#backuppixiedust

The thing about being a wolf was that food was never guaranteed. Now, the same goes for humans, technically speaking, but a wolf’s diet is more limited, and a wolf as big as Héctor was needed a lot more food then normal. If he came across something to eat, he had to eat it as soon as possible and not waste it. He could go days, if not weeks hungry, just because food was scarce, or because what he’d found was barely enough.

When he got home, he tried so hard not to let it still be a thing, he did, but sometimes… Sometimes it was harder then others. One time Imelda brought home some empanadas that had been a gift from Señora Pérez, and they were supposed to last multiple days. Héctor had finished them off that night, the only thought echoing through his mind being that there was food and he needed to eat as much as possible until the next time-!

Imelda had found him the next morning, retching outside and trying to explain why he was so afraid. 

At least, things were getting better. On that front. He could rationally look at a pile of food and acknowledge that there would be some more the next day, and it was okay, it was safe not to gorge himself.  

But what still tripped him up was throwing food out. 

He was used to, after all, eating anything he could get his mouth on. It didn’t matter if the meat was old, if it was “bad” by human standards, a wolf could eat it without problems. 

The meat he’d eaten was maybe a little bit off. Maybe a lot off to the others, but to him it was… Fine. Not delicious, but edible. Mostly. He’d torn off all the bits that were obviously rotten, and eaten the rest, and he’d been okay. 

Had been okay. 

He wanted everything to stop; the pain in his stomach, the retching, the… Everything. 

He also wanted Imelda, but he had forbidden the twins from telling her what was going on. She had business to run that day; he wasn’t going to burden her with something that was his own damn fault. Instead, he shivered, alone with a bucket, and hoped the pain would pass. 

He almost passed out there, in the bathroom with his bucket. He knelt, forehead against the wall in silent supplication to the goddess that controlled the bucket. In theory, he needed to drink some water. He could vaguely remember the doctor saying that that was important, the first time Coco had taken ill. But he couldn’t bare to get up, and he was afraid it would just come right up anyway. Time stopped having meaning in that bathroom, as he sat there, and tried to remind himself that death was not an answer to his suffering. He just hurt so much. 

The door opened, and Héctor had to squint to see who it was. It was Imelda. Of course it was. Héctor made a mental note to do… Something about it. He was too exhausted to think of what. 

“What happened?” Imelda asked, putting one cool wrist against his forehead. 

“Evil meal.” Héctor groaned, before retching again. Thankfully there was nothing left. 

Imelda had brought him a glass of water, and he drank it with gratitude, the cool liquid helping to sooth his sore throat. When he was done, Imelda took the glass, and stood up. “Héctor, can you walk? I think you’ll be more comfortable in bed.” She asked, ready to help him up. 

“I don’t want to.” Héctor grumbled, but he stood, using the wall for support. The world tilted for a moment, but Imelda was there, and she caught him. “Sorry,” he said, the word coming from far away. “You’re at      work. Told the     twins nottotalk.”

Imelda shushed him, before leading him to bed, and helping him shuck his sweat soaked garments. The brought in a clean bucket, and some water, “Do you think you’ll be okay?” She asked, wiping his forehead. 

“Nooooooooooo.” Héctor said. “Maybe.” 

“You’re going to be fine.” Imelda insisted, “And then we’re going to talk about why you thought it would be a good idea to eat food I’d specifically thrown out.”