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Getting between a cornered werewolf in his wolf form and a group of angry hunters might not be the brightest idea Merlin ever had. But he just couldn’t let those hateful bigots hurt or even kill the guy. Or at least he thinks it’s a guy. He’s not very good at wolf anatomy.
“Fuck off,” he yells at the hunters, hand outstretched, frantically searching his mind for a combat spell.
He wishes he knew some that would work like one of those area spells from World of Warcraft. He’d love to do some localized earthquake. But unfortunately, he’s a tech sorcerer and pacifist. He didn’t really study fighting spells.
“Don’t be stupid, boy,” one of the hunters says, gun pointed at Merlin. “Step away from the mutt and we won’t have to hurt you.”
“I said fuck off,” he yells again, pushing forward with his magic, but it only makes the hunters stumble a few steps backwards.
“Kill him too,” another hunter says, probably their leader.
Merlin has just enough time to raise a shield, but it’s not strong enough. It deflects three of the bullets, one of them ricocheting and hitting the closest hunter in his leg. He collapses to the ground with a shout. But one of the bullets flies through, its course changing as it passes through the shield, and sinks into his side.
‘Better than the heart,’ he thinks idly, pushing more force into the shield, deflecting the next round of bullets.
He can’t stay on his feet for long though, his knees buckling under him. He hurls another wave of pure power towards the hunters, this time succeeding in making one of them fly backwards into a wall, his head thumping against it, rendering him unconscious.
Gold blur passes him by as the wolf jumps at the attackers, teeth bared in primal fury. He slams into one of the hunters, bringing him down and biting hard at his arm.
Merlin sends one last desperate push of magic towards a guy in a red hoodie, but it only makes him fall on his arse, and he’s quickly standing up while Merlin can’t stop himself from collapsing.
A blur of grey fur jumps over him, attacking yet another hunter. Another wolf, brown this time appears from the other side, biting the tallest hunter into his leg. Merlin rolls onto his side, too late realizing it was the wounded one, and he cries out in pain, his sight blurring.
“If you love them so much, just turn into one, you freak,” a guy in a red hoodie spits out, leaning over Merlin and jabbing a needle into his neck.
The scream gets stuck in his throat, the shock not letting it pass his lips.
“I hope it kills you,” the guy adds and pulls the needle out.
Fire spreads out from his neck down his body. He wants to scream but he doesn’t have the strength. Everything turns fuzzy and Merlin is only faintly aware of the hunters retreating, the growls of the wolfs mixed with grunts of pain of the retreating men. New wave of agony runs through his body. ‘I’m dying and there’s no restart button,’ he thinks, and then his consciousness leaves him.
*
First time his awareness returns, it comes back only partially. He whimpers in pain, trying to move to escape the horrible stabbing sensation in his side.
“Hold him steady,” a voice says and two sets of hands settle on his arms and body.
The pain in his side intensifies, making him cry out. He opens his eyes, tears obscuring his vision. He sees a blurry shape of a human head and torso. There’s honey gold colour that seems familiar even when he can’t place it.
A set of cramps runs through his body, different from the sharp pain in his side. He can’t breathe.
“Lance!” a new voice says, urgent.
“I know. But this needs out first. Otherwise he dies for sure,” the first voice says and Merlin tries to look in its direction, aware only of sharp white light illuminating something brown. Hair, his mind supplies a moment later. Brown hair.
When the next wave of cramps hits, he falls back into the safety of unconsciousness.
*
“He has a chance. The wolfsbane should be out of his system by now,” Merlin hears when he wakes again.
“It’s been hours. He’s burning up. His body won’t hold on for too long.”
Merlin moans, the pain returning in full strength as his consciousness brings him fully back.
“Can you hear me?” the second voice asks.
The wet cloth on his forehead is exchanged for a cold one.
He tries to roll onto his side to curl himself into a ball, instinctive reaction to the pain, but a hand stops him and he can only let out another pain filled gasp.
“Don’t overdo it,” the first voice says.
Merlin doesn’t understand. He barely moved. No overdoing happening.
“I know,” the second voice says.
Someone takes his hand, enveloping it in both his. The excruciating pain turns into more manageable ache, Merlin’s muscles relaxing. He blinks his eyes open, looking at the man who took part of his pain. He’s handsome, his hair golden blond. Just like the wolf’s fur, Merlin’s mind supplies. His breathing is heavy as he keeps siphoning away Merlin’s pain.
“That’s enough,” the other man says, and Merlin looks to the other side.
Short brown hair, olive skin, worry shining in his dark brown eyes.
The blond man lets go of his hand. Merlin expects the pain to come back in full force, but it doesn’t.
“That’s it. Stay with us,” the brunet says. “I’m Lance. This is Arthur,” he motions towards the blonde.
“I’m Merlin,” he tries to say, but it comes out jumbled.
“I know,” Lance says, managing to guess what Merlin said. “We found your ID.”
“You’re in our pack’s den,” the other man, Arthur, says. “I don’t know how much you remember, but you helped me fight the hunters. You were shot and injected with were-venom.”
“The bullet was filled with wolfsbane, and it reacted with the venom in your blood stream,” Lance continues. “We had to take it out. You’ve been out for almost a day.”
Merlin’s heart hammers in his chest, implication of what is being said properly settling in. He’ll either die or become a werewolf.
“You need to calm your magic,” Lance says. “It keeps fighting against the venom.”
His own magic is killing him. The pain is slowly trickling back, first weak cramp running through his body.
“How?” he gasps, hoping they will understand he doesn’t know how to stop his magic.
The two men look at each other helplessly.
“I’ll get Gaius,” Arthur says, dashing out of the room.
*
By the time Arthur returns with Gaius, Merlin can’t stop the small whimpers from leaving his lips as pain tears through his body once more.
“He needs a focus point,” Gaius says, peering into his eyes. “A focus person would be best in this case,” he adds.
“I’ll do it,” Arthur says without hesitation.
Merlin cries out, feeling as if thousand needles stabbed each inch of his body. His breathing turns shallow, the voices of the men surrounding him shift into a background noise accompanied by the loud thudding of his own heartbeat. His vision is blurry with tears.
Hands settle on his shoulders, Arthur leaning above him. His lips move, but Merlin has no idea what he’s saying. The pain starts to recede, and he sucks in frantic gulps of air.
“That’s it. Breathe,” Arthur says, Merlin’s mind finally able to process the sound. “I need you to focus. Do you understand?”
Merlin stares up at Arthur, reveling in the lack of burning pain.
“Merlin, do you understand?” Arthur repeats.
Merlin nods. He doesn’t want to die.
“Remember how you made the shield? I need you to create a shield around us. Pour all your magic into it. Can you do that?” Arthur asks.
“Not very good at that,” Merlin mumbles.
“It doesn’t matter. Just use your magic.”
“Okay,” Merlin says, his eyes falling shut.
“No, stay with me!” Arthur shouts, his hands tightening their hold on Merlin’s shoulders, pulling Merlin back to wakefulness.
“Good, keep looking at me,” Arthur says, smiling. “Make the shield. Now.”
Merlin mumbles the incantation, the spell crumbling before he even finishes.
“Again,” Arthur orders.
He succeeds on the fifth try, a weak shield forming around their bodies.
“It’s not enough,” someone says, but Merlin barely registers it, staring into Arthur’s startlingly blue eyes.
“You need to make it stronger,” Arthur says, one of his hands letting go of his shoulder and moving to brush the fringe off Merlin’s forehead.
The shield falters as a fresh cramp wracks through Merlin’s body.
“Fight!” Arthur orders, taking a bit more of Merlin’s pain.
Merlin pushes all he has into the shield, trembling from the effort. It glows gold. ‘Honey gold,’ he thinks. He’s cold, his limbs growing numb, his teeth chattering. His head feels like it’s about to burst.
He wants to be warm, safe. He wants it so bad. He can’t keep his eyes open, no matter how much he tries.
“Oomph,” Arthur huffs as he lands on top of him, and Merlin realizes Arthur’s been straddling him all this time.
Warmth fills the air around him, sinks into his bones. Pain recedes into the background. He feels the shield pulsing with power. It’s smaller now, more of a bubble keeping their bodies pressed together.
Arthur doesn’t struggle. He slides off Merlin’s body so that he doesn’t smother him with his weight, but lets the shield hold them together.
His magic shifts once more, its tendrils wrapping around Arthur who yelps in surprise. On the verge of drifting off, Merlin feels them sink further in, smiles as they dance around something bright and warm.
*
Too hot. He tries to kick off the blanket, but it huffs in annoyance. His ‘blanket’ shifts, caresses his side. Merlin’s eyes shoot open.
He’s alive. Which means… His breath gets stuck in his chest. Another huff of annoyance.
Does this mean his magic is gone now that he’s a werewolf? He’s almost too scared to try, but in the end, he takes a deep breath and tries to summon a single flame over his open palm. He breathes a sigh of relief when it flickers into existence.
“No more sleep then,” Arthur says, his voice rough, pulling Merlin’s attention to the fact Arthur is spooning him, his hand wrapped around his waist.
“Uhm,” Merlin says, his brain short-circuiting.
But then he feels happiness and contentment fill his heart. Sense of familiarity is almost overwhelming, but it’s not false. He knows Arthur. He knows stuff he shouldn’t know. He knows him inside and out. And he has a feeling Arthur knows him just as well.
“What the hell did I do?” he yelps, turning around to face Arthur.
“You could have waited at least after our first date before binding our souls together,” Arthur says, grinning.
“How are you so calm about this?” Merlin asks, on a verge of a full-blown freak out.
Arthur’s smile turns soft, and he brings Merlin’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there.
“How could I not?” he says. “To bind two souls that are not meant for each other is an impossible feat,” he recites the principle children are told many times over in their years of study.
“Oh,” Merlin says, feeling like an idiot.
“We’ll still go on those dates,” Arthur says, his thumb idly caressing Merlin’s hand. “Once you settle in your new wolf skin.”
Merlin feels sleepy again, even after waking up mere minutes ago. Arthur pulls him close. He wonders whether it’s a werewolf thing to be this physical or whether it’s the effect of the soulbond. Either way, he doesn’t resist, settling into Arthur’s embrace.
He understands Arthur’s calmness now as contentment and serenity fill his core. He falls asleep with a smile on his face.