"I hurt," David croaks. It's not a complete sentence, which is the first sign that something is horribly wrong.

Tylenol is good for pain. Harry gets up and goes over to the medicine cabinet and rattles out some pills and gets a cup of water and brings it back.

"Thanks." He's... moving strangely. But David is distracted. Everything hurts. Especially where Harry touched him.

He reaches out to take the pills, his hand shaking, and as his fingers touch his brother's hand, they spasm into a claw and tears come to his eyes, because that hurts just as bad. And there's a weird sweetness to the feeling, like water in the desert, like his body craves the pain even though he can't stand it.

"Fuck," he bites out, trying not to puke.

David knocked the pills out of Harry's hand. One of them is Five Second Rule-able. One of them lodged in a floorboard crack. Harry gets another one. He holds the pills out again.

"...Harry, are you alright?" Sort of ironic to be asking, when he's in this weird sourceless agony, but.

"Yeah."

Harry has an idea! He turns his hand to drop the pills into David's non-clawed hand. Does that work?

Yeah, he can catch those. Can Harry also put down the cup so he can get it without incidental contact.

Yes!

Okay. Pills, water.

"This is... surreal," he complains. "It would be weirder to freak out about it while you're not, but it's weird that you're not."

"Would freaking out help? I can freak out if it would make you feel better."

That... felt off... but it's sort of reassuring anyway. "Fuck you, Dresden."

"Go to sleep. You'll feel better."

"I'm really not tired anymore. That was excruciating."

"If you go to sleep you'll feel better."

"I'm not tired." (That sentence just feels incomplete without a mom tacked on the end, even though neither of them knew her.)

"You'll feel better if you go to sleep."

"Harry, you're scaring me."

"Go to sleep."

"Okay."

His brother has gone temporarily insane and he's having some kind of agonizing allergy to skin contact and two Tylenol really isn't a dose rated for this kind of pain. He pretends to sleep.

This is satisfactory. Harry goes to sleep on the couch, since he obviously can't sleep with David if it causes him agony. There's a car alarm going off, still, which doesn't matter. Everything that matters is taken care of.

Annoyingly, once he has the bed to himself he does get some sleep. Even more annoyingly, he wakes up feeling somewhat better. Not well, by a long shot; he kind of feels like he got hit by a truck. But it's not searing inescapable agony, and that counts for something. He gets out of bed and starts some coffee.

"Good morning." Harry's making honey pepper toast, still in his sleep shirt and boxers.

"Any of that for me?" David asks. They'll have to talk about last night, but it'll be nice if they can talk about it over honey toast.

"Yeah! Breakfast is important." Toast toast toast.

Coffee coffee coffee. He winces reaching up to grab the beans.