Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was evening. He’d hadn’t eaten much all day besides a cup of coffee (bitter, it kept him awake) and a berry or two offered to him by someone (he couldn’t remember who). The light from the fire glowed over everyone sitting around it, everyone staring at the cauldron being stirred. The aroma of cooked bison, and some kind of native potato, and another thing that was so very delightful, filled the air. Eventually the men surrounding it stopped talking once the first bowls were brought out. 

Captain Lewis sniffed in a snooty sort of manner in an attempt to prove that he was above the temptation of food. The coffee would hold him over, he told himself, besides, the men needed it more than he did. Such hardworking men. So very strong, yes, their bodies would need the stew much more than him. His stomach growled. He ignored it. 

After a few more taunting minutes of waiting, it began to be handed out. Cheers of joy would erupt from those handed a bowl. Soon enough, everyone except him had one. He felt a hollowness in his stomach. Nothing water wouldn’t fix. Water and some quiet, that’s what he needed. Survey dinner firstly (simply to watch his men, certainly not to salivate over some pitiful, awful, delicious smelling, tender, silky…dog food), and then go work on the journal. Then he would sleep. It was coming together in his mind well𑁋

“Hey, you eat yet?” His thoughts were interrupted by Billy walking up to him. Up close, the stew’s smell was harder to ignore. He tried anyway in favor of speaking to his Co-Captain.

The brunet grimaced. “Ah. No, I haven’t. I’ll get a bowl soon. Just wanted to see that the men have had their fill first.” Billy’s face turned from one of satisfaction from the stew to one of concern. Silently, Captain Lewis drove a fist into his own screaming stomach, without tearing his eyes away from the man before him. 

“They’ll eat it all if you don’t grab some within the next few minutes. You saw them; they’re starving!” Lewis shook his head. A moment passed between them. Looking around like the answer was in plain view, Billy shoved his own bowl towards him. “I haven’t eaten much of it yet. You take mine, I’ll get another.”

“Billy…”

“Please eat, Meri.” The worry on the redhead’s face grew. He gestured to the bowl again, urging him to take it. Don’t take it don’t take it don’t take it don’ttakeitdon’ttakeit’don𑁋

“Fine.” Damn this world! Lewis took the bowl. Billy’s face softened into one of relief. 

With a loving pat on the shoulder, he smiled and said. “Thank you. Just one bowl, ‘kay? That’s all you need n’ I’ll be content.” Lewis forced a smile back to him and nodded. A shaky hand brought it to his reluctant lips. Maybe he could stop at one sip! And thereafter could pour it into some private’s bowl! As his plan formulated in his head, the stew reached his tongue. Maybe not.

Billy stalked off, but with him he did not take Lewis’ hunger. Ravenously, the man slurped the stew in the bowl down. The meat and the vegetables and the seasonings and oh, dear lord, what was that one flavor?

Just one more bowl. It wouldn’t hurt. He’d been good today, after all.

The second bowl went as fast as the first. Okay, the next would be the last, then. But after that, there was another, and another, and soon enough the cauldron had no more stew and he was licking the inside of the bowl for any remnants. 

More, more. Bells were ringing in his head. He was no longer seeing the food. He wasn’t seeing anything. No, all Meriwether was seeing was hunger. Men were now heading off to bed. He didn’t see them. He ducked into the kitchen, where the dried meat was stored, and began eating it by the fistful. His brain cried out for more. He wasn’t getting full, he was getting hungrier. The pale man munched away on jerky and leftover vegetables not used in the stew and, oh, someone had made bread earlier. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Meriwether, that poor old fool, kept eating and eating and suddenly, suddenly the world snapped back into focus. It was dark all around. It had to have been nearing eleven, wasn’t it? But time was lost to him.

He felt his stomach, inside and out, bulging, full. The worst nausea he ever had was now appearing. One bowl was one too many.

With a gasp, he stuttered up to the counter. The fool would need to rid himself of the food. Dread bubbled up in his chest. He felt around his belt for his waterskin. Water, jumping, then it would go just like that.

Water was guzzled down faster than the stew was. The waterskin emptied, he felt fuller. Relief would come soon.

He leaped in the air several times until he felt himself sufficiently mixed inside. Prayers that the guilt would leave with his meal were ignored by the gods like he had ignored his appetite. It was time.

His right middle and ring fingers shoved themselves unceremoniously down his throat. Instantaneously, the food started to come back up. Bread, vegetables, jerky, and then finally, the stew. It poured out onto the ground of the kitchen. He felt his gag reflex wrap tightly around his fingers, tears poured down his cheeks with the saliva and vomit pouring down his arm. 

Finally, all that started to come up was bile. The fool wiped his mouth. His throat was sore. His nose was dripping. He felt disgusting. But at least he no longer felt unbearably full. In fact, he felt he could never eat again.

As he shuffled to his shared cabin, he wiped his mouth and arm on his shirt. Pity. He liked this shirt. After he’d eaten, it fit tight around his stomach, and now it hung in drapes. 

The door opened seemingly on its own. He wasn’t feeling. There was no sight. He heard, but his other senses were dull. A shuffling came from the left side of the room. A figure peered back at him.

“Meri?” Billy. Guilt, rage, fear, and sadness filled the void in his chest. No longer knowing what to feel, Meriwether collapsed into tears. He felt footsteps approach him on the wooden floor. Calloused hands grabbed his face.

They wiped at the tears as they came down. “Hey. Hey, what happened?” Worry filled his lover’s voice again, and he began to sob harder. He fell into Billy’s chest, grasping for something, anything to hold onto. Something that would keep him steady. Billy wrapped his arms around him.

“Did you…y’know?”

He was hyperventilating. “I!” A breath. “Don’t!” Another breath. “Know!” And his sobbing continued louder. Hands pet his back and head in a comforting motion.

“Okay. It’s alright. C’mon, let’s lay down. You’ll feel better.” And they shuffled into the bed on the left side.

Billy laid on his back on the bed, and Meri settled over top of him, crying into his nightshirt, feeling like a failure. The redhead mussed the other’s hair and smoothed it back. They would lay like that for a while. When the sobbing subsided into sniffling, he lifted his head to try to get a word in edgewise about what had happened. He was immediately shushed.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” a reassuring voice soothed. “Just rest.” The world faded into black.