deercountry | wolves in the middle of town

[ would it be easier to accept an inevitability or open the horizons to a possibility? at first, falco had thought (and was conditioned to accept) the latter of the situation. it was the truth and the truth, facts, had been that was for hundreds of years. would hoping change that? would technology change that? would a world that was not his, but has grown to be— be the answer? where magic and ritual are as fact as science was to marley, should he believe paul?

he wants to. he finds the shivering in his core, from his heart within the cage of his ribs, wants to so, so desperately. to have a long enough life to live with his brother for however long trench would have them. he hoped it was beyond them getting old and making their lives, since he couldn't quite have one back home. not the way and with the family constructed here.

how he wishes to reach over to him. how tightly is he holding in his tears to the point that his flattened lips are puffed. at the top, jerking his shoulders up and down with as silent hiccups could be. it doesn't stop his crying. it makes it inherently worse, so much of them streaming at once and ribboning at the end of his jawline like thick paint rather than simple beads of water— and he still manages to stay quiet. ]

When we get rid of that— That curse— [ he's wiping the entirety of his arm across his face, and god does he make a stringy, slimy mess of himself, but that pulls out a choked gasp that wants to laugh at how much he looks like a slug. ] I can hug you all I want, right?

[Paul is propped up on one hand like he needs another anchor to the earth to remind him to stay still, and still he stays for a heartbeat after Falco's question. A smile comes across his face, unexpected and crooked, and his shoulders heave like Falco does. The noise he makes isn't laughter or a sob, but both, a burst of tension breaking like a storm cloud.]

As much as you want.

[It's the things he doesn't expect that catch him up. His breathing doesn't steady, but stays trembling. His voice is crumpled by pain and wonder, and his shoulders won't stop hitching.]

You'll get sick of me first, I bet. Tell me to go away.

[Falco would do no such thing, but that's the fragile soap bubble of the joke. Paul brings his free hand up to rub at his sore eyes, tearless and aching.]

Have to get you a bath first.

[ a hiccup of sound comes from falco's throat in a way that would've allowed him to laugh. his lips aren't quite brimming with a grin, but there's a little chip upwards, there. a sign that things could get better. he believes them to, and quite wants it to. he could never imagine growing tired of paul, especially not now when he wished for all his loved ones to keep secure under his wings. if he could help it, they'd all stay right there. ]

Maybe if I don't, I'll stick to you.

[ obviously another jest; falco greatly dislikes when he slimes, but while paul has decided to consider something so outrageous as him getting sick of his brother's hugs— well, so will he! ]

[Another answering rasp of noise. The two of them could go and pass for the seabirds squawking outside, if they wanted to. Paul sits back on his heels and mirrors the crooked little not-smile on Falco's slime covered face.]

That's disgusting.

[But it's as close to normal as they get: a little brother teasing his older one about being a sticky mess. It's a promise about the future that isn't an endless mess of this, one of them in flames and the other running against a vicious internal clock.]

You'll get - all covered in hair and bits of leaves. We'll be run out of town - have to live in the woods -

[He's rambling. He never rambles. Talking a lot isn't the same thing. But here he is, words tripping ahead of his thoughts before he takes a breath and settles, expression turned serious and soft once more.]

But that'd be all right.

[ falco had been close to living in the woods twice as is. it shouldn't be too bad of a possibility, and even in jest, it wasn't. if he were ever run out one day with paul because of becoming a blob, they'd be able to survive. skills they had to function in an environment like that were already moves of power. they'd be unstoppable, but not because of the former. ]

As long as I have you— I'll be alright.

[ as long as he had paul to return to, it was as if he hardly needed much else. his little hermit camp here, with fire and cursed books (and the book he has also brought, and leaves at their feet for paul to touch upon later), something does occur to him in this crackling silence doused in dancing lights and embers. ]

Do you have food?

[ he hasn't been eating due to his upset stomach brought on by so much slime, but he doesn't forget to at least try to nibble. he'd never forget to take care of his people, in that regard. ]

[How the tables turn: Paul snorts wetly, some trace of moisture left within him after all. He's not amused by Falco's concern for him directly, but by the absurdity of it all - the fact that the small, mundane needs of life persist even in these terrible moments.

He recalls following Confetti back to Falco's cave, the little creature's arms piled high with stolen food. Paul is even in a cave full of light too.]

I have food, but...

[I miss you. It's not the same. I get too sick to eat. I want you to have a reason to come back. I want you to have something to do, because I know how awful it is to be helpless in the face of things like this.]

It's not as nice as what you make.

[Falco is right. If they have each other, they'll be all right. Paul believes that.]

[ so that’s how it is. being hounded for real food—!

(no, you can easily tell that it butters falco up, even when the breath past his teeth accompany his head shaking side to side) ]

I’d bring you more things, anyway. [ there was no way around that. paul was doomed to a close to infinite amount of lunches made with absolute care— bread rolls shaped like mutated sparrows, steamed roots, and smoke dried fish meat, if he came across a filet for trade. ] What if I bring dinner— and tell you a story?

[ it had been quite funny, or rather amazing, how the night had started one way, his mood on the verge of foul and depressed— to this. the power of self care and loved ones played an important pillar to his support web. he would not be able to do it without them. ]

[It's not a full break in the clouds, but it's pale, lancing sunlight still to see Falco melt with something besides discoloured slime. He looks more like himself when there's a spark of hope in his eyes, and Paul thinks that's what brothers are for: cupping hands around that light when the sky greys over and the wind whips cold.]

I'd like that.

[There'd be no stopping Falco, but there's a difference between help foisted on someone and help invited in. Falco should always feel like he's welcome. Paul breathes out with a ripple of light threading through his curls, and the air temperature drops by half a degree.]

As long as it has a happy ending. Promise?

[Another inevitability, but if he asks, he gets to pair it with a crooked smile and the new lightness of his voice. If he asks, that's more proof he believes in them.]

Promise.

[ falco stands, pushing at the sand to stay upright, taking his arms and wrapping them around himself— just a gentle gesture that this is where he would hug him quite tightly. actually, he would've hugged him so much more, but he wants to make sure to send this one. he leaves with a face always looking back, the book left to paul's taking and study. when he returns, it will be with a little box he's prepared just for him, no matter the time. it wasn't as if he was sleeping well, to begin with.

the story, to some surprise, was not romance. the genre still stung falco in a way that loss has created some advertence to the stories, at least for a while. what he prepares for paul is a classic to some: a summarized version of the whale. ]

wolves in the middle of town | october catch-all

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and that's a wrap!🧡