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writing-whump · 4 days

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Migraine

Fallout with Arnie and Hector. Arnie gets sick at night.

Hector was dead tired when he got back home.

It was already dark and Isaiah had a work appointment in the city, otherwise Hector suspected he would have come too, basically seeing him off to the tram stop. Like he was worried Hector wouldn't make it without help.

After the performance he made at the mole, Hector couldn't really blame him.

His head was still spinning from all the revelations, his stomach was tied in knots over the emotional roller coaster. If he stopped to think about it too much, he would find new things to angst over.

For now he just felt raw and hollowed out and strangely...relieved.

Things weren't all solved and Isaiah skillfully sidestepped any comments about the chest pain that happened the other day. There were years of secrets and hurts and whatever weird things Isaiah got into his head.

But Hector was going to figure it out. Secret by secret if he had to. Isaiah was not getting rid of him that easy anymore.

Arnie was in an anxious spiral, even though he told Hector himself to go out of the apartment. Turned out he didn't really believe he would manage.

Hector gave him a run down of all the new details he figured out. Arnie was on his best way to draw a timeline to figure out when exactly dad's shadow went mad, when Isaiah's training started, then his missions and what other weird things happened on the way.

It was weird investigating someone who was alive and could answer questions.

Hector found the idea of the pack not noticing their leader was mad and how the hell that could happen the most alarming. A pack was there to hold up their members, cover for what one couldn't do alone. This was out of proportions worst case scenario he never even heard of before.

Arnie was more hung upon the idea of nobody being powerful enough to challange, not to mention defeat dad, aside from Isaiah. Even uncle Grayson, just a few years younger than dad, couldn't defeat him in a one-on-one fight.

Waiting for Isaiah to do that for him? Arnie was complaining about that non stop, even willing to return for a few days to see Grayson on his own. Which was a miracle, cause since coming to see Isaiah, Hector couldn't tear Arnie away from the city.

Of course, Arnie didn't have such a strong pack instinct as a human, but the way he could ignore everyone else when focused on his own goals was incomprehensible to Hector.

Then again, Arnie wasn't all that well treated by the wolves either, so maybe he should stop with the shock.

They talked almost until midnight.

Hector's eyes were falling shut insistently while sitting up. He was exhausted after feeling and purging himself of so many things the day.

When it happened the third time, Arnie made the executive decision to go to sleep.

Hector was out before his head hit the pillow, relieved his stomach was finally steady, even if it sore like he gave it a thorough workout.

...

Hector woke up to a weird keening noise.

A quiet but insistent little sound, reminding him of a hurt animal.

He slid his legs from the bed, rubbing at his eyes. Sleep was sticking to him because of the exhaustion and he didn't feel any danger, nothing alarming him to a foreign or hostile presence.

Stumbling out, he followed the source of the noise to the bathroom. The door was slightly open, but there was no light.

He pushed the door open, switching the light on. The sight hit like a bucket of cold water.

Arnie was curled up around the toilet, elbows on the seat, pressing his hands against his temples in a vice grip. He was white as a sheet, covered in sweat and there was vomit on his chin.

Even worse, when he lifted his eyes to Hector, squinting, they were bloodshot and red, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Arnie groaned as the light hit him, bowing down to wrap his hands around his head.

Hector cursed, switching the light off again, skidding to his knees beside him.

"Pipsqueak, hey, hey. When did this hit?" The sensitivity to light, the pain written all over his face...

Hector was well acquainted with Arnie's migraines. They weren't that frequent anymore, but there was a time when he was around 15 that Arnie would get them every two weeks, like on clock. Hector never felt so helpless as when Arnie cried himself to sleep in a little ball, moaning even when he wasn't aware, against a pain Hector couldn't see, couldn't heal and do nothing against.

Their best bet was usually looking out for the triggers to prevent one coming in the first place. Depending on what it was the meds worked differently. There could be too little sleep, too much sitting, stressed out, food that didn't sit well, some flues even ended with migraines on top.

Hector didn't understand where the hell they came from with a healthy teenage kid. Except now that he had seen Isaiah at the event and thought back about their crappy childhoods...yeah, probably not so weird they both carried something out of it.

It was still frustrating as hell.

"S-sorry, didn't mean to wake you..." Arnie's voice was quiet, careful of his own volume, but Hector could hear the pain and tears written in it loud and clear.

"Dumbass. You should have," Hector chastised in the softest voice he could manage, shifting to sit behind Arnie.

His eyes were adjusting to the dark quickly, but he wasn't suprised to find a puddle of vomit where Arnie's probably didn't.

Hector put his hands gently on Arnie's shoulders. "Did you try your meds? Paralen or muscle relaxants-"

"W-on't stay down," Arnie whimpered.

Yeah, then they were fucked until he could stop vomiting.

"God, Hex. It hurts so much," Arnie whined, slumping forward, all but breaking Hector's heart.

"I know, buddy. Shhhh, try to take deep breaths. We should lie you dow-"

Arnie interrupted the suggestion with a heave, but only a loud wet burp came up. The sudden quick movement made him moan though, shoulders locking up under Hector's hands.

Arnie's stomach gurgled and then swirling sound shot up his throat. The heave brought up a wave of chunky vomiting, Arnie yelping as it jostled his spine.

Hector held his shoulders, helping him aim over the center of the toilet bowl. The vomit splattered loudly into the water.

Arnie hitched, new wave of tears running down his cheeks as he curled up from the pain. "Hhhhurts..."

"Shhhhhh," Hector shushed him, wrapping up toilet paper around his hand to gently mop Arnie's face and chin from behind. "I know this sucks, bud, but you gotta stop crying. It's making you sicker."

When he puked, the pain would spike, making him puke more. It was a viscous cycle hard to break.

Arnie sobbed instead, hands gripping the rim with all their strength. "...God, God, God...we messed it up so badly....

"What?" Hector squashed himself between the wall and Arnie to get a look at him, cupping his chin. "What are you talking about, kiddo?"

"Zaya- did-" he hiccuped, "I'm ssosssorry." More tears sprang up and Arnie choked up another sob, the keening noise joining the scene. "Sosorrry."

Hector cringed, abruptly knowing perfectly well what Arnie meant.

He mentally kicked himself for not realizing sooner.

What, did Hector think only he would be affected? That only he would blame himself for not noticing, for breaking contact with Isaiah, for forcing him to handle everything on his own?

He should have called Isaiah the moment they found out. Just like Arnie said. Hell, he should have dragged Isaiah to Arnie, let them talk it out.

Arnie jerked out of Hector's hold to heave again, crying loudly as he puked up another gush, then almost choking as it came out of his nose too.

He was panting for breath, chest hitching with sobs and little moans and goddammit this was awful.

Hector shifted out of the way, changing tactics.

He sat down against the wall right behind his kid brother, then scooped him up gently to sit him in his lap. He fixed Arnie gently to lean against Hector's chest, neck straight and head against him so he didn't have to hold his weight.

"Hexxxx, oww, Ifeelsick-"

"Shhhh, lean back and try to breathe. Just breathe."

Arnie was shaking against him, heaving, but Hector stayed put, braced for it. Important was fixing Arnie's back so he wouldn't be rolling his whole spine and neck as he gagged.

A splash of warm liquid dribbled past Arnie's lips and onto Hector's hands circled around his chest.

"Shhhhhh. It's okay, everything's fine. Focus on breathing and not crying. I got you."

Arnie whined, but then sagged against Hector in exhaustion.

Hector set himself to ignore the sensation of awful smelling liquid drying on his fingers, holding Arnie's shoulder from the back with one large hand, thumb rubbing up and down.

"Breathing, remember. Just breathe. Close your eyes and don't think about anything else."

Arnie whimpered, but obeyed, taking deeper breaths. His throat was bobbing nervously against the nausea, but the immobile position and leaning against something helped steady him.

"There you go. You are doing great."

Hector waited for a bit longer, until Arnie's breathing came semi-regularly before he dared to reach for the roll of toilet paper.

Without jostling Arnie and moving with incredibly deliberate slowness, he teared a bit of the paper to clean Arnie's face and neck, then taking more to wipe his sticky fingers.

He threw it all the toilet, but he was too worried the sound of flushing would upset the fragile balance, so opted against it.

They waited silently in the bathroom, Arnie leaning his head even more back against Hector's shoulder, breathing through his mouth.

Hector dared to put his hand on Arnie's forehead, cold and clammy. Arnie sighed contendly, finally not crying.

"I'm so sorry, pipsquak," Hector whispered. "I should have realized this would affect you too."

Arnie swallowed heavily, not saying anything. Then he made a soft throaty sound, that got Hector scrambling up in alarm.

It was a laugh. Strained and small, but real.

"What a historical moment. You apologising to me."

Hector grunted. "You are a cheeky little bastard. Worrying the hell out of me. Jesus fucking Christ."

Arnie laughed once more, dissolving into a cough at the end. His head lolled under Hector's chin. "Uhmmm. I'm cold."

"You feeling better? Not gonna be sick again?"

Arnie's hand went to Hector's hand on his shoulder, patting it lightly. "Not feeling pukey right now."

"Alright. Let's get you lying down." Hector moved slowly, carefully, but his heart was leaping at Arnie responding and being calmer. He unceremoniously picked his brother up, scrawny as he was, carrying him to the sofa.

"Here. Lie down straight." Hector pushed the pillows away so Arnie could do just that, flat on his back, neck on the same level as his back.

Arnie squirmed a little, but when Hector touched his shoulder again, he stretched his legs and rolled his shoulders tentatively.

Hector could feel the stress knots between his shoulder and neck.

Thank shadow it was deep in the night, the light being no problem.

He brought a glass of cold water, but Arnie made a disgusted grimace at it, so Hector left it on the table. He sat down on on the ground next to him with a good view on Arnie's face.

His forehead was wrinkled and eyes squinting, but he was breathing more calmly now.

Hector gently stroked his thumb over the crease between Arnie's eyebrows. "Wanna try the meds? Would a massage help? Or do you think you could manage some sleep?"

"Uhmmm. This feels a bit better," he said softly. "Think I could fall asleep. Just...stay?"

"Right here and not moving," Hector reassured, voice rough, resting his forehead on the sofa next to Arnie's ear.

Neither of them mentioned the crying again, for which he was grateful. He hated seeing Arnie cry and any reason that would cause him to do so.

"I'm gonna fix this," Hector promised quietly as Arnie's breathing evened out. "Just you wait."

#sickfic #emeto #migraine #whump #hurt/comfort #whump writing #bromance #my writing #werewolf wip #Arnie

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writing-whump · 1 month

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Sick and hurt

Part 2 of this fic

Hector hated two things most in the world. One, to ask anybody for help. Ever. Two, to ask anything of Isaiah, because he fucking never knew how to talk to him and usually tried to pretend they had nothing to talk about.

He felt rejected by Isaiah in so many ways, that it didn't matter how his eldest brother sounded or what peace offerings he made these days.

Right now, his other brother was asking him to do both, to call bloody Isaiah for help. And couldn't say no, cause as it was, Hector was completely useless.

And he hated that even more.

Every breath hurt. Every movement hurt. While Hector wasn't a stranger to pain, though maybe a bit less used to it than a human would be, he could handle this just fine.

When he was comfy and unmoving on the couch. Not when he was running around Arnie, who was all but delusional from the fever.

Crouching down hurt. Bending at all hurt. Getting up hurt. It was only the adrenaline to keep him doing both, and he didn't know how long he could do it. The bandages that felt firm and steadying a few hours ago felt suffocating, cutting into his bruised ribs. His chest and sides were on fire, flaring up depending on how he turned or held his neck.

Hector googled symptoms, then called their pack's private doctor for advice. Tepid bath, he said. Yeah, that would be great, if Hector could freaking carry Arnie out the bed and help him into it. As he normally could. As he was supposed to.

Arnie's suggestion didn't let him wallow in his failure for long though. It was 3.40 in the morning. Why would Isaiah even pick up?

Hector took Arnie's phone, unlocked it with the password and found Isaiah's number in the last three calls. He tapped at the phone icon with a sigh.

"Arnie? What is it?" Isaiah didn't pick up on the first ring, but on the second and somehow didn't sound tired at all.

"No, it's me," Hector grunted, not sure if that was very informative.

"Something is wrong," Isaiah said it as a statement and Hector could hear the ruffling of blankets as he got up from the bed.

"Arnie is sick. His fever if off the roof and I don't know what else to do." Hector clenched his jaw. "He has been asking for you."

"I'll be there in 15. Take his temperature before I come." The line ended.

Hector blinked at the speed. No explanations, no questions, no awkwardness.

As if it was that simple.

Hector called, so Isaiah was coming.

……….

"I can come with you," Seline offered, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"It's okay. Hector is even more difficult, when he is worried. Especially about Arnie. Besides, you didn't catch my flu by a miracle, but let's not push our luck."

Seline leaned against the dining table, watching Isaiah pack his backpack with a yawn. "Take Vitamin D too. 20.000 units. Maybe it will keep Hector off the hook," she instructed.

Isaiah nodded, adding the package to his supplies, before throwing the bag over his shoulder and putting on his shoes.

"Go back to sleep, babe."

Seline ducked her head with a tiny blush, waving her hand. "Keep me updated."

………

The rain didn't help with the visibility as Isaiah drove through the darkness, roads glistening, the aggressive patting of raindrops against the windows.

Isaiah tapped his fingers on the wheel, impatient at the red lights.

He was a light sleeper since childhood and Arnie's name in the middle of the night had him wide awake, heart plummeting painfully. Hector's rough reluctant voice in the phone didn't help with the unease.

He still had the address saved from when he saw their apartment the first time, a few weeks ago, when Hector was sick. The only time he was allowed to visit.

He parked the car and sprinted as dignified as he could down the street and into the apartment.

Hector didn't exactly live around his other packmates, not on the same floor, but on the same street, some in the same building. It would be suspicious for him to run into any of them. He was the Wolfson traitor, not someone his brothers should associate with. The only good thing about this happening at night was the low probability of it happening.

The world rushed out of focus until Isaiah got to the right floor, knocking at the door, only to find Hector's head in the doorway.

One would think Hector was the one sick, with the pained expression and his naturally wild hair sticking out in every direction. He opened the door all the way wordlessly, watching Isaiah like he expected a slap to the face.

"Temperature?"

Hector turned away, leaning against the closed door, hand balled into a fist. "40.1. I can't lower it. Water or pills won't stay down-"

"Hector-"

"I filled the bath with water, you know the medium temperature, not too cold? I called the pack doc, and that's what he said-" Hector punched the door next to him, eyes burning with frustration with a desperate edge.

"Wait, calm dow-"

"-I would take him to a hospital, it's not like I would let him die-"

Christ, he was more freaked out than Isaiah thought.

Isaiah cringed internally, throwing logic out the window and following instinct instead.

He stepped closer, taking Hector's face in both of his hands. "Hey. Look at me. Nobody's dying. You did everything right. He is going to be fine. It's okay."

It was from that close that Isaiah realized Hector was holding himself up all weird, posture all skewed like a badly hung picture on the wall. His breathing was off, which could be just from distress, but his upper lip was covered in sweat and his eyes had a feverish gleam, though he didn't feel warm. "What's wrong with you?"

Hector murmmed something, gaze dropping to the floor.

Isaiah narrowed his eyes. Yeah, this wasn't normal. "You look ready to fall over..."

Hector said nothing, a muscle in his jaw visibly spasming.

"Go get some rest. I got this," Isaiah suggested softly.

Hector frowned, head shooting up immediately with a snarl. "I'm not going-"

"You will sit down." Isaiah let go of his face, giving him a stern look, voice cold. If his shadow was out in the open, it would loom over him and the walls threateningly. "Cause I said so. I'll go see Arnie. End of discussion."

Isaiah hated doing that, he hated using his Executioner voice. But Hector stopped protesting, bowing his head the way wolves did when allowing precedence to someone else. It was the tone Isaiah used to get around teenage Hector that would say 'no' in every sentence.

Hector retreated a step, leaning back against the wall, eyes shimmering, face flushed. His right hand pressed against his ribs and he took a shallow breath through his teeth.

Isaiah was starting to put the puzzle together, but turned around to get to Arnie's room.

His youngest brother was in bed, a dark blotch of sweat on the front of his shirt, hair plastered to his face.

Isaiah dropped to one knee beside the bed, pushing the hair out of his forehead to feel the heat for himself. Yep, alarming heat indeed. "You up, champ?"

Arnie didn't open his eyes, but gulped, chapped lips moving in a ghost of a smile. "Hi, Zaya."

"There is a bath there going for you. We'll get that annoying fever down, dose you up with some good anti-nausea meds and you will be up and kicking in a few days, okay?" Isaiah stood up, hands sliding under Arnie's back and his knees as he talked, hoisting him up.

Arnie's head lolled limply towards him, the side of his face pressed against Isaiah's chest.

Isaiah carried him to the bathroom, where the bathtub was filled with water as promised.

He helped Arnie strip down from the clothes and then gently put him inside, slowing as Arnie's hands shot up at the first contact with the water.

"Easy, easy. This will help a lot, I swear." Isaiah let Arnie brace against him as he eased him down to lean against the back of the tub.

Arnie's lips quivered from the cold, though Isaiah found the water mild and pleasant temperature. "Don't fall asleep. I'm gonna stay right here and watch you."

Arnie turned towards him, eyes glassy, the emerald green in contrast with how pasty his face went. "I-I c-could r-really u-use a s-s-sauna after this."

Isaiah smiled, sitting more comfortably on the carpet, though in a good position to quickly stand up if Arnie tipped to the side too much. "A nice spa sounds like a good idea. Just hot tub."

"A-and b–b-bubbles."

"Yeah. And the different kinds of sauna. Did you know it's recommended to get into cold water or snow after sauna and then go back again? The way it will make your veins contract is supposedly very healthy."

"S-so I'm skipping the sauna n-now? N-not fair." Arnie tried to smile in Isaiah's direction, eyes focusing slightly too much to the right to land on his face.

Isaiah wanted to keep the conversation going, to keep Arnie lucid, but that's when Arnie suddenly lurched forward with a heave.

Isaiah straightened on his knees that instant, planting his hand on Arnie's shoulder and arm as the blond heaved and heaved over the water, but only a couple of burps and a string of bile came up.

"Okay. Shhhhh, easy. You are okay." Isaiah rubbed his back, hand dipping all the way into the water, following the outline of Arnie's spine.

Arnie's heaves slowly died down, though his body sometimes jerked forward. "Bleeeh. That felt awful."

Isaiah helped him lean back again, noticing the tears, spit and the snot on Arnie's face sticking to his chin. "I bet." He took a roll of toilet paper and tore a bunch to dry Arnie's face. "You are holding up really well, kiddo."

Arnie closed his eyes, his breathing still fast from the heaving. "I'm sorry. You will catch it, if you stay with me like this."

Isaiah chuckled. "I already had the flu, don't worry. It's a nasty one, with high fever and nausea."

Arnie opened his eyes at that, squinting at Isaiah. "You were sick?"

"Yes," Isaiah leaned his elbow on the edge of the bathtub with a chuckle. "Three days of fever and I couldn't even smell food. Got around without vomiting though."

Arnie seemed fascinated by the idea, eyebrows meeting together. "You with the flu...."

"Yep- hey, don't fall asleep!" Isaiah jumped up to pat Arnie's cheek, when his head fell to the left all of a sudden as his voice trailed off. He kept patting it until he got him to open his eyes again. "Stay with me, kiddo, come on. Just a bit longer."

"Ughhhmmm. I understand why sleep deprivation is used as torture," Arnie mumbled.

Isaiah looked at his watch, counting down the minutes for Arnie to have something to focus on. When the time was up, he lifted him all the way from the water, getting half-soaked himself and bundled him up in a giant towel.

Dried off and with a much milder heat coming off Arnie, Isaiah pushed him into a fluffy bathrobe and carried him back into the bed.

Arnie curled up protectively around his stomach, but he wasn't shivering as much, which Isaiah counted as a win.

"I got these pills from Sel. They should calm things down there a little and they have an anti-emetic effect too, so the nausea should stop. If you keep them down, I will give you something for the fever too."

Arnie hummed in response, hand around his middle, eyes open to slits. Isaiah helped him swallow the two small white pills with the tiniest sip possible, then sat down on the floor again.

After 15 minutes of relative calm, Isaiah dared to try the paralen too, nervously shifting his weight as they waited.

It took another half an hour before Isaiah let himself relax, for Arnie's squirming calmed, though he still didn't close his eyes.

Isaiah combed his fingers through Arnie's hair, curling them around his fingers and smoothing them back and forth gently.

Arnie nuzzled his head against the pillow, muffling a slight burp, but sighed contentedly at Isaiah's ministrations.

"Zaya? Can I ask you something?" Arnie stumbled over his words a little, so Isaiah leaned closer.

"Anything."

"Check on Hex for me? His ribs are hurting..."

"Yeah, I'll check on him," Isaiah said, voice hoarse in the face of Arnie's concern. "Don't worry about it right now. Just sleep. I'll be here, when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Arnie finally let his eyelids close. Isaiah kissed the top of his head, smoothing the covers over him.

…….

"Who did this to you?"

Hector lifted his head at Isaiah's question in alarm. He sat on the edge of his bed, bowed, face in his hands and Isaiah could see the bandages peeking out from under his shirt. "What?"

"Who did you get those from? If you are anything like you were as a teen, you wouldn't lose a fight easily. If you are getting hurt, it's serious."

"And you are going to do what, exactly?" Hector's eyes were wide, voice stunned. "They are my fights and I can handle them, thanks."

"Just tell me the damn name and I'll solve this," Isaiah said menacingly.

Hector huffed. "Stop ordering me around. In my own house, no less.”

“You don’t listen to me otherwise!”

“I don’t listen to anyone. You are not special,” Hector said, throwing back Isaiah’s words from the conversation, when Isaiah helped him with the broken leg. "Besides,” Hector dropped his gaze again, just like he did in the hall earlier, "this was my own fault."

Isaiah watched him quietly for a long minute, stunned by the admission. "Show me."

Hector snarled. "Can't you just-"

"Arnie asked me to."

That shut Hector up. Even more effective than orders.

Isaiah sat down next to him. Hector reluctantly rolled up his loose black shirt. Isaiah inspected the wrappings with a critical eye. "This is too tight. It will only hurt more."

Hector wheezed a little from pain at having to hold his shirt up with his hands pulling at his chest. Isaiah reached for it, helping it pull it over his head so he could have full access to the bandages, unwrapping them with experienced cold hands.

Hector flinched at the touch of Isaiah's fingers, but as the wrappings loosened, his breathing came easier, more relieved.

Isaiah worked quietly. He had many questions, but he didn't trust himself not to bark orders. Hector saying no to him one more time that evening would break him. Arnie's authority to intervene felt borrowed, like something he shouldn't be doing.

Hector held himself stiffly, breathing through his clenched teeth. "Arnie?"

"Asleep. His temp is lower and he kept the meds in. The worst part is over." Isaiah finished unwrapping the bandages, wrapping them around his hand into a roll to dispose of. He almost whistled at the amount of bruises covering Hector's torse.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh, why don't you." Hector held his hands to his sides defensively.

"This is no laughing matter."

Hector winced at Isaiah's stern tone. "I know. My mistake, okay? I went overboard. I never thought that-" he broke off with a pained breath. "I'm going to be more careful. I'm never going to be too weak to help him next time."

Isaiah regarded him thoughtfully, then sighed, the sternness falling off at the declaration. "Hey, I'm not saying anything. You are doing a good job with him. You were basically in charge of him since he was 12? And he survived just fine."

Hector's head went back a little at the praise.

"Part of being an adult is also realizing, when you can't do something," Isaiah said tentatively. "You know I don't mind helping. You don't have to be alone with this anymore."

Hector grunted something, glaring at his shirt.

Isaiah sighed, taking it and pulling it over Hector's head and helping him slide his arms in. Hector made an annoyed noise, but didn't stop him, pulling his feet up so he could lean against the bed's headboard, softened by pillows.

"I won all the fights, you know."

Isaiah chuckled. "Yes."

"More than that friend of yours. Your useless second."

Isaiah raised a quizzical eyebrow. What did that have to do with anything?

Hector leaned his head back, hands folded underneath him. "What exactly does he have that I don't?"

Isaiah frowned. "Oh." They sat in silence as Isaiah thought about the implications of that sentence. "Hex, come on. You don't have to win to deserve-."

"I never won enough of them," Hector growled. "Not enough for you to let me train with you. Or with Father. You kept me out of everything. What did I do wrong?" He looked up at Isaiah, seemingly younger in an unguarded way, his amber brown eyes wide and open.

Isaiah stiffened. "You did nothing wrong. It was never about winning or deserving things." He stood up, all the calm replaced by nervousness as the guilt settled over him like a second coat.

"Then what was it about?"

Isaiah stood with his back to Hector, breathing very very carefully so his voice wouldn't catch, so he wouldn't show how deeply upsetting that question was. He could see how Hector came up with that wrong assumption now, but he didn't have the words to dispose of it.

Because I didn't want you to go through Father's training. Because he promised me he wouldn't touch you, if I did what he wanted. Because keeping you out was the only way I came up with.

"Right. You are so eager to come, but you shut me out. Again." Hector's voice went rough and bitter at the end, picking up his anger just as quickly as he dropped it.

Isaiah smoothed out his expression, but it was he who couldn't meet Hector's eyes this time. His tongue was frozen, his heart clenching anxiously.

He didn't know if it would be right to tell Hector about the pack's biggest secret. He didn't know if Hector could take losing the image of his perfect father, no matter how skewed it was.

And even if Isaiah knew if he should tell, he wasn't sure he could.

“I’ll get you some painkillers,” Isaiah said into the heavy silence.

As if that could fix anything.

@bellysoupset

#sickfic #emeto #fever #hurt/comfort #whump writing #whump #my writing #brothers #werewolf wip #fuuuh these two #can't do anything simply can't they #Arnie #Hector

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