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He sinks into his arms; he trembles as he lowers his shaggy body into his brother’s lap. His body aches too horribly to support himself.
The beast lets out a yelp and a whimper; six fingers go through his new mane.
“You’re fine, you’re fine; I’ve got you.”
The wolf looks at the man with his old eyes. Ford strokes his gray fur from the eyes. He studies the creature, frowning.
It’s still Stanley…
As he tries to pull his brother closer, the beast’s whimpers grew agitated; he shakes his head, flashing his fangs.
“Stan, don’t.”
The man scowls, grabbing the werewolf’s snout quickly.
“Don’t.”
He whines, the ears resting flat against his skull. Eyeing his own clawed hand, Ford can see the sorrow and disgust at his form from the werewolf’s brown eyes.
Stan snorts, giving a groan as he weakly rises to fours, his left hand tugging at his suit from the right shoulder.
Ford got to his knees.
“Here, I’ll help you with that.”
The clothes slip carefully off from the werewolf, the shaggy beast stumbles, even moving backwards to pull off the suit and shirt, shaking off the rest.
Too weak and exhausted to stand on two legs, he finds this the better option, even if it’s more of a hassle to remove clothes off this way.
Ford gently grabs his shoulders, easing the creature slowly back to his lap.
The beast groans with a whine, leaning into the six-fingered hand stroking his head.
Stanford feels himself slip into his thoughts, unable to take his eyes off the wolf.
Seeing his own brother suffer from the curse, the werewolf lacks any sort of joy in his expression.
Tonight he’s hardly putting in the effort to stand on his own paws; Stan is the sort of guy to push himself when he feels like it (or when a cramp gets in the way). But no, not tonight. From the despair in his eyes and earlier in his voice, he seems to have given up or momentarily lost faith in himself.
He looked so humiliated transforming into a werewolf, he even refused to look at him. Leaving Stan a screaming and clawing mess, he did try to comfort his brother, but Stan refused any of the sort, most likely out of fear of hurting anyone in his cursed form.
At this point, he's probably so emotionally and physically exhausted.
“Stan…”
The beast eyes him briefly.
“What’s on your mind?”
The wolf opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He looks away.
“You can’t really tell me other than in words…”
He whines.
“It’s fine…”
Ford places his left arm over the werewolf’s neck; the wolf’s wet nose sniffs it before crawling a bit closer.
“Is tired close to how you feel?”
The wolf nods.
“Then rest…I’m safe…”
Leaning for a hug, the wolf twin suddenly yelps and pushes away. Baring his fangs with his eyes closed, his right arm twitching.
Ford’s eyes widen.
“You hurt your arm didn’t you?”
He gives a hoarse whine.
“Odd, the change should have eliminated any dislocation and slightly healed any wounds…you probably injured yourself flailing about.”
Stan groans mixed with a growl.
Ford sighs and runs his hands around the werewolf’s right shoulder blade carefully. Stan watches his brother intensely, his lips curling whenever Ford handles his sore too rough.
He attempts to massage it; hopefully the wolf twin would be less snappy with him this way.
Yet, he feels dread at this spot. He knows this spot. He knows what waits under the fur, and he finds himself hesitating to part it. But he has to check for injury as the excessive hair covered what he needs to work with.
He sighs.
Ford parts the fur. The skin beneath is red sore, rather purple.
“Bruised.” he says out loud.
But his eyes stay on the other mark, the scar from years ago…
Still burned into his skin, a reminder of their sins, their fight…and one of the few features left over from Stan's humanity.
Even when the curse nearly changed every bit, every piece, his bones and flesh, his own face and voice, the scar remains on his twisted form.
A whimper snaps him out of it; he turns to see his brother’s sorrowful brown eyes. Ears slightly back and lower, there’s a sense of understanding from the creature and a hint of remorse. He whines, licking his hand. He turns away with a snort and sneeze, shaking his head. He wipes his mouth with his arm in a disgusted manner.
Ford forms a small amused smile as he gives a quiet laugh.
“Stanley.”
Ford wraps his arms around the werewolf, leaning over the wolf.
“I’m sorry for this…”
It was such a sudden reaction Stan did not even notice Ford embracing him; he keeps his body still for a while. His body grows less tense, eventually deciding to crawl further in Ford’s lap. Course, the werewolf weighs heavily and feels to be crushing his bones, but the beast Stanley takes notice and backs up a little.
A calm growl forms in his throat, and he closes his eyes as Ford lets his head back down to his lap, letting Ford stroke both their worries away.