's forehead, just above his brow. "Keep your eyes closed," Zamael commanded, then began to spread the makeshift poultice over the injury, stopping only when a liberal gooey covering had been applied.

The man sucked in a deep breath, licking the remainder of the plant from his chops before turning to the other two, who were--hopefully--applying moss to the most damaged parts of Alarian. With luck, the bleeding would slow quickly; he didn't want this to be a drawn-out process. In the meantime, he began preparing poultices of marigold, which would stave off any impending infections.

Zamael was not a healer--far from it. He hated everyone way too much to care for them the requisite amount to be a medic, but this was a special circumstance. He liked plants, and Alarian was the one wolf he did love. . .and he might as well put those two aspects of his personality to good use. Even if taking charge of the situation, plus his brother's precarious state, was currently scaring the fucking shit out of him.

He wasn't sure why Delight wanted him to shut up, when there were so many things to say, but he did; he'd have done anything the other asked of him just then. But he winced slightly when Delight nipped his nose. It wasn't necessarily painful, he thought, but disconcerting— then he nipped him again, begging him to stay awake, and Alarian realized maybe he couldn't do that—
Each nip made him wince, but he was too tired to try to avoid them. In his addled state, he quickly came to the conclusion that Delight wanted to tell him something (the way he'd said his name replayed distantly in his mind)— it didn't quite explain why Lily was in on it, why they both sounded so distressed, but he was sure of it. Deliiiiight, He half-whined, mumbling and plaintive— and, frankly, barely coherent. Just— tell me later.
And then Zamael was there, talking— he registered the words distantly, realized a moment too late that his instructions meant he'd have to move (having pressed some wounded areas firmly against Delight). And he really, really didn't want to— no, he'd die right here, thanks. Sure, he was probably delirious from blood loss and not really realizing all that dying entailed (such as never getting this close to Delight again), but damnit what if he never got this close to Delight again?

So, however they decided to approach that whole thing, he protested and generally made it difficult (as much as he could— luckily, not very much at all) for about two full minutes before giving up entirely. But, he did scrunch his nose when Zamael spit plant-paste on his face; he liked plants, but not uh... not that much.

thankfully lily catches on quickly. alarian's protests are met with more gentle nips, delight's voice strained as he says "making sure there'll be a next time, okay?" he has no idea what the semi-conscious governor means by 'tell me later' -- does he mean, has he figured out? dramatic death bed confessions arent' really his style, but if it'll keep him awake, "alarian, you should know i--"

zamael shows up blessed moss in hand. 

he obliges the orders easily, scrambling out of the way in spite of the fuss his half-dead friend kicks up and pressing moss as carefully as he can into the wound in his neck. he keeps as close as he can, still touching, always touching, ignoring the sticky-smell of blood and its weight on him. "do -- how do we move him?" the question comes out hoarse, still riding the adrenaline spike from his initial encounter with the scene -- he trembles with nervous energy, waiting to be given orders to get alarian to safety.

skipping Lily bc i do what i want

He shook his head at Delight's question; the man had hopped much too far ahead, when they were still focused on step one. "We have to slow the bleeding before we take him anywhere," he said firmly, returning to his brother's side and checking how well the moss was absorbing blood. Not bad--but they had a ways to go. "We try to move him back now and he'll be dead before we even see Broken Boulder."

Perhaps it was hyperbole, but in this moment, Zamael did not give one single, solitary fuck. No one would move his brother without his command. Hell, it was shocking that he was letting the others touch Alarian--the situation called for multiple paws, sure, but every moment, his anxiety grew. He was determined to get Alarian through this alive and well; the poor kid had had enough trouble in his life.

"You gotta stay with us, kid," Zamael whispered to his brother, drawing his tongue along the side of his ear. "We're gonna take good care of you, okay?" He began to replace sodden wads of moss with fresh patches, gently nosing his way around the battered body. "Keep talking to him," he ordered Delight and Lily, eyes flashing hot fire.

Everything dulled and softened around him, voices reaching his ears as muffled, incoherent strings of sound. He wanted to sleep. The movement and sound kept him floating at the surface, just barely conscious, but it felt as though any moment he might sink into the dark. It was getting more difficult to breathe, too— it felt as if the oxygen had been sucked from the air. And it was so cold; it was summer, why was it cold?
He didn't have the energy to shiver. Even the pain was beginning to slip away from him, but through the blur he made out the word dead and somehow realized it was about him— and the gravity of that word could hardly escape him now, when there was little else he could make sense of. He struggled to focus on what Zamael was saying next. Stay with us echoed slowly, distantly through the thickened air around him.
Alarian whined softly; I'm trying, he thought, but thinking was getting more difficult. Breathing was getting more difficult. His breath was coming fast and shallow, but no matter how much air he sucked in, he felt as if he was suffocating. He mumbled something incoherent and shifted slightly, agitation rising in his chest. He was too exhausted, too weak to do anything about it, but the panic was there and slowly growing.

zamael shuts him down -- he accepts the words quietly, ears laying flat. he doesn't know anything about medicine but if moving alarian will make it worse than absolutely let's not do that one, thanks. as if to assure the brother he has no intention of disobeying him he presses back closer to alarian, his nose buried somewhere in his shoulder, mindless of blood (hey he's already soaking, what's some more, am i right). the order to keep talking is barely needed -- alarian's gotten too quiet for comfort, and delight bites his shoulder gently, worried at the frantic pace of his heart beat. "hey hey," he says, "it's okay, zamael's gonna take good care of you, and lily and eris and me too, but god, alarian, you gotta -- i can't," he laughs, "it was a lot easier when -- i don't do these near death experiences, you know? you're gonna give me a near death experience." it's a joke and a wistful promise and delight's dancing around what he wants to say, too mindful of lily and zamael's proximity and taking advantage of alarian's woozy state (he can get away with subtlety here). [/color]