Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

               Stan has been acting strangely lately. He's been avoiding everyone in the shack, and he won't even look at us in the eyes. He's been acting more stubborn and irritable than usual; he told me off when I asked what's bothering him. Fine, let him throw his tantrum. If he doesn't want to talk about what happened last night, I'll get the information from the kids; at least they're more willing to talk.

               Apparently they don't know either; Stan was missing all night! Dipper had to take charge, he wanted to search for him, but he remained home worried for the others safety. I was at Fiddleford’s home researching for a cure the entire night. Reminded me of old times!

From what I was told, Stan returned by morning.

During a check-in with the hunters and the town, I also learned that a fearsome werewolf tried breaking into the town hall and “sanctuary.” No bites thankfully.

That better not be him, such a foolish thing to do.

What could he have possibly been doing? Better not be endangering himself to take his anger out on the hunters again. He’s an idiot if he thought endangering innocents would make anything easier.

I did notice one of those “were-hunter” travelers was beaten up quite a bit. If Stanley broke one of their arms, well then good.

To anyone who reads this, do not misunderstand me. Again, I have no ill thoughts against anyone but the “were-hunters.” The residents (some of them might be visitors) are still confused and rightfully scared individuals, excluding a certain rich man.

As long if it's just the “were-hunters.” They've been getting too wild lately, and I'm not allowing another being hurt by them.

               Sometime later, I heard him yell angrily and demanded the twins to get out. It sounded a bit uncharacteristic as he never got this harsh, even for someone like him! Words were exchanged, yells, crying, fighting. It eventually ended with Stan tiredly saying he could not gather the courage to share what happened that night. There seemed to be dread in his tone.

The kids went off to do their things, and I was left with my brother; by the look in my great-niece's eyes, I could tell Stan was hurting in some way, but neither of us knew for sure why.

               He still hasn't taken a step out of his bedroom, and it's afternoon. I'm growing worried for him. Stan, you better still be here. I can't afford to have a mob after you, and not the ones you're used to.

               I’ve just had the most…distressing talk with Stanley.

I had to barge in his room as I was fed up with this waiting game, and I only have a window of time left until he loses his voice.

First thing I saw was him sitting on the edge of his bed…with handcuffs. Something he usually likes to avoid, but I could see the fear in his expression, thinking. His hands trembling, running his thumb over it, I could feel sorrow and anger in the air.

I shall write down the conversations for better context.

He noticed me without even turning his head.

“Get out…”

His voice harsh. There was stuffiness in his tone. Seems like he was crying earlier.

“Stop giving me attitude…I need to talk.”

“Get out!”

He gave me a rather beastly glare; I actually thought for a second that he had lost it to the curse.

“Stan.”

“I saw her cry…takes a monster to do that doesn’t it?”

His voice breaking.

“I’m some kind of monster in both forms, wouldn’t be surprised if she never speaks to me again. I deserve that, probably better this way.” His voice was sarcastic with a chuckle, but I knew better.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Everything, everyone needs to stay the heck away from me; I’ll only do more harm than good.”

“Stop the self-pity and tell me…”

“Pity?” He actually grabbed me by the turtle neck. I remained calm; I didn't want his werewolf self to get agitated any more than it is.

“You think I’m feeling sorry for myself? I’m the guy who can wipe everyone out here in one bad move, you think I want that? You think I’m more worried for myself than my family? How are you seeing that as self-pity?”

I had to carefully pull away from him.

“First…it’s ‘How are you?’…grammar… and second…You can’t keep hiding why you’re acting like this, it’s only going to make things harder for all of us, then you might actually do harm.”

He gradually settled down. He covered his face with both hands, regretful.

He opened up to me, forcing himself with that deep fear reappearing.

Last night as a beast, he actually did return home.

None of them knew, and there was more to his story.

He had lost control that night; apparently, he got in a scuffle with another werewolf, but his violent urges continued to flow after the encounter. He couldn't stop it; a chain of events lead him to attack some Manotaurs and a bear. He even tried breaking into the town hall and the “sanctuary.”

He was driven off before he could infect anyone, but he did injure some.

He returned home after, apparently sneaking in quietly. He swears he knew he regained control, that it was safe to go back. He made sure of that. He tried to keep himself in the woods until he was himself. He wouldn't allow himself to do something so stupid, maybe by accident, and even he admits it, but still, I trust his word.

He paused before going on; he did not want to recall what could have been.

“Stanford, they were all knocked out, sleeping. I thought that was a good thing, you know? They didn’t have to see the mess I was. I wasn’t a pretty sight.”

He hesitates to continue.

“Then my body just stopped listening when I got close.”

He pauses once again.

“I was just staring at the kids, those two, eyes just glued to them. Then my teeth starts showing, I kept inching towards Mabel, growling…jaws opening…none of them heard me, not even the wolf kid.”

He went into detail about how he had the urge to…kill them right then and there; somehow he had lost control at that point again. He was very close to doing it, and the fear in his voice was becoming more apparent. He had trouble fighting it, savage for so long he believed he almost would have done the deed, but he managed to turn himself away after just barely sinking his jaws into them. Going back to the woods.

I understood now.

My brother having to deal with the reality that he could still kill them with one wrong move. He had experienced a living nightmare. The fact he could destroy those he loved most with his own hands against his will. He did experience an attempt once before, after his first transformation.

Dipper and Mabel's bravery, along with their closeness with him, managed to stop him before, but in his head, he wondered what would happen if it was too late.

Twice he had this happen; twice he had nearly killed them.

Those events burned into his mind, he wanted them safe like anyone else, and he was the danger himself.

Stanley…he was silent after telling me his story, torn up on the inside. His right hand grabbing the side of his head as he leaned forward, staring at his left hand; I could see the pain in his eyes, fearing for them, appearing helpless.

I thought he was going to cry.

“I didn’t have the guts to tell them, was afraid how they would see me after that. First time was understandable for them. This time…I was normal, it took a look at them to go back into ripping things apart.”

“Stan I’m not going to take them away from you, and you know well enough they’re not going to see you any differently.”

“It’s the control part I’m talking about Ford.” He snapped.

“You probably weren’t as calm as you thought you were; it might have been the stress still bothering you on what you did before then.”

“You and Dipper mentioned something about the personality being a factor, like if the person is some kind of huge jerk then they’re more of a threat and get less control.”

“We were only theorizing; it’s not one-hundred percent confirmed. Stan what happened last night was a freak accident at best.”

“Losing control like that? You know my history; it probably has something to do with it.”

“Dipper has these moments as well; you know this would happen on occasions.”

“Point Dexter don’t you get the big picture here? I could be curled up right next to them, and then the next second I could be mauling them without warning. That calming stuff won’t be enough for me; it’s not going to stop me in time from eating them.”

“Stan look at Dipper, he’s been through and done a lot of terrible things with his curse. He hasn’t seriously injured anyone besides that one incident. It takes time to get better at regaining control of the wolf form, if a child can manage it so can you.”

“You forgot one big difference Sixer.”

“And that is?”

There’s a short pause, he swallowed.

“He’s a better guy than me.”

Hearing that come from him left me speechless.

“He’s soft…too soft, that’s why he’s better at this than I am. You know what I’ve done in the past; I’m not the right kind of person for this control stuff.”

“So what are you planning, you just going to get up and leave?”

“No, I’m not abandoning them, me leaving my family? You really think I’ll do something that low? I care too much for all those kids, same for you Sixer. You all know me, never going to pull that stunt. That’s why I stayed despite almost killing them the first time; I can’t leave them alone with all that crazy stuff going on out there, someone has to watch those knuckleheads. Not insulting Dipper by the way, he did it because he cared about everyone’s safety too. He didn’t need to do that, he did say it was only for a few days, lot of us cared too much to let him isolate himself like that and there’s no way that kid is gonna survive out there.”

“I’m not insulting him either. I just wish to know what you plan on doing.”

Stan is a broken man. The beast side of him was leaving him deathly afraid.

“I want to keep protecting them…but I might hurt them, I don’t want to get close to them, that wolf part might take them away. Dipper just barely managed to fight me off last time, he might not be as lucky during the next. I don’t trust myself; I think I need to lock myself up for now.”

He hated what he was capable of, hated he let himself become this.

“Stan, we’ll do anything to help you, none of us will let you bring harm to ourselves. Accidents might happen, but none in the way you’re thinking of. Just remember to keep thinking of those close to you, remember how much we care. Soothe the mind.”

“I know that helps, I always do during that…but after that I don’t even know if it still works.”

I placed my hand on his shoulder.

“I won’t stop you; lock up yourself if you want. Just get some rest.”

I was about to leave. Things felt dire; I needed to think about what he told me.

Then he spoke up again.

“…I…I have a favor to ask ya.” he stuttered.

I was uneasy about this, the way his tone sounded, whatever he was going to ask me, it did not sound good. I stayed silent as I forced myself to answer.

“What is it?”

He swallowed.

“Sixer…If I get any worse or lose it and...If I…” he was struggling to say it as he dreaded the thought. “Hurt them…shoot me. Just shoot me.”

I did not know what to say to that at first. I could only stare at him while a hole formed inside me.

He didn’t even look at me in the eyes, too afraid, too ashamed. He knew what I thought of the idea.

And he was correct.

I told him he did not need to be this extreme; I could taser him or even tranquilize him! But he wouldn't accept it. He already had a taste of those in his cursed form; both had little effect. And it would not stop him fast enough in the middle of an attack.

I…I told him I cannot bring myself to do it; I can’t even bear the thought.

He wasn't the most rational of people, and that's me putting it in the nicest way. But he loved those close to him. He very much loved them.

I knew he was doing this for their sake.

But he doesn't have to resort to this. I can help him; I even told him that.

Emptiness was in his expression. He did not want to go to this level either from what I could see in him. He held his chin, covering his mouth. He ignored my protest.

“You’ll have to do it when it happens…just let those kids know it was my idea. Don’t tell them what went on last night. I’ll tell them, maybe. I’ll be in the basement later.”

I stared at him; I can't see him as the danger he made himself out to be. His self-loathing was showing throughout the whole conversation. He wasn't going to listen to anything else I had to say. I gave him my wishes for him that nothing like that will happen. He hoped so too.

As I left for my room, I swear I heard the quietest sobbing.

I think I’ll rest myself, just for a few minutes.

               NO! That nightmare…my fears had manifested in the form of a terrible dream; as if to mock me. It’s burned into my memory; the air is cold around me after awakening from it.

I was alone in the woods, armed with silver bullets. Cliché setting really, but…it struck me on a personal level; Stan was…I should compose myself first.

The dream…Stanley was ruthless in his beast form, too violent; he injured a great number of people. Everyone was after him, the kids weren't seen or mentioned in my dream, and I count that as a positive. I rather not see the dream's interpretation of them.

I wished to deal with him alone. It's better that way. He rather not let anyone see him in such a state. He doesn't want that shame; he has enough of it as it is.

I really do not wish to see him in that kind of misery. My heart is still pounding from the dream; I'm trying my best to settle down my fear, but it's only causing it to fester. Documenting it does not seem to help, but I feel I must to avoid and prepare for the possibility of this happening in reality.

He attacked me on sight; I called out to him as I struggled to get him off of me. I couldn’t read his eyes; there was only savagery in them. But the true Stan had to be deeply horrified in there.

Then…I did something to him.

To make it short…I shot him.

I shot him.

I shot my own brother!

I was only defending myself. I never meant to…

I just wanted him back, to stop attacking.

And he laid there injured, he did not move, laying in the mess of dead leaves. The beast, Stanley, could only whimper. His expression showing abandonment, he knew he had lost everything from this, and his pained expression turned to acceptance. I collapsed to his side.

I remember apologizing, begging for him to stay awake as he bled out. I tried my best to soothe his pain, to tend his wound. It was no use. He changed back into a man; when a werewolf dies in beast form, they change back into their true…

It ended with me weeping on him, I didn’t want it to end that way, and I won’t!

There was moisture under my eyes when I woke up; I couldn't hold them back in my sleep. I had to lie back down, needing to be alone with my thoughts. Reminding myself that it's only a nightmare, but there was still a truth from it that something like this could happen to an extent. I refuse to use "can."

If that actually happened, I…I would never forgive myself, even if I had to.

Stan is…Stan is only afraid, just thinking too much. He managed to restrain himself enough so he wouldn't injure people. He'll be alright. Stan is capable of preventing the worst by himself. The fact alone he could turn away before attacking them says it. The whole incident must be a fluke; I should have never mentioned that personality theory in front of him if I knew it would lead to this!

And even if the theory turned out to be correct, I know my brother enough in his werewolf form. He's gentle around the kids, much more so than when he was a man. He loves them enough to sacrifice himself for them.

I've seen the other werewolves; he's more similar to Dipper's docile behavior in a fashion than theirs. Again he's not quite docile, but he's trying his best to be careful. And the kids would not let him dare harm another soul; he can trust them. I wonder if not only he's holding the first night of his transformation against himself but his revenge spree a while back? That incident was understandable and typical with his normal behavior.

I can only picture him now as a large lonesome werewolf confined within the basement, nothing of the monstrous sort trying to escape to harm his family.

I never want to see him meet such a tragic fate; I’m getting the need to stroke his fur.

               It’s sunset; he and Dipper won't be human for much longer.

Dipper better get home in time. He's been pretty good so far on keeping track. Mabel should help him out if they run into trouble.

They haven't returned since the argument. I hope they're alright. They wouldn't hold a grudge with him being difficult; they understand.

I think they should at least know what's going on; they might get sense back into him. But they should console him at the right moment when he's not consumed by his own guilt. I believe the best moment is when he's curled up resting.

I do wish to check on him…

               Just checking up, he told me he'll leave for the basement in a bit. He sounds quite exhausted and hoarse. Not much progress was made from his earlier mood. I noticed the hesitation in his voice, probably still worried for what might occur tonight. I reassured him by informing him I'll keep the kids very close. Dipper will get the both of them to safety if Stan gets too vicious.

“You’re going to tell them aren’t you?” he asked.

“I’ll only say that you need time alone, it’s up to you to tell them what happened yesterday.”

“Don’t know when that’s gonna be.”

I left without saying any more.

What if it does come to that? It’s incredibly mortifying just imagining having to point a gun at...No!

I had done it before, I did aim at him, but it wasn’t any simple gun…he was also sacrificing himself at that time, and I…No, I can’t bring myself to do something like that ever again, I do not want to relive that day.

Not again.

I’m not taking him away again.

I have other options this time. Even if that fool won't accept them, he's overreacting. But his fear is justified.

I just cannot go through that again, and I don’t want the kids having to deal with that pain.

There’s a better way.

Excuse me, but I need to think more on the precautions.

Today is exhausting…

               I foolishly allowed myself to fall asleep while I was going through my thoughts! Never think while lying down; your body confuses it with rest. (Maybe I should have taken Mabel's homemade juice, but it's horrible on my nerves!)

There's screaming from Stanley's bedroom! That fool didn't go to the basement despite his worrying? Did he lose track of time again or pass out? How did he mess this up?

Are the kids back?

He's banging and clawing the door. I can even hear his voice lower to an animalistic growl. He's in mid-transformation!

Stan's calling for me; he probably can't move.

Got to get him out of there. His panicking is only making it worse!

               Things are finally starting to settle down. Another rough night but it could have been worse. Pleased it did go smoother than expected, but he still needs comforting to put his mind at rest.

Stanley had fallen asleep after my last check-up; the stress had worn him to the point of exhaustion, and his sorrow ate at him until he lost track of the time.

Both of us had slept in simultaneously; I guess we were both equally drained and unlucky.

Keep in mind I did not learn some of these details until Mabel translated their speech to me.

He woke up in terrible pain. Too late he realized he had slept in. His body was already contorting, changing; the fur already covered his clawed hands.

His body hurting too much from the changes, he could not escape from his bedroom. He could only call for me and claw at the floor.

               This came out a bit more dramatic than how Stan supposedly worded it, but I wanted to capture the feeling of it. Stan isn't that in-depth with his descriptions, but I did not add anything untrue. (Stanley is glancing at me as I write; he would be giving me a snarling fit if I wrote something he disagreed with, though I think he's pleased with the way I'm giving a fancy touch. Don't be smug with me. You don't even write like this!)

               Back to the subject, like I said before, I awoke to Stan's screams of terror. He managed to drag himself to his door; we both knew it couldn't hold him in. Begging for me to hurry as he could not hold back the changes for very long, none of us knew if the kids had returned yet. I had to finish that last entry in a rush, even writing when I was bolting to him! When I found him, he was lying on the floor in a half-formed state, even more disheveled. His clothes tattered as his fur peeked from the tears of his suit. The man's eyes with a mix of fear and feral anger, I think that might be just his transformation giving him that appearance; the glow from his eyes did raise a few flags. He looked like a wild man on all fours, hands and knees; he struggled to lift himself off the ground.

I dropped to the floor seeing him like this, scared and miserable as he tried to helplessly flee to the basement.

He didn’t need this; I can’t stand seeing him like that.

Grabbing him by the arms, I pulled him closer to me, wrapping my arms around him. He leaned into me weakly, trembling, his head on my right shoulder. His breathing pained, moaning and quietly weeping. He grabbed my arms, his claws sinking into my skin; I thought he could crush my bones by accident. I was frightened to say, there was a risk of him injuring me due to his lack of focus; his agony and other worries distracting him obviously.

I rubbed his back, trying my best to remain calm, but my tone revealed its unease.

“Stanley, I got you. It’s going to be ok. Just focus on me!”

“Ford, throw me in the basement. Do it.”

He gave me a pleading look, he didn't wish to hurt anyone against his will, and he was vulnerable emotionally.

“I’ll get you down there, but I need you to cooperate, hold on and hold back the transformation for a bit longer. Bear with it until you get there alright? We want you calm; keep your eyes on me.”

“With that face?”

Ignoring that comment, that technically counts as him staying calm.

I helped him up; he was emitting growls and whines from discomfort. His legs were next to change, and when that happens, I won't be able to move him down there as quick. He stayed close to me, shaking; he wanted me to keep himself under control. He knew I was one of the few who could still handle him in his wild state. I believe he found comfort from me as I assisted him; Stan's shaking did ease down by a little. No longer feeling alone with his fears and struggle by my side.

He could barely stand with the transformation going on, even when hanging on to me!

Stan’s eyes were on the floor most of the time, wheezing as sweat ran down his face, holding back the transformation only seem to weaken him.

He clung on tightly. I handled him carefully; I couldn't move him as fast as I wanted to due to his stumbling. Moving him too fast only caused him to recoil from sudden sharp pains.

He gave me an angry response and I argued why he would stop to complain if he's in a hurry! We weren't making much progress if we're getting there at a snail's pace.

Then he asked.

“Where are they? They’re back here aren’t they?”

I didn't really give much thought on where they were at the time, I did briefly earlier, but my mind was mostly preoccupied with Stan. Hard to focus on more than one thing currently, to be honest.

They should be home. They would have noticed their Great Uncle's screaming and be down here by now. I thought of the possibility Dipper delayed his transformation with those petals, but he would have told me. And it's night out; I hoped nothing bad happened to them.

I was telling him how I haven’t heard from them since they left, and then we heard voices from upstairs, and growling followed.

A younger sounding howl came from indoors.

That's Dipper's; he had finished his own at that moment. I was relieved that they were safe, Mabel could be heard coaxing her brother, and growls and whines responded to her. They didn't run into trouble outside as I found out later, and they sounded oblivious to our situation. They didn't realize that Stan had a problem with tonight's transformation. Considering all transformations regularly cause panic, it's hard to tell they're having issues unless they tell you.

Stan didn’t react well to this; he began to push himself, scrambling for it.

“Sixer, open the door!”

“Control yourself; don’t think about what you might do.”

“I can’t…hold it…”

His legs cracked, and he collapsed, his changes continuing.

I did try to drag him to the basement entrance, but he tore away from me, snarling. There’s a cruel look in his eyes; he recoiled, shocked.

I gave him a look of sympathy; he was losing self-control because of his worries. Now that he knew for sure they were here, his stress only grew.

He was aware of his bestial response; he went silent, emotionally restrained. But I could still see the dread in his eyes.

He laid on the floor despairingly.

I kneeled down, stroking his head.

“Stanley, lie still. I’ll stay here with you, so don’t stress about them.”

“I figure I’m not going to make it there; don’t let me act all vicious again.”

“Then don’t do anything foolish.”

“Do nothing, got it.”

By his tone, he was trying to lighten up; that’s an improvement. But noticing his newly gained tail in between his wolf legs told me he still had feelings of unease.

He clenched his teeth, he cried out briefly as his hands went to his face.

Then I remembered; the face changing is when the transformation is at its worst! The victim cannot restrain themselves very well because of the overwhelming pain affecting their focus, leaving them vulnerable. Hard to keep self-control when you have the world’s worst migraine!

Combined with his panicked emotional state, he has a high chance of snapping.

I went to stroke his arm; he seemed to flinch from me!

Mabel shouted from above. She could hear our struggling a little.

“Grunkle Stan, you feeling ok down there?”

“You two stay put, alright? There’s a bit of a problem but don’t worry about us!”

She didn't respond, or maybe she did, and I did not hear her. But even then, I doubted the two believed me.

He slid his hand from his left eye slightly, glowing. From what I could make out at that moment, I saw his face contorting slowly; his deformed expression gave him a menacing glare.

Stan whispered to me in a throaty voice.

“Back up…” loud growling followed the end of his words.

That’s not good.

“Stan, stay with me!”

“You-you better be prepared.”

“I am, and I have something different in mind.”

“And that means?”

It quickly sunk into him what I was saying.

“What do you plan on doing with me?”

“Stan, no one is getting hurt tonight, and neither are you.”

“Changing your mind ain’t gonna work, figures. You better be right.”

“I know I am. But you need to try as well if it goes sour.”

His muzzle was taking longer than it should to form; he must be holding it back to get a few words out.

“You’re putting too much faith in me.”

He groaned uncomfortably and then let out a gut-wrenching scream. Curling up, clawing at himself, he tugged at the collar of his suit, tearing it.

His face pushing out to form a snout, the ears and fangs following; he bared them as they formed. He eyed me briefly, and I could see the shame.

The wolf-man let out whimpers as he struggled to keep himself in check.

I made space for him, keeping silent. I turned away for his sake, no more eyes on him.

I actually felt anger at myself for the brief time I could not comfort him. I shouldn't have let him go.

He became incomprehensible, his voice deepening until he could only make the sounds of a wolf. His snarling louder and more frequent.

I wanted to shout out his name, but I knew I wasn’t going to get a response I could understand.

His human form gone for the night and the beast stood like a man, howling into the night.

This was it.

               The werewolf, my brother, kept standing after his howling, now panting with his head pointed to the floor. I didn't know if the real him was the one at the wheel then. I hoped the real Stan was the one before me. I couldn't see his eyes, the sign I needed if it was really him.

I was overwhelmed, what he told me earlier today and the feelings left over from the dream came rushing back.

I shook my head, my expression distressed.

“Are you alright?”

“Mabel, give us a minute.”

I couldn’t have them come down, not yet.

Stan’s ears twitched and so did his lips; he’s not feral is he?

He was standing there for a while and I found it worrying.

I asked quietly.

“Stan…Stanley?”

The beast Stan answered with a vicious snarl, hunched over, baring his oversized fangs. His eyes missing their pupils, blank. The fur sticking out of the back of his suit stood up, the remains of his clothes, his former self, still clinging onto him.

It was Stan standing before me, but it wasn’t Stan who was snarling at me.

               I held still; Stan was ready to attack in his out-of-control form. But when they show hesitation, it means the victim is trying their hardest to keep themselves at bay. My brother was inside there, desperately fighting for self-control. He had not budged from his place, twitching. His eyes glued to me; maybe he thought keeping his attention on me would distract him from going after the kids, but I knew he did not want to turn on me either. As long as I kept him soothed, he might return.

He raised his clawed fingers to his forehead, his right eye hiding under his hand’s shadow. His claws seem to play with the long tuft of fur on his head.

His shaky right hand told me that he had some control at least.

The brows furrowed, his lips still curled, and his ears flattened.

I carefully reached out to him. The beast was highly tense, observing my movements. He was a time bomb, and he could attack if I made the wrong move.

He's overly stressed, knowing he lacked control, that's not going to be helpful for his case.

“Stanley…I can help you.” I kept my tone soft.

He growled louder to my words.

“You’re scared I know. I’m afraid too, just listen to me. Focus on me; do I look like I wish to harm you? No. The kids are safe, and I can take care of myself. You’re not attacking anyone; you are standing here, holding yourself back. You’re doing fine, you have this under control. Look at yourself, if you’re dangerous as you believe. Then why can you restrain yourself this well?”

I approached him carefully, and the wolf took a step back, still afraid of his own power.

My heart stopped as the floor above creaked, the wolf above moaning as his sister whispered. I only told the kids to stay upstairs. They could still move up there, not an issue. But Dipper, a werewolf too, could hear everything clearly now that things have quietened. The boy could hear that Stan wasn't speaking in beast form. He knew something was wrong.

A concerned whine followed. Dipper was only whispering back to her as it turned out. Stan's ears perked, and his eyes went to the ceiling. Hearing the both of them communicate.

I thought maybe he would snap out of it while listening to them, that it would calm him.

Of course, I messed that up. One problem I overlooked, since I had woken suddenly from a nap, I was a bit disorganized, and I did everything on a whim. The pen I was using wasn’t quite secured in my coat pocket.

It fell out and clinked as it hit the floor.

The werewolf, who was distracted, became startled, and it threw its weight onto me. Believing I was trying to attack it while its guard was down.

               The powerful beast pinned me against the floor, his jaws snapping, aiming for me. I was trapped under his weight, even suffocating from it. I held him back by the neck; despite my life at risk, I did not kick him off, not even a punch to the snout. He had sliced me across the chest and barely got my face when he leaped onto me. The wound stung terribly and it hurt to move. The difficultly of breathing certainly did not help. It ached when I attempted to inhale; I shuddered at the feeling.

His claws dug into my flesh, and even during this, I did not hate him; I did not feel anger. Only sympathy; he was probably cursing himself that he did this to me.

His eyes just as hateful as they were in my dream; it was becoming a reality, I thought. But I ignored those thoughts; I cannot allow the worries to distract me.

I must show him what he’s capable of, who he really is.

I let go of his neck slowly, my fingers stroking it gently; the werewolf Stan ceased growling. Yet he continued to show his fangs. He's definitely listening however, as his ears were facing forward.

“Stan, don’t. Don’t panic, you’re fine where you are.”

He gave a low growl.

“I guess you’re wondering why I’m not kicking you off. Even if that’s not the case, I don’t see a need to react that defensively. I want you to know that I’ve been worrying since…you asked me that favor a few hours ago.”

He tilted his head.

“I still cannot shoot you; I just can’t take your life. You understand that. We don’t want you hurt. And I don’t want to lose you again; we almost did that one summer, and it was by my hands. What makes you think I’ll be willing to do something like that again?”

He whimpered; he understood what I was referring to. Stanley appeared to be trying to show emotion, but the curse limited his facial expressions from doing so. He wasn't quite back yet. But I could sense sorrow from his blank eyes.

The pressure he applied to me was no longer there; he wasn't holding me down anymore.

“I don’t feel you’re dangerous as you believe. Accidents happen yes, but I’ve known you most of my life and you’re better than you think you are. I’m your brother I should know, you’re incredibly stubborn and selfish and a grouch; but you love those kids enough to be careful in this form. You’re doing everything you can to control yourself, to keep yourself from hurting them. If you think your personality has something to do with your control, why can’t you realize your care and strong desire to protect us is a part of it. You don’t think highly of yourself but you’re good enough to get us to care about you. Better than those guys I’ve been working with, they’ve done far worse. And you know what they tried doing to Dipper.”

He growled, but I believe he did it out of hate for what they did to our nephew. His ears lowered, slowly backing off of me, his eyes closed.

“I’ve done some poor choices in my life; I didn’t even need to be a beast to do those awful things…Stan, I would know if you were too dangerous. But you’re not…you’re good enough and doing your best, that’s what matters, you’re a better man than you think. It’s fine you don’t believe that, but know that you’re good enough to be cared for and you care enough to want us safe.”

Stanley whimpered, opening his eyes, now back to their true brown color. His furrowed brows softened, and the wrinkles faded from his snout; I could see remorse, shame for what he tried to do. Looking more like a frightened animal, he turned his head away. He didn't want to look at me after that.

I sat up weakly, and my pained groan got him to look back at me, concerned of the damage he left. He walked up to me carefully.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve received worse. I’ll feel better in the morning.”

Stan looked unsure about coming closer.

“Look it’s ok; you’re still shaken from this and last night. I don’t expect you to get over this quickly, this stuff is terrifying. But last night was a freak accident, and you kept yourself restrained for a bit after the change. It was only a fluke, I trust you can handle your form; I trust you as a werewolf. Being flawed won’t restrict your level of control; you’re watching yourself around others, you’ll be alright. And so will us.”

He went up to me, rubbing his snout against my right arm.

I stroked his head.

“Everyone will be ok. You’ll be ok; everything is going to be ok. My advice would be to rest and keep yourself calm.”

Stanley removed the tattered clothing off himself; once again they're going to need some fixing. Honestly, how many times has that suit been mended? When they eventually get cured, at least this annoyance will stop.

He laid next to me, letting out a sigh through his nose.

I leaned next to him tiredly, watching his eyes dart around as he pondered. Unsure of the future and going over my words, what he thought of them, I wasn't one-hundred percent sure.

He sniffed my wound and I pushed him away. He kept checking despite telling him I was just fine. He's very regretful for what he did. Whimpering and rubbing his snout against my arm, he can't speak, so I imagine he had to do what he could.

I hugged the poor beast, and he wrapped his muscular arms around me soon after. He was very light, not wanting to hurt me again.

I honestly felt soothed by him; this was Stan, not the monster he believed himself to be, and the nightmare was defied. His hug grew tighter out of grief, placing his muzzle on my shoulder; I couldn't help but think back to the times when we were children. While he defended me most of the time, sometimes he would isolate himself during those rough days. He would usually keep to himself till I showed up. Got me hurt once during a night monster hunt (there was this odd noise going on the last few nights, and of course we snuck out at night to find out what was causing it.)He wouldn't stop feeling guilty about it, but I told him I wasn't bothered and that's the risk of looking for the strange. I even told him we wouldn't tell our father. He then punched himself in order to make it even, left a huge bruise. That's Stan for you.

The wolf Stan was still whimpering lowly. He let go but kept his snout on me. I smiled, stroking his long gray fur. The wolf eyes the ceiling, his ears lying flat against his head. Nose twitching for smells, it was obvious what was going through his mind at that time.

Curling up beside me, he snorted, and I stroked the poor creature’s fur.

“Still worried about them?”

He nodded.

“About losing control around them?”

He shook his head, squinting.

“Really then…oh, is it about earlier; when you were yelling at them?”

He whimpered.

“You still think you came off as a monster…or do you think this curse is making you more aggressive in your human form…more than we’re used to I mean.”

He nods.

“I understand; you’re afraid if it’s the curse doing that or if it’s really you. That’s what makes you afraid to be near them…you think you’ll have trouble with your control not knowing if it’s yourself or the curse, and the wrong answer will get them seriously hurt because you let your guard down.”

He turned his eyes away.

“You really don’t see yourself any different from your bloodlust state.”

He nods again, growling mixed with whines, saying something I cannot make out.

“That might be why you thought you regained control last night when it wasn’t the case.”

He moaned.

“And if things play out wrong, you might do something terrible...You’re not alone with the nightmares.”

I told him of the awful dream I had, where I shot him fatally. It was difficult going through the details of what happened; I found myself unable to keep my eyes on him. Too ashamed, too mortified of what I witnessed. I began to stutter. I'm feeling guilty over a dream. I had to tell him as I did not want to see him meet his end in that fashion. Yet I kept a weak smile on my face despite my grief.

To my surprise, he nuzzled my hand before I could finish, emitting a soft, light-sounding growl, similar to a purr.

Comforting me, he understood.

“Yeah…we’re both afraid of the worst outcome. You may get dangerous, but I don’t want to do that to you. I’m doing everything to prevent that from happening so don’t get the idea I’m being careless. Don’t be ashamed of losing control, it has nothing to do with who you are. Lock yourself up if you feel you need to, again no shame in that but you should at least pop out when you feel safe. Dipper and Mabel would want you to.”

I scratched him around the ears; he seemed to be more at ease, but I could still see the uncertainty.

He groaned tiredly, resting back on the floor. I stroked the back of his neck, whispering.

“Stan, it’s alright. Just relax, hate yourself all you want. I’m not going to take the kids away from you. You’re aware enough to know if something’s wrong with your form.”

The wolf growled with a slight whine.

“You’re going to have to tell them what’s been going on you know. Explain yourself to them, they’ll understand. I promise they won’t be afraid.”

He only answered with a whine, he’s uneasy still, but I was positive he would confess to bring peace between them.

               Not too far from us were a pair of curious glowing eyes in the darkness. I smiled and told Dipper it's safe for them to approach Stanley. He must have snuck in some point after taming Stan.

He barked for his sister, and she came running downstairs. Stan went quiet when Mabel approached him, regretful for harshly yelling at them. She met him with affection, hugging his face and petting him with the largest smile, burying her face on top of his head.

Stanley snarled softly, speaking.

They knew Stan acted aggressively out of fear; they expressed their frustration on why he had to act like that; there was no need to lash out at the twins.

He finally explained why he was acting so strangely. Both were sympathetic but wondered why hide the truth from them. They gave him quite the earful; they trusted him and would help him no matter what happened, and yet Stanley decided to make things more difficult. He appeared slightly annoyed being scolded like a child by his own kids.

The werewolf Stan quietly answered; he hid the fact for that reason as well. If he told them, they would either see him as a dangerous monster and if (obviously) not; they would try to help him and still hurt them as they try.

I could only listen to Mabel's words; I was in the dark for most of this conversation and had to patiently wait for her translation, which took a while.

Apologies were exchanged, most from Stan himself.

Mabel told him kindly they love him very much. She never saw him as a beast during their argument, just a grump. She was afraid, but only for him; he apologized for making her cry and acting stupid (I'm suspicious of this detail because I'm not yet sure if Stan admitted it or it was an addition by Mabel.)

Regardless, he nuzzled the both of them and gently wrapped them in his arms, safe, unharmed. Mabel looked like she was falling asleep in his embrace.

The beastly werewolf smiling, soothed.

               Back to the present, I'm currently resting in my room; my cut is patched up. Hopefully I can move better in the morning. My brother is lying beside me, still awake.

Mabel is sleeping peacefully with her head resting against his shaggy body. Her arms around Dipper’s neck, clutching him closely like a stuffed animal. The wolf boy resting his head on her lap; his body curled around her left side. He rubbed his snout against her a few times and occasionally looks over to me.

The two werewolves are currently communicating with each other, with barks, growls and whines. I wish I understood what they were saying, seems like quite the conversation. Dipper is noticeably quieter than Stanley; I guess he doesn’t want to wake his sister.

               I have an update! Mabel wasn't sleeping as I thought, just happy where she is. The two were talking about their curse and having a heart to heart. Stanley was telling Dipper how he fears he might lose control while saving them. He brought up the theory of self-control while saying unflattering things about himself, and Dipper told him he wasn't bad enough. Dipper did not know how to answer the rescue-turn-danger possibility, but he believes the focus on the rescue would prevent it…at least he hopes, judging by his worried expression he gave when Mabel told me. Then went on a detailed retelling of last night. They moved to a lighter subject and are enjoying themselves as of now.

Wait a minute, is Stanley sharing something embarrassing about me? He keeps giving me that look and Mabel never said what it was.

Is it something from my childhood or those last few nights?

He's doing this on purpose. He definitely is!

               Stan is still nervous as of writing this, but I'm sure he'll heal over time or not. I just wish for him to know his better qualities prevent him from hurting those around him. He can't see it, or maybe he doesn't believe he's deserving of it, and he's only fooling himself. You don't have to worry Stanley, as long as you're you, you won't lose them, and your temper won't stop you. You may lack faith, but actions speak louder than words, and your actions at this time show you're willing to sleep by them despite the worry.

You’re not as bad as you believe; the kids will always show you that, all of them.

               Speaking of, I should probably tell Soos he can come out of the kid’s room now; he’s been there for a few hours. I honestly forgot about that.