Lou hadn't lasted long after his brother had left. He'd only been tenuously hanging on to consciousness while Theo was there, to be honest, and he didn't have the strength to do anything once he left. He could hardly even hold on to any thought long enough to follow it to its conclusion, and his head was a swirl of three stunted worries:

Theo was going to get their father. He was fucked.

The full moon was tonight. He was fucked.

He was bleeding out. He was fucked.

It was hard to decide, with his vision blurring and his fingertips starting to lose feeling, which of these was the chiefest concern. They were certainly all bad. One of them was probably worse than the other two. He didn't have the mental capacity to figure out which was which. Then he was out, in a sort of cold sleep, unaware of everything around him.

Lou had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, but then he suddenly wasn't, because someone had just attacked his throat and Merlin, that hurt. He was disoriented enough that he didn't realize the thing at his throat was cloth, and he didn't recognize the vague noises as the voices of his father or brother. He gasped for air on instinct, but trying to breath hurt terribly. He coughed, an impulse rather than a choice, and that hurt even worse.

He was dying.