God bless!

Russian rock music was playing quietly in the background, but it didn't register in Anatoly's mind. He felt weighed down, and pain blossomed behind his eyes. He cracked them open, staring at the bland white roof of the apartment. Sore muscles twitched as he tried to sit up.

Vladimir walked circles in the apartment. He'd spent the last hour-and days-checking up on his "business" and ensuring everything was going smoothly. Now, he was just... walking.

Anatoly seemed better-well, apart from the obvious issues. Vladimir didn't know what to do. If he knew who'd attacked Anatoly, he could do something about it... but as it was, he was just grasping at straws... there was nowhere to direct his anger-so he had to hide it, keep it to himself.

Luckily, he had other things to do... watching out for his brother being the first. He'd come full circle, and was now in the room he'd left his brother in.

"Kak dela?"

(How are you?)

Anatoly sluggishly turned his head in the direction of the voice. Blindly his eyes sought for where it came from, frustration hidden inside. "Eat?" The question was posed by itself, and something inside of him wanted to hate the vulnerable sound, but his mind wouldn't supply any reason or anger.

Vladimir nodded. He couldn't hate Anatoly's weakness-not then, or ever. Because he didn't choose this. Of all the things Vladimir could imagine, (and there were many) never had one of them been him... taking care of his brother. He'd imagined dying... hundreds of times. He'd always thought that was how it would go, with him dead, and Anatoly alive, somewhere. So, with what had happened, it'd been something of a shock.

The younger brother moved forward and helped Anatoly sit up. He sat beside him for a moment, just... realizing how fragile life could be.

Anatoly's eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell, fighting to catch his breath again. He pessed a hand against his eye, pushing against the glass. He couldn't feel it, and he couldn't see out of it, and there was truly no reason for it to be there but to add frustration.

Vladimir pulled Anatoly's hand away from the glass. "стоп, Anatoly..." With his free hand, he pried his brother's eyelid open and looked at the glass, making sure his brother hadn't damaged it-as if he could.

Weakly, the elder brother latched onto Vladimir's wrist. He tried to reply with words, but nothing came, nothing but more exhaustion adding to his listless expression.

Vladimir sighed quietly. "Mne zhal'. Eto budet luchshe..."

(I'm sorry. It will be better.)

Anatoly's head fell forward until softly thumping against Vlad's collarbone. His back muscles tensed, as if he was attempting to move again, but his body no longer obeying.

Vladimir stared over his brother, as though watching for threats. He wondered how long it would be before Anatoly was "normal" again, or... more normal anyway. He accepted that things would never be as they were-and it hurt, but he would never let that destroy them...

Anatoly clamped a hand down on Vladimir's shoulder, pushing himself away in a jerky strained movement. "I can't stand," he whispered.

Vladimir responded by standing and hauling Anatoly to his feet. He didn't say anything about it. What was there to say?

"Gotovy?"

(ready?)

"Da." It was more of a sigh than an actual reply. Anatoly leaned against Vladimir, and briefly he wondered - would he end up dying via accidental fall when his limbs locked up and maybe next time, Vladimir wasn't there? There would be no honor in a death with Anatoly vs. drawer.

They moved to the next room, through that, and ended up in the kitchen. It was clean-despite the presence of more Vodka bottles than counter surface. Not that they drank that much... but it was always nice to be prepared.

Anatoly leaned against the counter, hands grasping at the marble like a lifeline.

Vladimir pulled a chair over, and pushed Anatoly down onto it. He looked at his brother and all he could think in that moment was. Whoever did this had ruined so many things for Anatoly. He could see-the only thing keeping Anatoly from giving up was stubborn will. He was frustrated and couldn't remember things or accomplish relatively simple tasks... and it wore on him.

Anatoly blinked, eyelids closing at different times. He clacked his teeth together subconsciously, as though chewing.

Vladimir stood beside Anatoly for a moment. He wondered if Anatoly would accept this... He was having a hard time with it himself, and he was physically fine. So his concern for his brother was well founded in his mind.

Anatoly made himself look at his sibling. He stared for a moment, before going back to vacantly looking at the table.

After another second, Vladimir turned, heading to the refrigerator. He pulled it open and noted (with little shock) that half the contents of the cooler were bottles of Vodka. He huffed out a sigh and glanced over his shoulder.

"Khotite vodki?" he asked sarcastically.

(Want Vodka?)

Anatoly looked confused. He swallowed harshly, staring at his brother with a lost look.

"Da... Nyet." Vladimir contradicted himself. "Eezveeneete." He apologized and ended up fishing something out of the back of the fridge... something that resembled what an apple might look like if it were run over with a tank.

Anatoly entwined his fingers behind his head, elbows still on the table, and head dropping lower. He took in a sharp intake of air, before letting it out in a tired sigh.

"Eto odin iz tekh dney," Vlad mumbled, crossing the room again.

(This is one of those days...)