Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Virgil’s stomach grumbled as he walked through the city, weaving in and out of the bustling foot traffic. His lithe stature came in handy at slipping through the crowd when an opportunity presented itself.

He had always been good at slipping through the cracks - it was his specialty in life. He was just one of many kids who aged out of the foster care system. They kicked him out of the foster house with little to nothing to his name yet expected Virgil to be a functioning member of society.

Virgil understood it. No one wanted a teenager that came prepackaged with problems and memories of a former family. They all wanted sweet babies or small children too little to understand what had happened. They wanted children who could fit into their lives perfectly like a puzzle piece. Not children like him who were the wrong puzzle piece to their set. After all, there was nothing worse than trying to jam a puzzle piece where it didn’t belong.

“Hush,” he murmured, both to his grumbling stomach and to his mind conjuring unpleasant thoughts.

Virgil hadn’t eaten since last night. He didn’t have time for it, not after he slept through all five of his alarms for work. On top of that, he received only a few hours of sleep after his roommate Jerad insisted on blaring his seventies rock-and-roll music for most of the night. 

“Virgo, you know loud music is the only way I can fall asleep.” Jerad said when Virgil confronted him, “besides, at least I listen to real music, not the weepy emo shit that you do.” 

Virgil had bitten his chapped lips, words dying in his throat. As much as he wanted to chew Jerad out--he couldn’t. The dude let him go late on his rent at times--hell, he insisted on covering a whole month’s worth of rent a few times. Virgil owed him this.

‘Still,’ He thought bitterly to himself, ‘at least when I listen to my weepy emo shit I have the basic human decency to wear headphones.’

However, he didn’t mind the lack of food or sleep, he was used to it. Virgil could handle that. His appetite often deserted him, and sleep was a fair-weather friend - only choosing to stay when the mood suited it. Perhaps he was a tad more snappish than normal, but it was what people expected of him at this point.

They saw him sporting shirts for bands like MCR, along with his general all-black attire and immediately assumed he hadn’t grown out of his angsty, edgelord preteen stage. Of course he would also be a moody and antisocial young adult.

What was hell, like literal fire and brimstone type of shtick, had been his work. Well, more hell than usual. No one willingly worked a minimum wage job flipping burgers at Kirby’s Burgers at Second Street and Newbound Dr. unless they were desperate. The location was always busy, being juxtaposed in the middle of the city and the local university. Virgil didn’t mind the busyness, it helped the day fly by. He blinked, the day was gone and he was falling into his bed, into the loving embrace of his purple fleece blanket.

No, it was his manager screeching at him every time he messed up the slightest bit that got to him.

Virgil’s manager could walk up one day and announce she was the incarnate of the Devil himself and he wouldn’t blink an eye. Especially after her reaction today when he accidentally spilled hot oil from the fryers all over the floor and onto his fingers.

He remained frozen on the ground, unable to move a muscle as his hands flared in pain. God, it felt like he accidently washed them in flaming hot lava instead of water. His coworker Remy guided Virgil’s shell-shocked self to a sink. Remy turned on the faucet and ice cold water rained down onto his hands. 

“I’m gonna grab the first aid kit, okay Hun?”

Virgil could only nod, trying hard to ignore the manager’s shrill voice in the distance as she ordered someone to clean up his mess. Her voice broke mid-shout, no doubt hoarse from the insults she’d flung at his prone form.

Remy returned shortly with the small red kit in hand.

“Yikes, your hands look worse than the time I tried inhaling a whole pizza right of the oven, bare hands and all,” Remy said, “Like gurl, do not give that look. Don’t judge me. It was finals and I had entered the fourth stage of insanity known as…”

Remy’s words flowed over him, distracting him from both the pain and panic reverberating through his veins. Remy had just finished wrapping his hands in band-aids, when the manager strolled up and pulled Virgil into the back office.

“Are we going to have a problem?” His manager asked, her voice invoking the imagery of cough syrup; its’ sweetness not nearly enough to cover its’ vile taste.

“Wh-what?” he gritted, hissing in pain when he tried clenching his hands into fists.

“Virgil, you are a valued member of the team, but I can’t just ignore the fact you came into work half an hour late - and you made a mess with the fryers - putting us behind in the middle of a lunch rush.” She said, drumming her fingers against her desk.

Virgil took a deep breath, trying to will the tears away that appeared on the corners of his eyes. He wanted to bite back about the number of hours he works each week and how today had been the first time he’d ever arrived late at work. He wanted to yell about how his screw-ups are significantly lower than that of some of his fellow co-workers. Most of all, he wanted to throw his stupid blue cap on the ground and call it quits. However, he did none of that.

He needed this job no matter how hellish it was at times. He was barely making ends meet as it was - even being unemployed for a week or two would be devastating to him.

He didn’t even have time to go searching for a different job. When he wasn’t working, he was too exhausted to do anything but lie on his bed, listen to music and scroll listlessly through Tumblr. Either that, or sleep when it finally returned from its wanderings to hold him in its soothing arms. Sometimes all he wanted to do was ignore the world and sleep. Then he’d get a nightmare and avoided its’ embrace for two days straight.

“I’m sorry,” He finally spoke, avoiding her eyes, “It… It w-was a mistake, it won’t happen again. I’m so sorry.”

He hated how he stumbled over his words in an attempt to please the woman. The manager smirked and he suddenly felt like a medieval peasant groveling at the feet of an evil queen.

“I’m sure it won’t,” she hummed, “I know your shift ends in two hours, but do you think you can cover Nancy’s shift? She called in sick.”

Virgil froze, stuck in a position where he couldn’t say no. As much as he needed the money, he was willing to trade away the potential cash for sleep. But he was in her debt - she had accepted his apology, and he now owed her a favor. If he didn’t say yes, she’d take offense to it. How dare he say no to a little favor after she let him off easy?!

“I-I can do that,” he said, finally looking up at her once more.

“Great, I knew I could count on you!” the manager’s eyes gleamed, “Now get back out there - those burgers aren’t going to flip themselves!”

She laughed, each cackle piercing Virgil like a knife to his chest. Virgil managed a weak grin before stumbling off to his position.

He did his best to ignore the pain flaring up in his fingers. Things were a bit better when Remy took pity on him and demanded they switch jobs.

“Gurl, this ain’t right. Those burns looked serious - you should’ve gotten the day off, maybe go to the hospital or something,” Remy looked at him, his eyebrow raised. 

Virgil enjoyed Remy’s company the most out of all his co-workers. They shared similar tastes in bands, with Virgil living vicariously through Remy’s first-hand accounts of his experiences at their concerts. Remy often pushed Virgil to try attending the concerts himself, once even offering to cover his ticket.

Virgil refused, not willing to take advantage of Remy like that. He knew that Remy was a student at the local university. He had student loans loomed over him like a vulture ready to pick Remy off once he showed signs of death. Virgil didn’t want to add to his burden - he liked Remy too much for it. He tried not getting too friendly with Remy, however. It was just better to keep everyone at an arm’s distance away. It was the only way Virgil knew how to survive. 

“I can’t,” Virgil shook his head, “I just can’t afford to have a day off - or go to the hospital for that matter.”

Remy sighed, “At least take over register for me. You’re going to burn your fingers again or something with how much you’re shaking.”

The manager didn’t say anything about the switch. Although by the end of his shift, Virgil had noticed suspiciously that he didn’t get a break. He didn’t care at that point.

“It’s okay,” he tried reassuring himself, “I probably would’ve fallen asleep anyways. At least this way she didn’t have one more thing to yell at me for.”

He wearily gathered his meager belongings and left. He did not have enough money to ride the subway on a daily basis, leaving walking as the only option. He trudged along the sidewalk, doing all he could to keep his eyes open.

“Watch out!” A voice shrieked, pulling Virgil back into the present. He skidded to a stop, just avoiding collision with a thirty-something mother and her gaggle of children.

“Watch you’re going next time!” The woman said, casting him a scorned look as she guided her children away from him.

“Sorry,” Virgil mumbled under his breath, putting the hood of his hoodie over his head.

He was sweltering underneath the black hoodie, but he didn’t care. There was no way he’d walk out in public with his puke green Kirby Burgers employee shirt. Not to mention he found the clothing item comforting - it was his parent’s last gift to him before they’d died. It was one of the few short blessings attributed to his height; pun not intended. While others shot up like beanstalks in high school, Virgil remained at a cursed 5’4.

As he made his way back to his apartment, one thought that keeps pulsing through his mind; I gotta get home, I gotta get home, I gotta get ho--

His fingers on fire, his head on the verge of imploding and his legs screamed from having to stand for hours at a time with no rest. Still he kept walking. The only thought that drove him forward was soon he’d reach home. Soon he could dive underneath a blanket, blast music on his headphones and pretend the outside world didn’t exist until his next work shift.

Even with the weaving in and out of the crowd, there was still too many bustling bodies on the sidewalks. He felt too constrained, too trapped in the sweaty swarm of strangers. Virgil wanted to scream and knock them over like the crowd were bowling pins, and he was the raging bowling ball. But he couldn’t do that, even setting aside societal rules for a moment, because he was just 5’4 and all skin and bones. He was all too aware of the fact that he looked like a wind could knock him over. He felt like it, too.

Eventually, he got trapped behind a group of teenagers and there was nowhere for him to cut in front of them. They remained ignorant of his frustration, their laughter ringing loudly in his ears. Behind him in the distance, a baby wailed. A businessman beside him held a phone conversation. The noise swelled around him, never ceasing in its’ volume. Virgil’s legs wobbled as he pressed his hands against his ears. Too much, it was all just too much.  

Virgil spied an alleyway nearby, its’ dark and silent passageway a retreat from the city hustle and bustle. He also knew it cut across to an alternative route that led to his apartment. It’d take longer, sure, but what was five more minutes at this point? Time was just an illusion after all.

He stopped abruptly, causing the people behind him to bump into him angrily. Muttering a quick apology, he quickly stepped off into the entrance of the alleyway. It was always a bit risky going down an alleyway like this - muggings are common in lonely, deserted places. But it wasn’t like he used this shortcut all the time; just this once and this time only.

He walked about three-fourths through the alleyway when he tripped over something solid and Virgil’s injured hands instinctively reached out to catch him—

Virgil screeched in pain and a hand quickly clamped over his mouth.

“Shhhh,” An unknown voice said, clicking something against his head. A gun.

Virgil tried screaming again - this time in fear, but the stranger’s hand muffled the noise. All that came out was a weak whimper.

“Now, now, there’s nothing to be afraid of. As long as you hand over your wallet, no harm will come to you,” They crooned.

He didn’t hand over the wallet. He stayed frozen yet again as his mind malfunctioned. He knew he shouldn’t have gone this way. Dammit, he knew better - alleyways were always where bad stuff like Batman’s parents getting murdered happened. He was so stupid— He couldn’t breathe— Oh god he’s going to die— Ohgodohgodohgodohod ohgodohgodohgod-

“Hey kid!” The mugger growled, digging the gun further into his skull, “Just quit shaking and give me my damn money already!”

All Virgil could focus on was his breathing. The air coming in through his nostrils wasn’t enough. He tried breathing through his mouth, but the mugger’s hand prevented him from getting enough oxygen. His breaths kept cutting off as another one started before the other could finish.

It wasn’t until the mugger started counting down, that the spell broke.

“I’m gonna you until count of five to hand over the money before I blow your head off,” The man instructed, “Five.”

Virgil’s eyes snapped open. He couldn’t die - not like this .

“Four.”

His hands rose from the ground, haltingly.

“Three.”

They trembled as he brought them towards his hoodie pocket.

“Two.”

He couldn’t grab ahold of his wallet. The band-aids and the sweat combined with the shakiness of his hands prevented him from getting a firm grip. He wanted to cry hysterically. He wanted to howl. He was going to die, and all the mugger would receive for his efforts was a $5 dollar bill and a debit card to an empty bank account.

“One.”

This was the moment where the mugger shot Virgil. He could tell by the way the mugger adjusted his hold on the gun that he was about to shoot him. Virgil closed his eyes, and briefly wondered what getting his head blown apart by a bullet was going to feel like.

Would it even hurt? Would it happen so fast that he wouldn’t even register the pain? God, he hoped that was the case. It’d be just his luck that he died a slow, grimsly death as he hemorrhaged from a bullet lodged inside his head.

He didn’t get to find out, because something growled, a low menacing sound. It was the only warning before a foreign force barreled into the mugger, causing him to release his hold from Virgil. The mugger screamed, and the gunshot went wide to hit the side of a building.

Virgil didn’t get a chance to see who his savior was, because as soon as he hit the ground, everything felt dizzy and oh god, he felt so nauseous. He was going to throw up, puke up whatever he ate the night before. The smell of iron in the air didn’t help in that matter.

His eyes grew heavy, his head fuzzy, and with that his body decided that taking a nap on the cold cement ground of an alleyway sounded like an excellent idea.

As his vision blackened, he faintly heard a worried voice call out, “Are you all right?!”

Chapter Text

Out of everything that occurred in Virgil’s short lifespan of twenty-two years, getting mugged in an alleyway after a hellish day at work ranked among the top ten worst experiences of his life. It didn’t belong anywhere in the top five, however. Virgil’s life was a series of unfortunate events, one of which was his weak immune system.

If someone so much as sniffled on him, he was sure to be sneezing up a storm the day after. He went through a never-ending cycle of sick, well, sick, well. As a kid, his peers often told him he was so “lucky” that he got sick often, because it meant he didn’t have to go through the drudgery of school. Virgil never understood that line of logic. There was no fun to be had when stuck in the throes of sickness. Virgil preferred to be at school than lying in bed miserable all day along. Nevermind the mountain of homework that awaited him when he was healthy again. 

As his parents’ first and only child, his parents constantly worried over Virgil’s health. They took him to the doctor’s office for even the most minor of ailments. One memorable doctor visit took place during first grade during a bad stomachache. 

“Are you sure he isn’t faking it to get out of school?” The doctor asked, “he appears fine to me.”

Virgil’s little face turned red, his eyes watering, “I’m not lying, Mommy! My tummy really does hurts and I can’t--I can’t brea--breathe--”

His father had gathered him into his arms, “Hey bud, it’s okay, we believe you.”

Virgil wailed louder, throwing his tiny arms around his father. Dad was a short, pudgy middle-aged man with pale blue eyes and hair that started to look like pepper; it was red and unruly with specks of grey. He was the perfect build to play Santa Claus—something he did for their local neighborhood Christmas event every year.

 He had the calmest voice you’d ever heard--sooth and solid like stones from a river. He had an extensive knowledge of flora and Virgil could listen to him ramble about plant classifications for hours for hours on end.  Most importantly, he was very huggable and in Virgil’s opinion, the best dad in existence.

His mother, also the best mom in existence, descended upon the doctor. His dad liked to joke he married an Amanzonian goddess. Virgil thought he wasn’t far off from the truth. Mom towered over him by a good few inches. She always kept her dark hair in a tight bun and unironically wore ugly sweaters. She had dimples when she laughed which was often due to his father’s arsenal of cheesy jokes. She was a bit of an exercise junkie, something Virgil hadn’t inherited. She ran every morning, taking Virgil with her in a stroller when he’d been especially young.

She easily painted an intimidating, posing figure when angry. Startled, the doctor took a step back. Even Virgil shielded his eyes away from the pinched look on her face.

His dad took him away before she truly chewed out the doctor. Really, looking back on it Virgil thought the doctor posed a genuine question. What if he had been faking it for attention? Perhaps he did so unconsciously. He hadn’t, of course. But what if his parents had agreed with the doctor? 

He knew these what-ifs ultimately didn't matter, but they still plagued him at times.

They switched pediatricians after that incident. Dr. Lopez told them the stomachaches might be anxiety related. It made sense as even then Virgil was scared of everything. He struggled with stuff like separation anxiety and being afraid of the dark.

“He’s still so young--I don’t want to put him on medication unless it’s absolutely necessary,” She told them, “for now, it’d be best to try using coping tactics.”

Virgil didn’t really understand what the word anxiety meant. He was just six after all. He’d recently learned how to read and write at the time. Mom and Dad didn’t poke fun at his fears or sweep them under a rug. They held him and guided through even the darkest of ravines. Occasionally they made a misstep causing them to stumble off the path. But they always eventually found their way back on it.

Still, not all stomachaches could be attributed to anxiety. Neither could coughing, congestion or chills. Visiting Dr. Lopez’s office became an almost biweekly routine. As his parents gained more experience in raising a child, they learned to relax a little. Not every sniffle meant an immediate trip to the doctor’s. Sometimes it just meant a good night’s sleep and allergy medicine was needed. Still, they kept him home whenever they felt like the sickness called for it.

Eventually when he hit fourth grade Virgil was sick of being...well, sick . He didn’t want to keep missing out on things. He didn’t want to be forever known as the Sick Kid. Most importantly, he was tired of both students and teachers who whispered behind his back about it all. They thought he had to faking it, just like his old pedestrian. 

The next time he felt a cough rising in his throat, he stifled it. He made a pact with himself to hide being sick. If he ignored it long enough maybe it’d go away on its own. It had to, because Virgil refused to miss another day of school. 

He managed all the way to PE class, where he threw up all over the newly polished gym floor. The smell was revolting, forever ruining mac-and-cheese for him. A few kids had snickered behind clamped hands as he was led away to the nurse’s office. The rest just stared, their noses scrunched up in both horror and at the pungent smell of vomit.

The school nurse contacted his parents almost at once. He sat huddled up a chair, fever and guilt eating away at him. He messed everything up. If only he was normal, if he didn’t get sick so often, if he wasn’t himself, if only--

Virgil bit back a sob. The school nurse tried comforting him, but he burrowed further into himself. He didn’t move even as his mother arrived. Even as she knelt before him, resting a gentle calloused hand on his shoulder.

“Virgil, my little poet, why didn’t you tell me you were feeling bad?” Mom asked him, brushing his bangs off to the side.

Virgil hiccuped, “I’m--I’m sorry! I didn’t tell you be—because you would’ve made me stay home and—and I wanted to go to school.”

He shivered despite his forehead was drenched in sweat. He avoided eye-contact, so afraid Mom would react in anger or worst in disappointment. Instead her strong arms reached out, pulling him into the comfort of her lap.

“Oh Virgil,” She whispered, “I know being sick in bed all day isn’t fun—but you need to rest in order to feel better. If you try ignoring being sick, you’ll only feel worse like today. Do you understand?”

Virgil nodded.

She ran a hand through his hair, “Promise me you’ll tell me next time you feel sick, okay?”

“Okay mom,” Virgil mumbled, pressing his head underneath the nook of her neck.

For a while, Virgil heeded his mother’s words. He had learned his lesson—it had been awful pretending when he’d felt like a human furnace. Humiliation from the gym incident only served to persuade him further. Kids teased him mercilessly, calling him nicknames like Vomit-Face. The teachers told Virgil to simply ignore them.

“They’re just trying to get a rise of you.” They said.

The other kids refused to sit with Virgil during lunch. They didn’t invite him to birthday parties or playdates. It didn’t sting. His heart didn’t throb painfully watching the others laugh and play without him. Not one bit.

It wasn’t like he was the epitome of popularity before it happened. He was too shy and too absent from school to forge any true friendships. Hardly anyone sat with him before. He’d already been ostracized; the incident just made it much more clear to him.

It was fine. He still had his loving, doting parents. There was also the neighborhood kids. Sure, they never wanted to be seen with him at school. But Virgil eagerly lap up whatever scraps of friendship they threw at him. He played hide-and-go seek and baseball with them until the sun sank low into the horizon.

Everything was fine until his parents died shortly before his thirteenth birthday. He found himself in a foster home several hours away, fresh off the heels of grief and far from anything he’d ever known. The foster family had been kindest, possibly the best foster family Virgil ever had. Just like many things in life, Virgil ruined it. He didn’t want them, regardless of how loving they were to him.

He wanted his parents—they couldn’t have possibly be dead. This had to be some sort of nightmare or a cruel practical joke. Any moment now, he was certain they’d slam open the door and take him back home, back to the neighborhood where his friends were. He burned bridges with the foster family with too many cruel words and acts of defiance.

Later, he’d looked back on it and saw how incredibly stupid he’d been to deny them. Later, he’d try to rectify his mistakes and try to find some family fit in. Later, he’d learned that it was too late, that no one truly wanted to adopt teenagers. But back then, he was too mad at the world to care.

He came to his second foster home prepackaged with the label of a troublemaker. A delinquent intent on breaking the rules for the hell of it. Instead of what he truly was; a broken child grieving the loss of his parents.

It was the first day of his sophomore year when he felt the familiar waves of nausea hit him. His foster parents brushed it off as Virgil trying to get out of attending school. Even as the symptoms started to get progressively worse with each passing day, they saw him as only pretending to be sick. They yelled at him to knock it off.

Virgil tried. He stifled the coughing, he ignored the stomach cramps. He trudged through classes feeling like a rotting reanimated corpse.  It wasn’t until the school nurse diagnosed him after he fainted in the middle of English class that they took it seriously.

After that incident, Virgil grew hesitant to tell foster parents whenever he felt a cold coming on. He found it easier to tolerate being sick and attend school regardless of his condition. There was no need to let them know, unless it became unmanageable on his own.

When he turned eighteen and became responsible for all his expenses, he couldn’t afford daily trips to the doctor’s office. Nor could he take time off from work to recover without falling behind in his bills. His managers didn’t care if he came into work with pneumonia as long as he showed up for his damn shift. Anything less than a walking corpse was acceptable by their standards.

His lack of decent sleep and poor diet only worsened his weakened immune system. Virgil was stuck in an endless drudgery of work, sleep, work that seemed to stretch out into oblivion. He knew it was no real way to live—but it was better than the streets. Anything was better than the streets.

Virgil barely lasted a week the one time he tried taking his chances on the streets rather than the system. He turned up at his foster home, bloodied and bruised after a group of teenagers thought it’d make for great entertainment to harass the homeless kid.

This was why he wasn’t surprised to find himself at work despite his body feeling like a Thanksgiving turkey that had been left in the oven for too long. He was in the middle of flipping a burger when his hazy mind cleared up enough for him to question how long he’d been at work. How did he get here? Wasn’t he supposed to have the day off? Did his manager somehow guilt trip him into covering another shift?

He tried racking his brain, but his mind was too fuzzy to recall anything except…the alleyway. Unconsciously, Virgil reached up to feel the back of his head to attempt feeling the bruise that was surely left behind from the gun. Nothing.

Virgil groaned, rubbing his eyes. Had that simply been a fever dream concocted by his mind? Or he already died and gone to hell, eternal damnation in the form of working in the fast food industry for the rest of his existence?

“Earth to Virgil,” Someone snapped their fingers in front of him.

He looked up to see Remy smirking at him, hands placed sassily on his hips.

“Man, it must have been some wild party last night,” Remy commented, taking his bedraggled appearance, “I cannot believe you didn’t think of inviting me!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. It was a private joke between the two to coming up with ridiculous reasons for the other’s fatigue. Virgil wouldn’t be caught dead at a party, even if he could have the time to attend. Large bodies of strangers made Virgil anxious. It was why he was often stuck in the back because he couldn’t be trusted not to freeze up in front of customers.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be the type to enjoy Queen blaring out of a stereo at 3AM.”

“Bold of you to assume that Freddie Mercury isn’t an icon that transcends all passage of time.”

An alarm blared, diverting Virgil’s attention away to the fryers where the French fries bubbled in the oil, golden-brown and crispy.

Virgil picked up the handle of the tray, moving to dump the fries into the basket and start salting them. That was what he intended on doing. He wasn’t sure what happened. One moment he was lowering the fries into the basket, and the next moment the French Fries were scattered all over the ground as his manager screamed in the distance.

“Why is he here?” His manager hissed, jabbing a finger into Virgil’s chest, “He needs to leave now .”

“It was a—” Virgil started, “a—"

“It was an accident. It won’t happen again!” Virgil wanted to scream. But he couldn’t. His words evaporated at the sight of the fury burning in her eyes.

“He shouldn’t be here.”

“He needs us.” Remy said, stepping forward with an uncharacteristically solemn expression.

“He needs to leave!”

A gunshot went off, and the patrons in the restaurant screamed, falling underneath the tables for cover. Virgil whipped his head to see a man standing in the entrance with an old-fashioned pistol smoking in his right hand.

“He’s not going anywhere.” The man spoke, aiming the gun at Virgil’s head.

Virgil knew that voice—it was the mugger in the alleyway. Had that been real? Maybe the mugger was a deranged madman that hunted down Virgil, angry that he managed to get away without handing over his money. Or maybe the mugger shot him in that alleyway and this was all a part of some absurd coma dream.

This time, he swore he was going over his wallet to the man. He reached his hands into the folds of his hoodie pocket, finger fumbling blindly for it. Nothing. He patted his jean pockets, turning them inside out to reveal laundry lint, but no wallets with $5 and a debit card to an empty bank account.

The mugger cocked his gun. Virgil looked up at him, frantic.

“Please—”

BANG.

Virgil screamed, his throat burning. His vision was blurred by the onset of tears and his body ached all over like a herd of elephants stampede over him. He attempted to sit up, but something held him back.

“Breathe.” A voice commanded, “You’re awake now.”

“Wh—” Virgil wheezed. He hadn’t realized until this moment that he was hyperventilating. Where was he? Was he back in the alleyway? In a hospital? His mind was like a broken television set where all the channels were full of static.

The voice sighed.

“Breath in for four, hold for seven and breath out for eight.” It instructed.

Virgil had no choice but to listen to it, too tired to think clearly. It took a while before he managed to regain control over his breathing. He kept struggling with breathing out to a count of eight rather than releasing it as fast as possible.

“Good.” The voice commented, sounding more pleased with itself than Virgil’s own efforts.

Virgil craned his neck up, trying to get a better look of the owner of the voice. That proved more difficult than he’d imagined as the only light source in the room belonged to a nightlight. But even its soft glow was too bright for his sensitive eyes. The only thing he could determine was that the figure wore glasses based on the night light reflecting off the lenses.

“Wh—” He tried again, this time erupting in a coughing fit.

“Please, drink this.”

The figure placed a cup of water to his lips and Virgil drank it without protest. Once the cup was empty, the figure took it away.

“I might as well take care of this while I’m here,” They grabbed ahold of one of Virgil’s hands. He tried pulling away, but he was too weak to resist their grip. He withheld a whimper as they started unwrapping something that was around his hand.

“Wh—what are you doing? What’sssgoingon?” Virgil’s words slurred together.

“I’m changing the bandages on your hands so that it doesn’t get infected any more than it already has.”

Well that didn’t really answer his question. He should’ve been more specific, but he barely had the energy to think, let alone speak.

“Who—who are you?” He mumbled, hating how he could no longer keep his eyes open.

“Logan.” They finally acquiesced, before looking down at him, “What’s yours?”

Virgil, however, already fell once more asleep, this time in a dreamless slumber. It appeared that his name would be a mystery to Logan for a little while longer.

Logan finished up rebandaging the man’s hands and threw the old bandages into the trashcan by the bed. He exited the room, making sure to shut the door behind him quietly.

“How is he?”

Logan nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned around to face Patton.

“He awoke—briefly,” He added, holding out an arm to stop the other from bouncing into the room, “He’s asleep now. It may be awhile before he breaks his fever, but he should be fine.”

“Oh thank you so much, Logan!” The other squealed and Logan allowed himself to be swept off his feet in a joyous embrace.

“Yes, well,” Logan adjusted his glasses once he was back on the ground, “Just remember this is only temporary. We can’t keep strays, Patton. Especially strays like him.”

Chapter Text

Patton had not meant to go sniffing for trouble. He only meant to go sniffing for cookies after another botched attempt at creating them. As much as he loved making food in the kitchen, baking was not his strong suit. Logan said it was because he wasn’t exact with his measurements. Patton didn’t see how adding more sugar could ruin the recipe that much. He only wanted to make the cookies sweeter, and what’s sweeter than sugar itself?

It was alright though, because that just gave himself an excuse to visit Thomas. One of his most beloved and dearest friends. Not quite pack, but still loved by Patton all the same. 

He let his nose take all the way downtown to the Piece of Cake bakery. The bell jangled as he bounced in, grinning at the pastel interior of the bakery. He took a deep breath in, the sweet scents of the desserts overwhelming his senses.

“Hi Patton! What’ll it be today?” Thomas asked, giving a friendly wave from his place at the counter. That was what Patton liked about Thomas–he was so friendly! He knew it was part of his job, but Patton could tell by the curve of his smile it was more than just an act.

“Thomas! It’s so good to see you!” Patton squealed, reaching over the counter to give the man a hug.

The man let out a surprised yelp, but returned the hug just the same. Patton felt a tinge of guilt. He forgot that was probably something he should’ve asked before doing. 

“Oops sorry,” Patton gave a bashful grin as he withdrew from the hug, “I was just excited to see you! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!”

“Patton, it’s only been like three days,” Thomas laughed.

“I know, but still.” Patton pouted.

The two made friendly conversation as Patton picked out his order. It wasn’t until another customer came into the bakery that the two exchanged their goodbyes, and Patton made his departure.

He hummed cheerfully, swinging the bag of cookies with each stride. Occasionally at intersections he took a moment to open the bag and smell the delicious sugary delights. Chocolate Chip, Snickerdoodles, Blueberry, Sugar Cookies—the scents tickled his nose with glee.

Patton loved scents—they often told the truth more often than someone else’s words or his own eyes could. He was happy he could always trust his nose when his other senses failed him. He couldn’t imagine not being able to smell! He’d rather give up his sight or his hearing than not being able to smell the comforting presences of his packmates.

When Logan had revealed humans couldn’t smell as well as their kind, Patton burst into tears. Partly because it’d been a tiring day, and partly because he couldn’t fathom a life so devoid in that way. 

“Why are you crying?” Logan asked, awkwardly patting Patton’s back, “Humans’ sense of smell may be feeble compared to ours, but they have been able to survive just fine with it the way that it is. Besides, it is not as if they know the difference.”

“Exactly!” Patton sobbed harder, “They’ll never know how—how wonderful smell is!”

Logan just sighed.

“Would it help any to say as a former human, that I now know how wonderful a heightened sense of smell can be?”

“A little.” Patton sniffled.

“Good, uh, good. I hope that has adequately consoled you.” Logan had said, shifting his head away. Knowing how much emotional conversations duressed Logan, it made Patton love the pup all the more for trying his best. He’d really come along far in recent years.

The crosswalk switched from an angry red hand to the cute walking stick figure that signaled it was the pedestrians turn to walk. The crowd surged forward, a few people bumping into Patton’s shoulder as they passed by him.

“Oh!” He looked up from the bag, spying the crosswalk signal. He covered up the bag once more and hurried across the crosswalk.

It was a long walk to the outskirts of the city where Roman, Logan and Patton lived, but he much preferred it over taking the car. He didn’t enjoy driving. Particularly he didn’t enjoy thick traffic that left him antsy in the seat knowing he could walk faster than how fast the car was crawling across the interstate. And when there wasn’t traffic clogging the streets, the car whipped by faster than Patton’s liking.

See, Patton took the idiom “stop and smell the roses” literally. He enjoyed walking because of the journey. He loved hearing the chatter out of the bustling city, the wind rustling his hair, seeing the various sights that the city had to offer. Not to mention the smells. While some scents like gasoline could be nauseating to smell, there were scents like—pizza. Greasy breading baked with tomato sauce and cheese with a variety of toppings. His stomach grumbled in agreement.

As if in a trance, Patton’s feet led him in the direction of a nearby pizzeria. It wasn’t until he was a block away from the restaurant that he realized how far off he deviated from the walk home. He needed to walk north, not inwards towards the heart of the city.

As much as his mouth watered for pizza, he already prepared a delicious meal at home. He would have to save pizza for another day. Perhaps he could even make homemade pizza! He hadn’t tried doing that yet.

It was hard to suppress his urge to chase after every wonderful scent that infiltrated his nose, however. The closer he came towards home, the more difficult it became. When Patton had been younger, he gave more easily into his urges to chase after the scents. Flowers, perfume, the smell of Asian food wafting in the air from a nearby restaurant—it all enticed and allured him.

He chased the scents, curious to see where they led. Often, he found himself in trouble from sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. After spending his childhood largely isolated from the human world, he had been ignorant of appropriate manners among humans.

 For example, humans often took offense if you smelled them. Whereas werewolves had very little sense of personal space. Something that could be found inherent in Patton by how he heaped affection on people within five seconds of meeting them.

Patton knew better now. He recognized he couldn’t gleefully chase each scent without abandon. He had a responsibility to look after the needs of the others. If Patton didn’t remind his two workaholic packmates when to eat, he wasn’t sure who else would.

Gotta focus, gotta focus, gotta focus. The mantra ran through his mind repeatedly. He opened the bag of cookies once more, taking a deep whiff to remind himself of his mission. The rich chocolate, cinnamon goodness and fear reminded him that he can’t wait to share them with the others—wait.

Patton paused in the middle of the sidewalk, causing the person behind him to grumble in frustration. Fear? That can’t be right. That scent didn’t belong with a cookie but rather—a living being. He scanned through the bustling crowd who traveled down the sidewalk as usual. The scent of increased perspiration clung to the air, how could the humans just ignore it? Could they not smell it? It was so alarming and smothering!

There was no question in his mind about whether or not he should follow this scent. 

“Oops, Excuse me! Sorry!” He called out, apologizing to disgruntled pedestrians as he tore through the foot traffic after the scent. His large, hulking figure was perfect at plowing through the crowd—no one wanted to get trampled by a 6’2 man. Least of all, Patton, who’d feel incredibly awful had he trampled someone.

He skidded around a corner, the scent leading him to the entrance of a winding, dark alleyway. 

“Five,” Patton’s ears picked up a voice. 

“Four,” They were counting down, like a human child would during a game of hide-and-seek. Perhaps Patton mistook the fear scent for something far more innocuous? 

“Three,” There! There were two figures in the shadows. Something a human might miss but certainly not Patton. The larger one aggressively loomed over the other, a flash of silver in their hand; a gun. The bag of cookies fell from Patton’s hands.

“Two,” The little one shook terribly, the fear clearly emanating from them. This wasn’t a game, this was something far more insidious. This was a human out for senseless slaughter and the smaller one had been their unsuspecting victim. Patton’s heart burned with rage.

“One,” It all happened too fast. Patton was certain he growled, unable to say anything intelligible in his anger. He didn’t know how he’d tackled the aggressor from fifteen feet away within a second. All he knew was that there was a loud bang and then he’d pinned the man to the ground, the ends of his fingernails already transformed into gruesome claws. 

A scream tore through the would-be murderer, fear now radiating from them as well. A predator now turned prey.

The man made a frantic attempt to snatch up his gun, but Patton kicked it away with a snarl. 

“Please–” The man wheezed out, barely audible to even Patton’s ears.

Patton didn’t enjoy hurting others. It brought him physical pain to know when his actions wrought anguish onto others. But he was also a wolf and wolves did not take lightly to rabid wolves. They did not entertain them, let them fester and infect the pack. They disposed of them.

So with these instincts howling in his ears, he opened his jaw up wide and sunk his sharpened teeth into the man’s neck. There was a muffled scream and then the man went limp beneath him.

Patton shut his eyes, breathing heavily. Blood dribbled down his maw. A primal part of him was satisfied by this. Pleased even. The more domesticated part of him wanted to puke. He pushed it down, evening out his breaths. With each inhale, his bones shifted and twisted in rapid succession. Until he could place his hands on his face and feel dulled humanlike fingernails. 

He stumbled away from the aggressor’s still body, his focus immediately on the little one. Where were they? Did they flee off in terror? 

When he spotted the human’s collapsed figure on the ground, his heart clenched.

“Are you alright?!” Patton asked, voice quivering, as he rushed to their side. They didn’t respond, their head lolling backwards as they went completely unconscious.

“Oh dear!” Patton murmured, pulling the human into his arms. He can’t help but marvel over how small and fragile the human looked. He must have been the runt in his litter. He was still so young for a human, he couldn’t possibly be older than his early-twenties. Practically still a pup! 

The human wore a raggedy black hoodie and ripped jeans with scuffed up converse. His face was too thin to be healthy, and oh gosh, are those circles underneath his eyes? If the poor thing didn’t faint from fright, he certainly fainted from exhaustion.

He gasped upon seeing the bandages wrapped around the human’s hands. The skin underneath looked red and swollen, indicating it was a fresh wound. The human’s hair glistened with sweat. Patton pressed a hand against his forehead and nearly flinched at how warm it felt. Patton knew little but he knew that humans shouldn’t feel that warm.

Not only was this human thin, exhausted and injured but they were also ill! Patton’s righteous rage from before returned with a vengeance. He wanted to hunt down those whoever else had harmed this human and see to it they never harmed them again. 

Where was this human’s pack and why weren’t they protecting them from danger? Like that of the rabid human just moments ago? Was the pup abandoned and all alone? He had to have been!

Patton snuck a glance towards the rabid human lying where he’d left them. Their lungs still drew in breaths, though just barely and probably for not much longer. Patton may be a lover and not much of a fighter, but was not his first kill nor his last. This was one, however, he found it hard to feel much regret towards.

They attacked a pup with no pack, one that was both ill and injured on top of it all. Something that most humans themselves would find utterly revolting.  They would’ve gotten away with it, too, if Patton hadn’t happened to catch a whiff of the pup’s fear. 

“Oh gods, if I hadn’t found you in time–” Patton whispered to the pup, his vision blurry with tears.

He couldn’t just leave the human here, alone and unconscious, in an alley with the bleeding-out crook that just tried to kill him. If someone came across him, human or otherwise, he’d be an easy meal. He had to take the human somewhere safe.

A shriek echoed in the alleyway, high and shrill like a strangled songbird. A woman stared at him from the entrance of the alleyway. A trembling hand covered her mouth, her eyes bulging with horror. Patton’s lips formed shapes but nothing came out. Not when his instincts screeched a singular command at him: Run.

Patton couldn’t stay here. There was no way he could explain the situation and even if he could, he feared for the human whom he saved. Would the other humans see how sick and small he was and attempt to finish what the other human started? He couldn’t let this human go through any more pain than he’d already endured. So he scooped the human up in his arms and sprinted off into the opposite direction of the woman.

Patton ran as his legs would carry him, afraid of police sirens chasing after him at any moment. He was fast, faster than the average human even, but he wasn’t fast enough to outrun a car. Especially while carrying the pup, despite how worryingly light he was.

He tried to push that thought aside for now, concentrating on the goal at hand. Safe. He had to get the human somewhere safe and soon. In Patton’s mind, that only meant one place. The dwelling where he and his pack lived. The human would be safe there, protected and looked well after. 

He ran and he ran, taking detours to throw off any would-be pursuers off his trail. At one point, he cut across a swath of undergrowth in an ill-kept park. He ignored the stings of the branches hitting him as he continued his sprint. 

He only began to slow when he caught the sight of a raven gliding through the air. It cawed, circling, and Patton grinned as he gave a badly imitated caw of his own. A few more caws resounded as the raven was joined by more of its kind. He knew these ravens well. He nursed one or two back to health and they paid the favor in turn with shiny trinkets and staying nearby his pack. Something that was good because ravens were revered as good luck for their kind.

It wasn’t long until he caught sight of the blue two-story house that made up his pack’s territory. As he neared towards the steps of the porch, his legs almost gave out in exhaustion. Carefully, the human nestled in his arms, he sat down on the steps of the porch to collect himself.  

He pressed a hand against the human’s forehead, frowning when his hand still came away warm. Warmer than before, in fact. The human let out an incoherent cry, a hand subconsciously tightening around Patton’s shirt.

“Shhh,” Patton whispered, moving to stroke the human’s hair, “You’re safe now.”

The human seemed to lean into the touch, murmuring something too indiscernible for Patton to make out. The werewolf’s heart melted even further.  If Patton’s heart was a popsicle, it was now a puddle of sugary sweet liquid.

As he sat there, the thought struck him that both Logan and Roman probably wouldn’t be happy to see the human. While this wasn’t the first stray Patton tried bringing home, it would be the first time he brought home a human. 

Roman and Logan both had good reasons to be wary and distrustful of humans. While Patton had reasons to be just as wary and distrustful, he was certain this human wouldn’t bring harm. He just had to convince his pack to trust him on this.

Inhaling deeply, Patton secured his hold on the unconscious human and stood up. Unlocking the door proved to be a challenge; embarrassingly he almost dropped the human in the process. But the door clicked open at last, and he strode inside.

Roman was where Patton had left him in the living room just an hour or two ago–elbows deep into an art commission. It’d seem he moved past the sketching stage and was now onto the inking process of an array of flowers with an abstract background. As always, Patton’s heart swelled with pride at how talented Roman was.

Roman wasn’t alone, however. Logan sat in the armchair opposite from Roman, having returned home from work in the time that Patton was gone. A book laid on his lap, completely ignored by Logan himself. Instead his gaze fixated on the human, his hands clasped tightly together. Patton couldn’t help but notice that the ends of his fingernails looked too unnaturally long. Almost close to being like claws.

Oh boy, Patton withheld a gulp, this was already going worse then he expected.

“Hello Roman,” He said, attempting to keep the nervousness out of his voice, “Hello Logan.”

Logan didn’t respond to Patton’s greeting.

“Hey Padre,” Roman said, frowning heavily at the canvas, “Did you complete your quest to obtain the chocolate chip cookies with the extra chocolateyness?” 

“Oh my goodness, I can’t believe I forgot the cookies again!” 

Roman chuckled at this, “What happened? Did you get sidetracked by some cute kitten or baby squirrel?”

“Not…exactly?” 

“What do you mean?” Roman asked, looking up. 

And oh, oh how the shifting expressions on his face physically wounded Patton. It went from an amused crinkling-eyes half-smile, to a blank albeit confused stare to a narrowed-eyes snarling grimace of anger and betrayal. Conversely, Logan’s expression changed much more subtly. There was a slight frown on his lips, his head tilted more downwards. He did not approve. 

Patton said nothing at first, trusting Roman wouldn’t lunge at him as he walked by to lay the human on the couch. He adjusted the pillows beneath the human’s head, fussing a bit with a blanket. Once he smoothed a few stray hairs on the human’s forehead back into place, he turned his attention onto his pack. This seemed to snap Roman out of his shock. 

“Wh-what–Patton, do you realize–what is a human–don’t you remember what happened last time we let a human into the house?!” Roman demanded as he shot up from his chair, canvas falling haphazardly onto the ground.

“Ro, please, this is different, he needs us–”

“No, he needs to go!” Roman insisted, taking a step forward. Patton planted himself in front of the human, a warning growl slipping loose. A flash of surprised hurt rippled through Roman. He didn’t back down though, taking another step closer. 

It might’ve escalated into something both of them would have regretted had Logan not stepped in, literally. He placed himself between the two, a hand sprayed out in warning to each. 

“Patton,” Logan said in a voice that was too calm, “explain.”

“I went out to visit Thomas at his bakery. Do you know he has new blueberry cookies for the summer? I got one for you Logan but then of course, I accidentally forgot the cookies, sorry–”

“It’s okay, Patton,” Logan interjected, quiet yet firm, “how does this relate to the human on our couch?”

“I’m getting there, I promise! I was walking home after Thomas’s when I picked up a fear scent and, well, I couldn’t in good conscience just ignore it, which was good I did because if I hadn’t…” Patton swallowed.

“If what?” Logan pressed, drifting closer to the human. Patton allowed it. Logan’s nails were more of a soft, rounded edge than they’d been moments ago. Logan wasn’t going to harm the human. Even if the tightness of his lips gave away the fact he still wasn’t happy with the situation.

“I found the pup in an alleyway with another human–a bigger one who was going to kill him if I hadn’t–so I did! But then I went to check up on him and he fainted from fright–or maybe sickness! Look at him, the poor thing! And then another human saw me so I–” Patton huffed, waving his arms as if the motion made up for the rest of his explanation.

Logan pinched his nose between his nose, groaning. “So what I’m hearing is that you panicked and weren’t thinking straight.”

Roman snorted. “Patton doesn’t think straight—ever.”

“I couldn’t just leave him all alone like that! What if he got attacked again?” 

“You could’ve left him at a police station or taken him to the hospital if you were worried about his health.”

Patton frowned. He’d…forgotten those were options. But what he could’ve done a few hours ago didn’t matter now. What mattered now was that the human was here and needed their help.

“He needs a pack, Logan. And I know you know how to care for sick humans!”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “Patton, humans are social creatures, I’m sure he has packmates of his own who are concerned by his disappearance. There’s also no telling how he will react once discovering our true nature. We should take him to the hospital.”

“If he has packmates, they aren’t good ones,” Patton growled, “We don’t have to tell him about the pack. But we can’t just leave him alone in the hands of strangers, Logan!”

“Except we are strangers ourselves to him, Patton,” Logan pointed out, “you never even held a conversation with him, correct? You don’t know why he was in the situation you found him in. You don’t know whether or not he has caring friends and family–packmates–who happened to not be there when you found him. This is excluding the fact that there’s no conceivable way we could keep the true nature of who we are from him long term, of course.”

“Yeah, this could’ve been just a FPA ploy for all we know.” Roman darkly muttered, gnashing sharpened teeth in agitation. 

And okay! Maybe Patton had panicked and jumped the kill a little. Could you blame him? It happened all so quick, he had to react fast and rely on his instincts. Something which almost always steered him right. Patton was making a lot of assumptions–but then, so were they. 

Roman and Logan assumed this human would bring harm simply for being a human. Because humans had harmed them in the past and so all humans held that same potential. But that just was like humans’ own assumption that all werewolves were malicious monsters that only sought out blood. Both assumptions were born from bad blood and righteous fear. 

And while Patton chose to look past that fear on both sides and assume otherwise–he shouldn’t have pushed this onto them. Not with their wounds fresh and their minds young and perhaps something they needed to learn on their own.

Still, Patton couldn’t bring himself to kick the human out. He was injured and sick, it didn’t feel right.

“Please, I don’t–I know you two don’t want him to stay as pack, so I won’t force that. But can he please stay just until he gets better? For me?”

Logan shared a long glance with Roman. Then he leaned over the human to feel his forehead, grimacing slightly.

“His temperature is unusually warm,” He noted, “We should take his jacket off—to help cool down his temperature.”

Patton’s eyes widened.

“Does that mean—”

“Yes.” Logan sighed, “I’ll grab the first aid from my study. Patton, can you go prepare the spare bedroom for the human?”

“Oh, of course!” Patton said, beaming. He then swept both Logan and Roman in a hug, tousling their hair much to their chagrin, “Thank you so much doing this for me, I promise you won’t regret it!”

“I am fairly certain I already am,” Logan said, squirming a bit in Patton’s embrace, “might I add, you may want to wash up a bit before getting the spare bedroom ready? There’s…blood on your face and shirt.”

“Oh!” Patton swallowed, “Oops, I forgot about that, um, yeah I’ll take care of that! And…you two will watch over him for me, right?”

“By the grace of the Moon, we shall.” Logan bowed his head.

Patton blinked, slightly taken back. Logan…Logan wasn’t one to invoke the Moon’s name in reverence. But he was always intentional with his words and so, Patton knew he could trust him with this task.

“Okay.” Patton said, giving a firm nod. He headed upstairs, secured in knowing the human would be alright without him for a little while.

As soon as he was gone, Roman turned to face Logan.

“What was–I can’t–did I have no say in this?” He spluttered indignantly, “Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea? It’s a human, Logan. A. Human.”

“A human who is physically weaker, underfed and feverish compared to us. While it would be optimal to take him to a hospital, you and I both know about how attached Patton gets to…strays. I theorize he’s able to pack-bond more easily with other species than us. This is a compromise.” Logan mused, steepling his fingers.

Roman shook his head, taking to pacing the floor. 

Patton had a heart of gold—there wasn’t a mean bone in his body. He cried easily. He cried when a girl and her dog got separated in a movie, and he cried again when the two were reunited. He couldn’t bear passing by an animal in need, injured and all alone. Hence the flock of ravens that took shelter within the confines of their yard.

The only thing that kept Patton from having a menagerie of animals in their home was because it didn’t suit their lifestyle well.

So it shouldn’t astound Roman as much as it did that Patton brought home a human, because of course Patton would do such a thing. But it didn’t change the fact that humans were the furthest thing from a cute, helpless baby animal. 

Something Roman knew well and would never let himself forget.

“Look, Pat’s heart is in the right place, but still, a human, Logan! Weak or not, it doesn’t matter! He’s still dangerous.” Roman scowled, glaring at the unconscious human in their midst. 

“And I do not disagree with you on that fact. But we are only looking after the human for as long as he’s sick,” Logan explained, “Who knows? The human might even want to leave early.”

Logan picked up his discarded book, carefully placing a bookmark in it before snapping it shut. He regarded Roman again with a narrowed, steely glint in his eyes. 

“Make no mistake. I know how dangerous humans can be; I was once one myself, Roman, and I have no intentions of harboring the delusion of keeping one in our home any longer than necessary.”

(Chapter Art done by @finiteframe3 on Tumblr!)

Chapter Text

As far as Virgil was concerned he’d died in that alleyway (his whole life worth a grand total of $5) and ended up in some strange purgatory. It was the only thing that could explain the apex predator currently snuggled up to him like a giant lethal teddy bear. That wasn’t normal. 

Well perhaps it was normal if you were a zoologist or someone who chose to live off-grid in the wilderness somewhere. Neither of which were Virgil, who was comfortable living an urban life where his encounters with wildlife were limited to birds, squirrels and the occasional raccoon. 

Surprisingly, it was not the wild creature that first brought his realization that something was off. Rather, it was the light that peskily seeped through the windowblinds. A common occurrence for most people. Virgil was not most people. Virgil duct-taped a blanket to his apartment bedroom window, finding it the cheapest and most effective way to block out sunlight. 

He honestly preferred it that way, not one to even use the overhead light. After a grueling long day of work, even the smallest light source was too much for him to handle. Creating his room to be a dark cavern helped with the matters.

Therefore, he made the brilliant observation that this wasn’t his bedroom.

To his credit, his brain felt like someone ripped it out, ran it through a meat grinder and then it shoved it right back into his head. He had a few snatches of images that might explain why he woke up here, but it was all fuzzy and hurt his brain just attempting to make sense of it.

He did remember encountering the mugger on his way home from work late evening. A near-death experience like that was hard to forget. How he arrived here was the question. The rays of sunlight poking his face meant it was daytime now. Whether that meant a single day had passed, or more, he didn’t know.

He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the sticky sensation that clung to his esophagus. He hated being sick. It always messed with his perception of time--well more than usual. He was used to weeks feeling like months and months feeling like weeks. He’d blink and it’d be Christmas. Blink again and barely a day passed.

Something shifted beside him in the bed, the bed frame creaking slightly as the movement redistributed the weight on the mattress. Virgil froze, his heart echoing loud against his chest like a judge’s gavel in a courtroom. 

Lying beneath his right arm was not a pillow, but a living, breathing wolf. Upon first glance, it could be mistaken for a husky. A reasonable assumption, especially if someone was as unexpectant as Little Red Riding Hood at finding a wolf in a bed where it didn’t not belong. 

However its fur was too muted, a mottled barrage of various greys draped across a creamy white undercoat. Its head was huge and its snout elongated in a way that differentiated it from a husky. Not to mention the massive overall size of the creature! The length of its body equaled Virgil’s height.

He’d always thought wolves were cool ever since he watched Balto as a kid and connected with the wolf-dog’s dilemma of being an outcast. In middle school, he used to draw a bunch of melodramatic, crappy comics about wolf packs filled with cartoonish blood and gore.

Naturally, it didn’t earn him many friends. Not only was he the weird sick orphan kid, he was the weird sick orphan kid with a wolf obsession. Wolves were more just the average apex predator. They were a manifestation, a physical reminder of the monsters that walked hidden amongst humans.

His teachers taught him that supernatural beings like werewolves were diseased humans without a shred of humanity left inside them. It was theorized that wolves originated from werewolves who completely lost themselves to their animalistic self. He learned the dangers they imposed and that one should always stay away from any and all werewolves or other supernatural beings. 

His parents told him otherwise in private. 

“Son, can you promise us something?” Dad had asked him, his face so serious for a man who was normally incapable of withholding a grin. The three of them sat on a picnic blanket in the backyard, the full moon and a legion of stars their sole witnesses to this conversation. He had to be at least six or seven at the time.

“It is a secret—something you cannot share.” Mom added, kneeling beside him. She smiled a bit, carding her fingers through his hair; a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“What is it?” Virgil scrunched up his nose. The action resulted in a quiet chuckle from his father.

“I know you’ve been learning in class about how dangerous supernatural beings are, but…they aren’t always dangerous.”

“They’re like us just…different,” Mom said, placing her hand on his shoulder, “Some of them are dangerous, yes. You should always be cautious, just like we teach you to be careful around strangers. But they aren’t monsters, they’re like humans—like us, but just…different. And people are afraid of those who are different—but you don’t have to be afraid like them.”

“Promise that if you come across a supernatural being—be it vampire, werewolf or otherwise—you treat them with the respect and manners we’d expect you to treat anyone, be it a grown-up or your friends even. If they mean immediate harm, you do what is necessary to protect yourself. But unless you know someone is a supernatural being, you cannot share this promise with them.”

He’d promised, of course, to abide by his parents’ words. He still did, although it wasn’t like he had a chance to go against them. Supernatural sightings were few and far between, especially in the city. It’d probably been longer than a decade since one was last sighted despite the conspiracy theory videos Virgil liked watching late at night claimed. He was much more likely to nearly die from a mugger than encounter a supernatural being. Which, oh yeah, actually happened, he better make sure to check that off the bucket list.

Needless to say, there was a wolf nestled close to the nook of his arm, its enormous head resting on top of his chest. He knew they were huge, but somehow he couldn’t comprehend until now just how huge. He suddenly realized why people would be terrified at the prospect of a wolf pack tearing them apart limb-to-limb or even the idea of someone being able to turn into one for that matter.

Slowly, he reached with his left hand and gingerly petted the wolf’s fur. It wasn’t as soft as he expected. It was a thick, coarse texture. He brushed his fingers through it, trying to determine if he was awake right now or this was just another absurd fever dream. Maybe he wouldn’t find out until the wolf decided to maul him and he’d wake up with his breath knocked out of his lungs.

“Ew!” Virgil instinctively croaked as something rough like sandpaper collided with his cheek. 

The wolf stared at him, its eyes brown as molasses, as its tail thumped furiously against the bed. It didn’t seem to show any signs of aggression at all. If anything it seemed almost...excited to see him, like a dog seeing a human they adored. For a moment Virgil wondered if he was wrong. Maybe it was a wolf-dog or a gigantic mutt of some sort.

The sharp incisors resting beneath its tongue and its huge paws with sharp claws made him retract that thought. A chill ran through him at how easy its teeth or claws could sink into his skin. Slowly he backed away towards the edge of the bed. The wolf hadn’t liked that.

With a low, guttural growl, it pushed a paw against Virgil’s chest. Not anyway that harmed him, but Virgil understood the message all the same. He complied, forcing himself to lie flat on the bed. He stared at the ceiling as he awaited death for only the second time that week. His stomach felt queasy, whether from fear or illness he didn’t know.

The bed shifted, the box springs creaking as a flash of fur launched across Virgil’s field of vision. For whatever reason, instead of killing him, the wolf now stood in front of the bed at Virgil’s eye-level.  It met Virgil’s eyes with an intense gaze, its ears flattened, as if giving the equivalent of a “I’m watching you” glare.

Virgil almost broke into laughter. It was absurd, so fucking absurd. If you told him in the span of 24 hours he would go from burning himself at work to almost dying in a mugging incident to waking up next to a fucking wolf, he wouldn’t believe you. He still didn’t believe it, even when staring at the wolf with his own two eyes.

He did not laugh at the wolf. He retained enough self-preservation to withhold himself. Instead, he dipped his head down in a silent, very awkward acknowledgement. The wolf gave a huff at this, apparently satisfied. It then proceeded to walk away, giving one final warning look before ducking behind the slightly ajar door of the room.

With bated breath, Virgil waited to see if the wolf would return. When a minute passed with no sign, he sat up. He didn’t rush to leave the bed--partly out of a fear he’d become wolf chow the moment his toes touched the floor and partly because of the way his head spun like the tea cup ride at Disneyland. He curled his arms around his knees and hoped the sensation stopped before he regurgitated whatever rested inside the pit of his stomach. Gods, he hated being sick.

It made him ache so much for the comforting presence of his parents. He wanted his mom to sing to him again, her brusque voice taking on a softer lilt. He wanted his father to tell him corny jokes again with the full confidence that they were the pinnacle of comedy. He wanted most of all to melt into their embrace, to feel safe once more.

Dammit, every time he thought he’d finally moved on and accepted their deaths, he found himself falling backwards into the grieving process all over again. He couldn’t afford to do this right now. He stuffed the grief away, like one stuffed away clutter into a spare room to quickly clean in time for company. He’d deal with those emotions at a later date, or perhaps maybe never.

With that problem resolved, Virgil focused on the more pressing issue; was this real life or just plain fantasy? He wasn’t sure which he preferred. He wasn’t a lucid dreamer--just like in real life, he was trapped to it like an unwilling participant on a rollercoaster. He couldn’t control whatever heights and plunges his dreams shaped up to be.

People didn’t normally feel pain in dreams. Or at least that’s what movies taught anyways. Characters always pinched themselves to ensure they weren’t dreaming whatever absurd fantasy confronted them in the story. Like for example waking up in an unfamiliar room with a wolf.

Virgil dug his nails into the flesh of his arm--pressing as hard as he could. A small sharp pain sprouted underneath his nails. He withdrew his hand, staring down at the half-crescent shape from the pinch on his arm. He wasn’t dreaming. If at least movies were right about being unable to feel pain in dreams. 

‘You can’t always trust what you see in movies, you know.’ A small thought nagged at him.

He breathed in, ignoring it in favor of taking a better look at his surroundings. It was a small spare bedroom clearly used for mainly storage as evidenced by the piles of boxes in the left-hand corner of the room. The walls were a bland beige color and barren of any paintings or photographs. To the right of the bed was the door that presumably led to a hallway. Directly facing Virgil was the window with the previously mentioned window-blinds. There was a closed door left of the window, presumably leading to a closet. Standing along the same wall of the closet door was a tall, brown bookshelf full of books, with cat knick-knacks scattered across the shelves.

The book titles were horizontal, causing Virgil to tilt his head sideways to get a better look of their names. It was mostly full of classics like Moby Dick , 1984 , Frankenstein —every book that Virgil grew to loathe during high school. The fact he could read them further cemented that this wasn’t a dream. He knew from plenty of nightmares in high school about failing tests that you couldn’t read words or numbers in dreams. It was all squiggly lines or nonsense words like in cartoons.

But what about telling time? There weren’t any clocks hanging up on the walls. Fortunately, he happened to glance down at the nightstand to find a digital clock. 10:32AM.

He could feel pain, read words, and tell time. None of which was reassuring to Virgil. There were two ways people expected to leave a mugging, and that’s either in a body bag or without their wallet. Did the mugger decide to kidnap Virgil, and if so why? Was he a part of some kind of human trafficking ring?!

Voices erupted in the hallway outside the bedroom, and Virgil jerked his head towards the doorway. There were at least two distinct voices but Virgil couldn’t make out what was being spoken. Virgil’s chest tightened. He wanted to yell out at them and demand to know what was going on. But he thought of the wolf and the words refused to come out. The voices both quieted as footsteps drew closer to the door.

“Hello!”

Virgil flinched, a yelp caught halfway in his throat. A grown man bounded into the room like a giant rambunctious golden retriever. He was tall--a few more inches and he would’ve hit the top of the doorway on his way in. 

He wore a cyan jacket with white pompoms attached to the strings of the hoodie. Black cats decorated the bottom half of the jacket, giving Virgil the sinking suspicion he was responsible for the cat knick-knacks in the room. Along with the jacket, he had simple grey pants and socks that were also decorated with cats. His hair was brown and wavy with a sleek shine that glinted oddly in the overhead light. A gleaming pair of amber eyes looked at Virgil behind a set of round-shaped glasses.

Another man followed after him, looking much like an exasperated parent with their hyperactive five-year-old. The two shared an almost passing resemblance in their facial structure, hair and glasses. However  the latter was a few inches shorter and slimmer in physique than the former. His eyes held more of a darker, richer brown hue. With a black polo, blue tie completed with slacks and dress shoes, he reminded Virgil of a teacher. 

His neutral, flat expression even gave Virgil the same shiver down the spine as a teacher staring at him for an answer he had no hopes of getting right.

“Hi?” Virgil croaked, narrowing his eyes.

Golden Retriever bounced a bit on his heels. “Oh, I’m happy to see you’re okay!”

‘You are?’ Virgil thought, but he could scarcely finish processing the man’s words before he found himself pressed against a very soft jacket. Apparently Golden Retriever never heard of personal space and decided to hug him. It was a rather snug embrace, Virgil could tell the dude lifted weights or something. Great.

Teacher Dude sighed, a hand clasped over his head. From the looks of it this wasn’t the first time Golden Retriever did something like this.

“Patton, please--you’re scaring him,” He reprimanded, placing a hand on apparently-Patton’s shoulder and guiding him away from Virgil.

His voice...why did Teacher Dude’s voice sound strangely familiar? For some reason the name Logan was going to mind but he had no idea why. If there was anything worse than potentially being in a kidnapping situation, it was being in a situation where you’re unsure you’re speaking with someone you should know or not.

“I’m sorry!” Patton said, abashedly rubbing the back of his head, “I got a teensy bit excited and forgot how scared and confused you must be right now.”

Damn right he was scared and confused. Not that he was going to openly disclose that to potential kidnappers, however. 

“What happened to the wolf?” Virgil blurted out. Some would argue the wolf wasn’t the most pressing issue, but to Virgil--he had to know. It was just weird there was a wolf loose in a house, okay! 

Patton and maybe-Logan shared a glance. 

“What wolf?” Logan asked.

Virgil narrowed his eyes; there was definitely a wolf in the house.

“I woke up and there, um there was this huge-ass wolf lying beside me. I thought I was dreaming—still kinda actually.”

Logan hummed, his gaze drifting over to Patton again. Patton didn’t seem keen on meeting his eye contact. Instead he twiddled his fingers and whispered a soft “Language.”

Virgil didn’t have much time to read into the nonverbal exchange as Logan cleared his throat and said, “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, as it would be too unwise to keep a wolf as a pet considering their status as an undomesticated wild creature and the unfortunate connotations surrounding them. That was simply Patton’s pet dog, who is just a very large mutt. He has a bad habit of being overly friendly with strangers.”

Patton’s face crumpled a bit before a smile smoothed it out.

“Yeah. I—he didn’t mean any harm, I promise!”

Virgil wasn’t sure how much he actually believed them. But at the same time, he wasn’t exactly willing to die on that hill. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” Virgil shrugged.

“Well, my name is Logan in case you don’t recall, and this is Patton,” Logan awkwardly segued, adjusting his glasses, “What is yours, if you don’t might me asking?”

He did mind Logan asking, thank you very much, but he supposed it wouldn’t kill him to at least give away his name. 

“I’m Virgil,” He said, as a tingly feeling started in his nose.

 Logan looked at him like he was some sort of lab experiment. “I must admit, you’re not as freaked out as I expected you to be.” 

“Like I said I’m still not, uh, convinced that this isn’t a dream—” Virgil sneezed.

“Bless you.” Patton said.

Virgil sneezed once more.

“Bless you again!”

“Here,” Logan handed Virgil a box of tissues, “and I assure you that you’re not dreaming, though I do admit this is an extremely odd situation.”

“Thanks,” Virgil blew his nose, “care for an explanation?”

Logan hesitated, “How much do you remember leading up to waking up here?”

Virgil huffed. He gave a bare bones summary, cutting back on the profanity when he saw it upset Patton. Once Virgil had finished recounting, Logan adjusted his tie.

“Patton was your rescuer. He saw what was going on and knocked your attacker unconscious. He then went to check up on you and noticed you were feverish. I have to apologize on Patton’s behalf, his heart was in the right place, but he has a habit of making decisions without thinking things through,” Logan explained, “Instead of calling the cops or taking you to the hospital, he panicked.”

“I was worried,” Patton bit his lips, “I didn’t want you to be unconscious and alone after what happened!”

Virgil sympathized with the guy. Hell, it sounded like something he’d do. Often Virgil became so blindsided with panic that all rationality went out the window. He was grateful that Logan hadn’t been the one to find him; Good Samaritan or not, hospital bills were the last thing Virgil wanted to deal with.

“As I said, you could’ve taken him to the hospital or the police station.” Logan gritted his teeth before glancing over to Virgil, “We can take you to a doctor’s office if you’d like—”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Virgil snapped. No way did he have money to cover an appointment let alone the medication. He groaned, clenching his stomach. He still couldn’t tell if it felt weird from his anxiety or because he was sick. 

“How long has it been since…”

“Tuesday?”

“Yeah, Tuesday.” Virgil said, coughing into his elbow.

“It’s been about two days—you’ve been in and out of it, but I don’t think you remember in your feverish state of mind. I’ve been making sure you’ve been drinking fluids and keeping your bandages clean.” Logan informed him.

“Two days.” Virgil repeated weakly, rubbing his eyes. Two whole days—two whole days that he was absent from work without at least calling in. He was most definitely fired from his job.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Virgil chuckled, which quickly snowballed into a coughing fit. He was far from okay.

“Not really,” He replied, “Being sick sucks, you know. I’m sorry I’ve bothered you guys like this.”

“Hey, it’s alright!  If you want, you can stay with us until you get better,” Patton offered, leaning forward on the balls of his feet.

Virgil blinked. What, seriously? He’d expected they would simply throw him out of the house as soon as he regained consciousness. They’d established that his existence in their home was a panic-fueled mistake. Who took care of a completely random sick stranger? That just didn’t happen.

“We’d understand it if you’d prefer it if we dropped you off at your home or somewhere you’d feel safe instead.” Logan added.

“But really, it’s not a problem if you wanna stay!” Patton grinned, “I mean, uh, until you’re better of course!”

As much as he preferred the comforts of his own room—Virgil’s not looking forward to having to deal with the roommate. Interacting with the guy while he was sick just added another headache on top of things. Not to mention, he did not want to come to his roommate with the news that he was most certainly out of a job. But he didn’t want to be an unnecessary burden to a bunch of random strangers. He could see it in Logan’s eyes--he wanted Virgil out of here as soon as possible.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to be a burden to you guys—”

“I promise you’re anything but that,” Patton interrupted.

Virgil paused, the words he had prepared dissipating in his throat. Patton was so strange--who insisted a person had worth when they barely knew the person in question? 

He opened his mouth to protest before clasping his hand over it. A gurgling, horrid sensation had plunged his stomach. 

“B-basket,” He gasped, and Logan barely had time to shove a trash can beneath his face before he retched up a concoction of stomach acid into it. Yup, his stomachache had definitely been the sickness’ fault. Or maybe a combination of the two working together in cahoots. It didn’t matter at this point, he was too exhausted to care.

“I’m just—I’m just going to take a nap.” Virgil groaned, burying his head into a pillow.

“That’s perfectly fine,” Logan said softly, “Rest and hydration is important in overcoming illnesses.”

Huh, that was the nicest Logan had been to him so far. Who knew it took Logan seeing him vomit to gain an ounce of sympathy from him?

“We’ll let you get some rest then.” Patton said as the door closed gently after them.

Virgil knew he should be worried about his job. He should be worried about how he was going to pay for stuff like his half of the apartment rent. He should be worried about staying in a strangers’ home in such suspicious circumstances.

But right now, he was wonderfully empty of all such worry. It was a false sense of peace, to be sure. As soon as his mind became less fuzzy, the worry would come rushing back like a bursting dam. But for right now, it was the loveliest feeling in the world.

Chapter Text

As Roman stared at the human’s sleeping form, he couldn’t help but wonder how humans managed to become the dominating species of planet Earth. Without their weaponry or protective garb, they really did look rather frail and unassuming. Roman could dispose of his pack’s intruder within seconds.

“I hope you should know that if I was not a wolf of honor, I’d strike you where you laid.” Roman informed the unconscious human, his words punctuated with a soft growl.

The human did not respond to this, although he did turn his back to face Roman in his sleep. Said werewolf couldn’t help but feel unreasonably indignant at this.

“But be assured, I will not hesitant should you pose a threat,” Roman continued, walking a small loop around the spare bedroom, “In fact I will not rest in my vigilance over you.”

A yawn escaped him then, as if to prove his point. He couldn’t sleep—he couldn’t even concentrate on his art commissions while an intruder prowled around their den. He took another glance at the human, scowling. Perhaps prowling wasn’t quite the right term. The intruder had spent the past day-and-an-half sprawled out in one of their beds, a place he certainly did not belong.

However, the same could be said of Roman. He was not supposed to be here with the human. He’d agreed to let both Patton and Logan handle the human.

An agitated worry gnawed at him all the same. Roman still well remembered the last time they let a human inside their dwelling. It’d been when they briefly lived in the middle-of-nowhere countryside.

It was the type of nowhere that the nearest “town” was a gas station and a few other motley buildings. It was the type of nowhere where the nearest neighbor lived far enough that their house wasn’t visible to your own. It was the type of nowhere that was ideal for a few wolves to live undisturbed. Or at least, they’d all assumed so.

Roman had loved it. As soon as they were within the safety of their property—their territory—he slipped into his lupine form. He ran and he howled, and he hunted to his heart’s content. It was the first time in a long, long while he could simply be a wolf, and not be anything but a wolf.

There were still rules to abide to—he couldn’t venture beyond the boundaries of their territory—but it was easy to fantasize, to pretend that for miles and miles it was just their little pack. He liked it best when Patton and Logan ran with him, their howls joining in unison with his own. In those days, he remained in his lupine form more so than his hominoid form.

As such, he’d forgotten how fragile this serenity was until there was a knock on their door one day. There shouldn’t have been a knock on their door. A knock on the door meant an intruder disregarded the clear boundaries of their territory. He’d wanted to growl and warn off the intruder.

He opened his mouth, but he had little time for even a vibration of a growl to rise from his throat before Patton threw a large quilt over him.

“Shh!” Patton hushed, just as a loud, nasally voice outside the house went, “Hellooo? Anyone home?”

“Stay quiet and don’t move.” Patton commanded, the words audible only to inhuman ears, before in a much louder voice, “Coming!”

Roman huffed, flexing his claws against the quilt out of spite. There wasn’t a clear hierarchy within the three of them—as the eldest, Patton often took the lead, but Logan would also call the shots in some areas, such as interactions with humans. And Roman? Sometimes he led on hunts but as the youngest he often had to defer to either of them.

If Logan was here, he’d handle the human intruder. But Logan wasn’t there. He’d gone into town in the morning to fetch supplies and hadn’t returned yet. Whether Roman liked it or not, Patton took charge of human interaction in his absence.

“Hello! How can I help you?” Patton said, the door opening not fully all the way. Roman could tell this from the door giving out only a short creak rather than a long creaeaeaeaak.

“Why hello Hon! I’m Debbie, I heard from your neighbor Dan that someone finally bought old John’s property and thought I’d drop by and say hello. I brought scones to share with you—I made them from scratch. Won’t you try one?” The intruder said, her voice weathered and frayed with age.

“Aw, shucks! Thank you so much! My name is Patton, it’s nice to meet you.” Patton said. There was a slight pause from Roman presumed to be Patton reaching out for a scone. “Do you happen to be a relative of John?”

“Oh, oh no!” Debbie laughed, “John never had no folks here. Ever since I was a child, he lived here on his lonesome. Bit of a strange one, if you know what I mean.”

“Strange?”

“Well, this is all talk mind you but—” Debbie broke into a whisper, “we think he was a bloodsucker. The fella never did seem to age naturally. Never came into town in broad daylight, always scuttled around twixt dusk and dawn. People don’t like that ‘round here, of course, but there was never any damn cement evidence. Didn’t stop ‘em, I’ll tell ya that.”

Roman did not like where this was going. Patton didn’t like where it was going either—Roman knew by the other’s heartrate accelerating in speed.

“Stop who?” Patton asked, his words muffled from a mouthful of food.

“Out here, people take care of each other. Don’t need the government to dictate how we live or swoop in to fix things, hah!” Debbie said wryly, “Bless his heart, old John didn’t go down without a fight.”

“You…killed him?”

“Oh, oh no!” Debbie chortled, her breath hitching abruptly, “I didn’t kill him. You? Well, hon. That’s a different story.”

“Wh—” Patton let out a choked wheeze, a half-eaten scone falling from his hand.

“Y’know, at first—I was just going to ask if you’d seen the wolves roaming near your property. You see, we haven’t had ‘em in over fifty years over here. The natural kind, anyways. What a coinkydink they appeared the moment someone took over old John’s property. But then I thought I should come more prepared than that. So that’s why I made my grandmother’s scones. Oh lord, she’d be rolling in her grave if she knew I tweaked the recipe.”

Roman’s hackles raised. Wolfsbane—she had to have laced the scones with it. The smallest petal could temporarily paralyze a grown werewolf when consumed. If eaten in large quantities? It was fatal. He needed to move; Patton was in danger. But his limbs remained stiff, as if encased in ice. Why couldn’t he move? He wasn’t some stupid weak pup anymore—he needed to act.

“Please—please,” Patton begged, a pained whine punctuating his words, “we don’t mean any—any harm.”

Hurt, hurt, hurt—packmate is hurt. Roman shouldn’t move—Patton told him to stay put. But he must move, he had to move—he needed to dispose of the threat to his packmate. But the last time he disobeyed an order—there was scarlet and screams and sharp silver bullets everywhere.

“Please, do you think I really believe a sick beast like you?” The human, the monster, asked. A soft metal screech echoed in the silence. It sounded sharp—like a knife?

Roman still had time, he could still come to Patton’s aid. If he could only escape the fabric prison engulfing him. His claws dug and tore away at the quilt in a frantic attempt to escape its grasp. He couldn’t seem to find the ends of the blanket; it was all consuming. He growled anyways. A warning growl, the fiercest one he could muster. A growl that meant Unwanted, Go Away, Leave Now.

He didn’t believe the human would actually listen. He just needed to drive the human’s attention away from harming Patton. As he managed to pop his head from underneath the quilt, the edge of a small thin silver blade raised high above his head.

“Ro—roman.” Patton yelped. But he couldn’t see Patton. All he saw was the beady eyes entrenched in a face wrinkled from anger and bitterness. If Roman was a hero from a sacred tale, this would be the moment he epically saved the day. But that would be a grievous lie.

It did not mean he made a valiant attempt at doing so. Roman lunged at Debbie, snarling. She met him with a swift kick to his face, knocking him asunder. His heart roared in his ears as he stubbornly flung up to his paws. He charged forward in a blind rage. Another kick—this time to his ribs—sent him crumpling down. As he rose up again, a steel-toed boot pressed into his jugular, effectively cutting most of his air supply.

Roman thought he heard Patton screaming his name. It was getting hard to focus. His head pulsated as if brain matter was leaking out of his ears. His vision became a blob of shape and color at this point.

“Shush, don’t fight it.” The human said with bared teeth. A white-hot blade danced across the half-faded scars along his sternum.

“You poor thing, someone did a fucked up job of trying to put you out of your misery,” Debbie cooed, “don’t worry, I’ll finish the job.”

“No!”

“How—”

Blood. Blood everywhere on white pristine tile. A corpse, devoid of all life. A being that would never bask in the Moon’s glow or howl with him to rejoice in a good hunt. A whimper-howl escaped his throat. Patton was dead, he was gone, Roman had failed his pack for a second time—

“Ro—Roman,” A shaky, twitching arm latched itself around him, “I’m here, I’m here. She didn’t use enough wolfsbane—it didn’t taste bitter enough.”

Pack, pack was safe. Roman whined, nuzzling his snout into Patton’s sweater. It was wet and sticky, but underneath was a heart still beating and alive. That was important, that was enough.

“You were so brave, Ro, so, so brave.” Patton murmured.

Logan found them an hour later, huddled inches away from the body of the accursed human. They didn’t end up staying long after that—fleeing under the solace of the Moon’s rays. Patton was right—it wasn’t enough wolfsbane to kill him. But it was just enough wolfsbane to leave him sick for weeks. He’d throw up the slightest thing resembling solids. All because some human decided that peaceful or not, no “paranormal” being deserved to live.

Not just some human, it was all of them. Honor meant nothing to them—even if their wolf pack abided by human rules and peacefully resided in their own territory, it did not matter. Sooner or later, a self-righteous vigilante or the Federal Paranormal Agency would be on their land to pay a “friendly” visit.  To survive, they were anything but a wolf. Anything meant a normal, average person. A person meant a human being and nothing else.

“It is not fair,” Roman remarked to the still unconscious human lying before him, “What a privilege you have for simply being born a human.”

Of course, Roman wasn’t ashamed for being a werewolf. It was a blessing to be one of the Moon’s children. He was superior in physicality and promised a long natural life unlike this feeble ailing human. But he did harbor a righteous rage for the world that humans carved out of the violence they wrought. Most humans did not grow into FPA hunters—but they still benefited from their hunts. They lived their whole lives without the fear of death looming above their heads, ready to strike at any moment.

He couldn’t understand why Patton, who had been hurt and harmed by humans, would be so willing to take in one of their young. Sure, he was Patton—he cared too much for his own good. He had a heart for anyone and everyone. But still, a human!

Listen, it wasn’t as if Roman was a heartless monster. Like Patton, he couldn’t walk by an injured bird without feeling pity for it. Logan, on the other hand, could stroll by the bird without a passing thought. He’d state it was best to let nature run its course.

“All things die, Patton,” Logan said once, as he comforted Patton after a failed attempt to resuscitate a dying Robin, “It would’ve died regardless of if you tried to help it or not. It was too far gone.”

“I know that,” Patton gave a rueful smile, “But I had to at least try to save him—at the very least he didn’t die all alone on a cold cement, terrified of what happened to him.”

Logan’s hand on his shoulder tightened. A look was shared between the two of them and Roman had a feeling that Patton wasn’t just talking about the bird.

Rather, it had been yet another vague reference to the two’s shared pasts that they refused to tell Roman. Even after the years the three spent as a pack, Roman only knew slivers of it. Patton said it was Logan’s story to tell and Logan refused to even speak of it.

“And I am sure he is grateful for your actions.” Logan said, clearing his throat, and well. That was that.

However, a robin and human were two vastly different things. A robin was a small innocent creature. A human was only a small creature that was deceptively innocuous. As much as he thought too much with his heart, Patton was smart. He had to be for one that lived a life long enough to be considered a full-fledged adult by wolf standards. Yet somehow, he always gave humans the benefit of the doubt.

Even Logan, a former human, had more common sense. As much as Roman butted heads at times with the other, it was one thing they both firmly agreed upon; humans were a threat. They could not be trusted, even the ones that appeared to pose no inherent harm.

Roman would not allow another human to hurt his pack. He failed twice before, and he would not fail a third time. This was why he stood guard before the human, keeping an eye on any suspicious movements.

He could see how the human pulled on Patton’s heartstrings with how gaunt and pale he was. Had they made sure to check for fangs? If there was anything worse than a human, it was a vampire.

Oddly, this reminded him of the sacred tales his parents told him and his brother Remus as children. From the moment the two spoke their first words, their parents and other members of their pack taught them the sacred tales until they could repeat them verbatim. This was because sacred tales were stories passed on from generation to generation, of the history that came before them.

They were real, factual, not like the fairytales that humans fed to their children of the past. It was important that they knew the sacred tales and could repeat them by heart, unaltered in any way.

That didn’t stop Roman and Remus from “enhancing” them. They’d sit under the shade of an oak tree, bouncing ideas back and forth.

“What if instead of booooring humans, Romulus fought off a dragon? A mucus-breathing dragon with six wings and twice as many eyes?” Remus suggested one time.

“What if it’s also a dragon-witch? A dragon that is also a witch who can mind control people and Romulus has to fight them off and free everyone from being mind controlled.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Remus beamed, “and then he gets swallowed alive! And he finds Remus Rex in there, and they both have to stab the dragon-witch from the inside out!”

Their dad wasn’t as amused by their modification of the Sacred Story regarding their namesakes.

“Roman, Remus, these stories have been passed down from the beginning of time. It will be your responsibility one day to pass along these stories to your own pups or to any newly-turns under your guidance.”

“But him beating up a dragon-witch is so much cooler than him defeating some humans!” Roman protested.

“Perhaps, but by changing what actually happened is the same as lying. You are telling people there was a dragon witch when that did not happen. Do you understand?”

“No.”

“Not really.”

The two boys said at once.

“Come here you two,” His father patted the seat next to him on the couch, “let me tell you the tale of Conan, who had a knack of embellishing tales the same as you.”

“What does ‘embellishing’ mean?” Roman wrinkled his nose as he sat beside his father.

“Yeah, does it have to do with making stories cooler?” Remus said, settling on the other side of their dad.

The adult only chuckled at their queries, “Listen to the story and you’ll find out.”

By the end of Conan’s story, Roman truly understood the importance of reciting the sacred stories from memory. Remus, on the other hand, was stubborn. He liked adding onto the sacred tales, if only to see the outrageous looks on the Elders’ faces for doing so.

Roman liked the ideas of dragon-witches and manticore-chimeras—he just always made sure to remind his listeners that those stories were entirely fictional unlike the sacred tales.

Roman eventually learned to even love the sacred tales in their original format, acting out the tales to the younger pups of the pack. He always used different inflections in his voice to distinguish the various characters. One of his favorites to tell was the story of how werewolves and others like their kind came to be.

“Once upon a time, there were no werewolves,” Roman began ominously, grinning as he heard the collective gasps of his audience. Their eyes were the size of saucers.

“Nor were there vampires or magi or even selkies! There were only the beings that would become one day be humans, who were known then as homines. They existed in a world already populated by other beings like dwarves and giants and the fae folk.”  Here, Roman went through a flurry of motions to demonstrate traits of each mythical species he was describing. His audiences giggled as he fell to his knees to exhibit the stature of a dwarf before standing on his tippy-toes to represent the height of a giant.

“However, they were not very extraordinary. The homines couldn’t sniff out gold like a dwarf or use magic like the fae. They also lived very short lifespans compared to the others. The other beings knew this, and they picked on the poor homines, killing or enslaving them to their whims.” Roman took a wooden sword and gently prodded an audience member, eliciting a fake death noise out of them.

“The homines grew tired of this treatment and cried out to the deities to grant them the gift of strength and immortality. Those who sought out the moon’s help gathered together at the height of full moon. They danced and sang under the light of the Moon, pleading for the Moon’s help.”

Roman inhaled a breath before singing. The Song of Moon had a simple yet haunting melody that was easy to get stuck in one’s head. It was a song that any born werewolf regardless of pack origin would instinctually know.

“The moon heard this plea and chose to grant their wish for immortality. In return, however these homines would be forced to walk a balance between man and beast. ‘No longer will the beast within be hidden to the world,’ the Moon said, ‘you must express it outwardly or my rays will reveal it for you.’”

Roman’s voice became wizened and deep during the Moon’s speech.

“Thus, the werewolves were born! However, the other homines did not want to pay the toll for the Moon’s gift. Some of them thought it best to turn for the Sun for help. They held a festival in the Sun’s honor, celebrating Sun in all its glory.

“The Sun was affronted by this request. ‘I give you my light, I nourish your plants. Without me, you would perish. Still, you beg more from me.’” Roman boomed, giving his best impression of the prideful deity.

“But these foolish homines still pleaded to the Sun, saying ‘Almighty Sun, truly you are powerful than all the others. If you are powerful enough to do all these things, then surely you could grant us immortality?’

“Their taunts aggravated the Sun’s ire. How dare they question the Sun’s prowess? ‘Fine! I will grant your desire,’ The Sun acquiesced, ‘but you will be forced to wander in the darkness. No longer will my plants give you nourishment nor flesh or bone. It is the blood of those who still eat of my offerings that will satisfy your undying hunger.’”

“Vampires?” Several audience members whispered. Roman nodded his head and continued.

“Still, there were homines who refused to take on the Sun’s and the Moon’s gifts. They sought out will-o-wisps and asked not for immortality but to be blessed by magic like the fae folk. The spirits decided to heed their request, stating ‘You will live extended lifespans and be granted immeasurable power, but all magic has a price, and you may find that price to be costly to be a Magi.’” Roman intoned ominously.

“Even still, there were homines who prayed to the Ocean, wishing to seek refuge beneath the waves. These homines did not seek out tremulous power or immortality but rather safety away from the dangers of the world above waters. The Ocean felt pity for them and agreed to grant their desire. ‘I will grant your wish and in exchange you will be given skins suitable for the waters. But beware, if someone takes that skin, you will be in servitude to them.’”

Roman scanned the audience, “Can any of you tell me what the Ocean turned them into?”

“Mermaids?” A hesitant voice called out.

“Very close!” Roman gave a reassuring smile to the child, “But the Ocean turned these homines into selkies, named for their seal skins.”

He took a breath in before continuing on with the story.

“But there were homines who had forsaken the deities. Who looked down upon their brethren who became werewolves. Who cast out all the blessings offered to them and declared, ‘I will find the cure to morality through my own hands!’ They sought to gain immortality without having to pay the toll like the other homines. They thought if they drank the blood of vampires or werewolves, they’d gain immortality without paying the cost.

“So arrogant of their plans’ success, they plotted in front of the Sun’s and Moon’s eyes. Together, they agreed they could not let these homines get away with this dastardly evil plan without punishment. But being just and noble, they sent a vision to one of the homines forewarning what was to come if they did not back down from their plan.”

A hand belonging to a little girl shot up in the crowd. Roman paused.

“Yes?”

“What was in the vision?” She asked.

“Oh terrible things, the most horrifying things you could ever imagine!” Roman’s eyes widened in false dread.

“Like giant spiders?”

“The attic?”

“The monsters underneath my bed?”

“Yes, yes, things of that nature,” Roman chuckled before continuing his story.

“When this homine told the others of their vision, the others laughed it off as a simply a bad dream. Knowing vampires’ and werewolves’ weaknesses to the moon’s rays, these homines crafted crude weapons out of fallen moon rock. They set up a trap, leading a traveling group of werewolves and vampires to believe that the homines wanted to host a feast in their honor.”

Yet another hand raised high in the air.

“I thought vampires were mean and bad, why were the werewolves with them?”

“Oho, because this was back when werewolves and vampires were the best of comrades, before they decided to stab us in the back!  But that’s a story for another time.” Roman shook his head.

“Seven courses came and went as the homines remained jovial with the unsuspecting werewolves and vampires. Then, the leader of the homines gave a signal they whipped out their weapons and stabbed the werewolves and vampires until they breathed no more. Laughing, the homines dropped their weapons and like dogs they greedily lapped up the pools of blood formed from the corpses of the vampires and werewolves.”

He paused for dramatic effect, drinking in the revolted faces of his audience.

“For three days and three nights, they foolishly celebrated their success. But on the fourth day, they arose to discover only a halo of light where the Sun should be! That wasn’t all for they quickly noticed there was fur on places there shouldn’t be fur, and fangs sat where teeth once rested.

“The halo of light grew brighter, and the homines were forced to cower in the ground from the brightness. When the light dissipated, the Sun and the Moon stood in front of them in human form!”

“What did they look like, Ro?!”

“Were they pretty? I bet they were pretty!”

“Indeed, they were magnificent!” Roman declared, “The Sun and Moon were beautiful than any other being alive—in fact there are no words to describe just how stunning they were. When the homines saw both of them standing there, they cowered even more. For you see, no one had ever seen the Sun and Moon come down together—nor that strange halo of light. For the first time, the moon and the sun appeared together in the sky.

“’You have killed your vampire and werewolf brethren unjustly in your quest for greed despite our warnings. For that you shall be punished.’ The Moon and Sun spoke in unison. The homines begged and pleaded to be spared from death. The Sun and Moon simply laughed. ‘Death? Oh no, death is too good for you mortals. In punishment for your sins, you will be cursed to turn into the very creatures you despised; werewolves and vampires. And for any other former member of your race who comes into contact with the blood of a vampire or werewolf, they too shall turn.’”

Several voices gasped in the audience.

“But that’s not all,” Roman gravely said, “Because of their arrogance, the Sun and Moon also cursed the other homines with even shorter lifespans than before!”

“That doesn’t seem very fair though, the other homines didn’t kill the werewolves and vampires!” One boy cried out.

Roman’s eyebrows raised. “Yes, but you see the other homines were just as greedy and committed other unspeakable acts. That is why they are now known as humans.”

Gasps echoed throughout the crowd.

“And that is why we wolves always must stay wary of humans—because they’re wily and are always trying to find insidious ways to circumvent the curse they brought upon themselves.” Roman finished, to the applause of his audience.

One person in clapped louder than the rest. At some point towards the end, Remus had shown up and somehow managed to keep his maw shut until now. “Well done, dear brother! But you forgot something important—”

Roman groaned, “No, I did not—”

“You forgot to include that homines could projectile poison acid from their stomachs—”

“No, they did not!”

“And that when they attacked at the banquet, they killed everyone by spitting acid in their faces—”

“Ignore him, that’s not what happened!” Roman insisted, before launching himself at his brother.

“Admit it, it sounds better!” Remus shouted to the rest, as Roman pummeled him to the ground.

The two tussled, holding back laughter as they growled without any true malice. Life was simpler back then—when his greatest worry was keeping Remus from spreading misinformation to impressible young minds.

Now Roman had his own sacred tale to tell. It was one he didn’t want to repeat—one he’d rather change its ending to be anything what it was. But he could not change it. Instead, he held onto every detail, unaltered and unmodified. He would always remember the screaming, the howling of that tale.

The blood was not easily forgettable. The image frozen in his mind, not easily thawed. Of the blood that stained the snow a horrid scarlet. Blood that dripped down from the gleaming silver of their weapons. Blood that dribbled from his brother’s mouth as he howled, leading them away from discovering Roman in the underbrush. Blood that doused Roman’s hands as he laid across his father’s corpse, wailing for him to wake up—

“Uh, can I help you?”

It took every bit of Roman’s being not to claw the human’s face or to even withhold a surprised yelp. Somewhere during his reminisces, the human awoken. He sat up against the bed’s headboard, arms crossed as he glared up at Roman. With his greasy hair and boney frame, he didn’t look like a threat.

Roman’s instincts knew better. It growled at him, demanding that he eliminate the intrude that encroached on his pack’s territory. But Roman refused to be like humans and their predecessors—he would not kill in cold blood.

“Yes, actually,” Roman said, inhaling a deep breath as he clasped his hands together, “I need you to promise me something, or at else I cannot allow you to leave here alive.”

The human flinched, “Wh-what--?!”

Good, the human seemed unnerved by his threats. Roman opened his mouth to elaborate when a familiar knock drummed against the door.

“Knock, knock!” Patton cheerfully called out as he opened the door. A smile fell from his face at the scene before him. A pang of guilt stabbed Roman in the chest; he wasn’t supposed to be in the human’s room. He was breaking pack trust by being here.

“Patton…” Roman said, a slight whine slipping out.

“Roman, please tell me you didn’t come in here to terrorize Virgil.” Patton said in a flat voice. Oh, he was definitely disappointed in Roman.

He huffed, flailing his arms. “Look! I just came in here to make sure he was…doing okay!”

Nobody in the room, Roman included, were fooled by those words. The human’s eyes darted between Roman and Patton.

Patton sighed, before stepping to Roman’s side.

“Sorry for the scare, Virgil, you don’t worry about Roman, he’s all bark and no bite!” Patton grinned as he nudged the other with his elbow, “right, Roman?”

Roman wanted to disagree. He would not hesitate to tear this human apart if he dared lay a finger on either Patton or Logan. But it was more was important to keep up the facades that they were three ordinary humans living three very ordinary lives. It was a part Roman loathed to play, but just like all his other parts, he always fully committed to the role.

“Of course, Pat,” He verbally agreed, directing his gaze towards the human, “I was only messing around. I sincerely apologize if you were frightened by my antics.”

“It’s fine,” The human mumbled, although he looked anything but fine.

Roman smiled at this. He’d definitely gotten into the human’s head—good.

Patton clapped his hands together, “Fantastic! Now, Roman, would you be willing to check on the cinnamon rolls baking in the oven? I’ll let you do the frosting!”

It was a flimsy ill-disguised attempt to get Roman to leave the room. He dug clenched fists into his jean pockets. He didn’t want to leave Patton—not after what occurred the last time Patton was left alone with a human in their dwelling.

Patton placed a hand on his shoulder. His lips silently formed two words.

Trust me.

Roman trusted Patton. Time and time again, he proved his loyalty to Roman and Logan. He would not ever choose a human over either of them. He was also capable of defending himself from a human should Virgil attack him. So even if Roman disagreed with keeping a human in their house, he had to continue trusting Patton.

He sighed before clearing his throat, “Alright, I will save your cinnamon rolls from the fiery furnaces, and they shall be the most frostiest cinnamon rolls in all the lands!”

Roman clutched his fist in the air as he struck a pose of triumph. The human simply raised an eyebrow, expectantly unappreciative of Roman’s theatrics. It didn’t matter—all of it was for Patton, an indirect admission of forgiveness—of ‘I’m sorry I upset you, can we be good now?’

Patton thankfully picked up on it. He laughed as he leaned over to tousled Roman’s hair playfully.

“Awesome! I knew I could count on you, kiddo!”

“Patton, you messed up my hair!” Roman complained, although with no real malice to those words.

“Aw sorry, it looks like you’re a hairy situation.”

Before Roman could groan at Patton’s pun, a muffled sound erupted from the bedside. The two looked over to see a hand over the human’s mouth as he coughed.

“Well, I best be off then, before those cinnamon rolls burn.” Roman glanced at the human, “I hope you get well… soon.”

“Thanks.” The human replied, just as genuine as Roman’s words had been. Which was to say, not at all genuine.

Whether Patton understood it or not, a mutual understanding was reached between werewolf and human; neither liked the other. Not only that, but Virgil knew that his presence was an unwelcome sight in Roman’s eyes, and that the werewolf was fully prepared to cause bodily harm to him should the situation ever call for it.

Beautiful Art done by my amazing big bang partner @finiteframe3 on tumblr

Chapter Text

This was, by far, the strangest week of Virgil’s life. He went from burning himself at his grueling minimum wage job to nearly dying from a mugging attempt to now crashing at a couple of strangers’ house. Not to mention the fact he was sick, most likely out of a job and there was probably a pissed-off roommate awaiting him the moment he returned to his apartment.

All things considered, for someone who should be a walking anxiety attack waiting to happen, Virgil found himself surprised how well he was handling things. Perhaps it was due to a wonderful concoction of denial and repression.

There was still a small part of him in disbelief of it all. He kept waiting to wake up to police cops demanding his statement in that dingy alleyway. Or in a hospital attached to machines. Or back in his bedroom—like Dorothy discovering that the land of Oz had all been a dream.

For the most part, he was well aware that he was a child playing make-believe, trying to believe that reality was more wondrous than it truly was. It was better than being reduced to a pathetic sobbing mess. If he could, he’d willingly continue on in his delusional bliss of denial. Of course, the gods had other plans, apparently.

Plans that involved waking up to a completely random stranger staring at him as if he murdered the guy’s parents or something. Logan and Patton never mentioned a third occupant of the house. Was he a burglar–did that mean Virgil was going to get potentially robbed for a second time this week?

The light in the bedroom was faint, but he could make out that the man’s attire was odd if he was a potential burglar. Firstly, he wore a leather jacket. It was black with scarlet sleeves along with an elaborate embroidered design on the front. Hanging around his neck was a decorative red locket with golden engravings. He also wore a pair of black jeans along with socks—which was weird, right?

If he was a burglar, why wouldn’t he be wearing shoes? Was that how he silently snuck around peoples’ houses to rob them? Was his crime nickname the Sock Bandit? Did he only steal socks or some crazy shtick like that? Or did he only break into peoples’ houses to stare at them creepily while they slept?

Virgil was really, really hoping the guy would say something. Conversation-starters were not his forte. He just kept staring at Virgil, his whole body tense. Virgil couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Uh, can I help you?”

“I need you to promise me something or else I can’t let you leave here alive.”

Which, what the absolute ever loving fuck? Virgil was sure he was inches away from death until Patton stumbled into the room and chastised the guy (Roman, apparently) like he was a toddler caught doing something he was told five seconds ago not to do.

Patton definitely acted the role of the parent whose child’s “odd tendencies” were completely harmless and not a cause for concern. Virgil didn’t doubt for a second that Roman didn’t mean every bit of those words.

This was exactly when all the fears and anxieties of being in an unfamiliar place surrounded by unfamiliar people finally hit Virgil akin to a semi-truck inadvertently plowing through an unexpected traffic jam. This was also aided by the fact that the fever relinquished its hold on Virgil, allowing him to process things at long last.

What did Roman want Virgil to promise? It was obviously important enough that Roman was willing to kill Virgil over for it if he failed to uphold the promise. Or perhaps it wasn’t anything important at all—there was the possibility that Roman wasn’t right in the head. Neither scenario seemed better.

He didn’t harbor uneasiness over merely Roman; there were also weird things going on with both Logan and Patton.

In the extremely brief time that Virgil came to know him, Patton was certainly the friendliest of the trio. He sprouted off puns and fussed over Virgil like a mother hen. When Virgil made a remark stating something along those lines, Patton gasped.

“I’m not a mom, I’m a dad!” He beamed, placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder.

“What, really?” Virgil asked, caught off-guard by the declaration.

It took his brain a split second to register the absurdity of thinking that Patton was truly Logan’s father. Although the two could easily be mistaken as either brothers or cousins from a distance. Virgil already mistaken one for the other twice on account of his fever muddled mind. In his defense, both times occurred with limited light.

Their differing choices in wardrobes helped immensely in telling the two apart. Patton wore a lot of shirts with cutesy cartoons or cheesy puns. In contrast, Logan always dressed formally. Virgil didn’t think he’d yet to see the man without a tie on. Even that one time he came to the guest room with a unicorn onesie on, the man still had a tie wrapped around his neck.

Regardless, Patton’s smile grew even wider.

“Yes!” He exclaimed the same time that Logan yelled out a resounding “No!”

“He is by no means my biological father; he simply likes to envision himself as the ‘father figure of the group’ quote unquote.” Logan explained, as he pushed Patton’s hand off his shoulder.

“Well, as your g—as the oldest I suppose I feel a sense of responsibility to you and Roman.” Patton chuckled, taking off his glasses to wipe them against his shirt. Today it was a pastel tie-dye with a Hello Kitty logo on the front side of it.

Virgil did not miss the stern glare Logan sent Patton’s way before he changed his wording halfway through his sentence. This wasn’t the first time Patton would start to say something before abruptly interrupting his own sentence with a completely different comment. At first, Virgil thought Patton was just one of those people who bounced from one topic after the next, thinking faster than they could speak.

From what he observed, Patton was one such person. He reminded Virgil of those dogs from Up. He caught sight of a squirrel and immediately the entire conversation would be derailed. Yet Virgil started noticing a pattern with some of them. How Patton’s eyes flicked nervously downwards or how he fiddled with his glasses in particular instances.

Patton was friendly, yes, but he was also one of the worst liars Virgil had ever encountered.

Logan, however, was much harder to read. He remained polite yet reserved around Virgil, a blank mask of indifference. While Patton smothered Virgil in his role of nursemaid, Logan rattled off facts until Virgil complied to his sound rationality. Virgil learned more about the benefits of daily drinking an adequate amount of water in the span of a few days than his whole life.

Despite this, Logan’s feelings on Virgil’s presence in the household wasn’t neutral as he liked to present himself. Where Patton appeared to genuinely care for Virgil’s wellbeing, Logan’s motives were entirely different. While he didn’t wish Virgil ill will, he also wanted him out of his house as soon as possible.

Which, fair enough—Virgil would’ve probably reacted similarly in Logan’s position. The only reason he probably hadn’t demanded Virgil leave soon was because Patton talked him into allowing Virgil to stay longer.

If there was one thing Virgil appreciated about Roman, it was that he didn’t hide the fact that he despised Virgil’s guts unlike Logan. Even if Virgil couldn’t exactly understand why the guy had an intense hatred against him existing.

One thing was for certain; they were all hiding something from him. What exactly, Virgil hadn’t the slightest clue. Maybe they were involved in organized crime? What if Virgil was an unexpected victim to a shady scheme that Patton took pity to? What if Logan and Roman changed their minds and decided to take care of him…permanently?

Virgil didn’t truly know—all he knew was that his sense of self-preservation screamed at him to get the fuck away the instant an opportunity presented itself.

He wasn’t some reckless protagonist in a literary novel who was eager to risk death to discover the truth behind an alluring yet dangerous secret. He was a tired young adult whose vocation was being the universe’s favorite chew toy. One look at Mister Tall, Dark and Murder’s eyes was enough to convince him from pursuing the truth.

He occasionally enjoyed breathing from time to time, despite evidence that implied otherwise.

This was why he waited until it was late at night, when he was certain the others would be asleep, to make his grand escape. It seemed safer that way, to escape into the night unseen by the others. In spite of what they said, he had no idea if he was actually being held prisoner or not. He tried not going down that line of thinking too far—he had to concentrate on the task at hand.

Virgil’s plan was simple:

1. Escape the house
2. Run as far as possible in the opposite direction of said house
3. Find a safe spot to take a moment and figure out his surroundings
4. ???
5. Look, he’d figure the rest of it out as soon as he was out of any perceivable danger

 It didn’t take much effort to stay awake; he was exceptionally gifted in the art of insomnia. As he laid in bed, his mind ran through all the potential scenarios, all the potential ways it could go wrong.

Virgil hadn’t strayed far outside the guest room, but he knew enough it was located on the second story of a decently sized house, nestled in the back-right corner of the upstairs. All he had to do was simply walk to the end of the hallway and take a left, which would lead to the stairways. Directly facing the stairways was the front door itself. Simple.

Of course, there were creaky floorboards, the possibility that one of them was still up, and Patton’s gigantic freaky dog to worry about.

Which, he’d yet to be convinced wasn’t a wolf.

He’d seen it one other time since that morning and the creature’s head nearly came up to his shoulders. While it was affectionate towards Virgil, those sharp claws made him nervous.

Admittedly, he feared running into the wolf the most. He could only hope that it wouldn’t attack him or alert the others of his escape if it happened to be wandering about.

His intestines were a bunch of knotted up, squirming worms. The impulse to hide under the blankets and pretend the outside world didn’t exist was strong. He ignored it. He couldn’t put it off yet another day, especially since he was mostly not-sick anymore. It was best he slipped out, quietly, on his own before something happened.

He would return to his life of drudgery and figure out how he was going to keep himself from getting kicked out of his apartment. Gods, Jerad was going to be a pain in the ass to deal with. He’d deal with it anyways; it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to turn to.

Logan and Roman would be satisfied by his absence. Patton probably would be happy as well. After all, bringing Virgil here was a panicked mistake on his part. Maybe Patton would be relieved that he didn’t have to keep attending to a sick stranger out of a guilty conscience. It was a mostly happy ending for everyone who wasn’t named Virgil.

As he swung his legs over the bed, he inhaled deeply. He picked up his hoodie from the post of the bed and slid it over him. He felt the lining of the pocket, relieved to find his wallet and his phone untampered with and safely stashed inside. Virgil was thankful he’d taken advantage of the hole in the lining to hide his valuables in there.

His phone, unsurprisingly, was dead. It was a clunky model from one of the older smartphone generations with a cracked screen and a bad battery. In spite of this, it stubbornly held onto life and that was all that mattered to Virgil.

Virgil did many stupid things in his life (such as traveling down a dark deserted alleyway) but he was not going to upgrade to the latest, greatest phone model when he could barely afford his apartment. Besides, he had a sentimental attachment to the old phone, nicknaming it Taran after the protagonist in the Black Cauldron.

Most people when they heard that the Black Cauldron was his favorite Disney movie laughed. They assumed it was because only because it was the dark, edgy cult classic out of all the Disney animated films. That was if they had even heard of the movie in the first place. Disney did their best to delete the movie that almost single-handedly shutdown their entire animation studios from the public’s minds.

While, yes, he did enjoy the movie because of the darker themes compared to other Disney films, it was more than that. In a way, he identified with the movie.

Society swept him under the rug and pretended he didn’t exist. They pretended like he wasn’t another kid yet again failed by the foster care system. Society acted as if he didn’t try his hardest to be what his foster families wanted him to be, thinking uselessly that it’d fill the aching hole in his heart if he found acceptance somewhere.

When none of that worked and the aching, gaping hole in his heart grew bigger instead, he stopped. It was too tiring to always be a happy, optimistic orphan Annie in search of his Oliver Warbucks. He isolated himself, refusing to let himself get too attached to people. It only set him up for inevitable heartbreak. For the most part, it worked.

 Instead of knowing how someone would hurt him, he only imagined the ways they’d hurt him if he did allow himself to become close. Somehow, that was better—or at least that was what he’d convinced himself.

Virgil drew in a deep breath, as he ran his hand across the cracks of his phone screen. Satisfied he had all his belongings, Virgil stood up and slowly made his way to the door. He could do this, he could do this, he could do this. All he needed to do was take this one step at a time. Literally.

He took his hand out of his pocket and clasped the handle of the door. He turned the doorknob slowly and opened the door just enough for him to slip through. His hand shook as he did his best to close the door softly. 

It closed with a small, echoing thud. Virgil whipped his head to look around the hallway–nothing. His body remained frozen to the spot, unwilling to move. Once it was clear no one went to investigate the noise, he regained focus on the next obstacle of the night; creaky floorboards, one of Virgil’s greatest adversaries in life. He couldn’t count on his hand the number of times that those damn things landed him into trouble.

Regrettably he didn’t have enough time in his short stay to figure out the exact placings of the creaky floorboards. He’d been too busy lying in bed, puking his guts out. He only knew they existed from his trips to the bathroom.

Without the light of his phone to guide him, it meant he needed to go about it almost blindly. The dim nightlight in the center of the hallway was only of minimal help to him. He felt like Indiana Jones as he took delicate steps, slowly feeling his way around the creaky floorboards. Each small squeak was the equivalent of activating a boobytrap. It took him a while to finally reach the top of the stairs. He took a moment to view the front door looming below him. It was easy, he could do this. A few more steps down the stairs and he’d be free.

He'd taken a step forward when a voice rang out, freezing him in place.

“Patton, we went over this already. Virgil cannot become a part of the pack.” Logan said.

fuck.

Virgil scrambled backwards, falling onto the floor, out of sight. In the living room stood the hosts of the home. So much for sneaking out the front door.

He’d take his chances with one of the second story windows except a broken leg was the last thing he needed. There was also no way he was sneaking back to the guest bedroom at this point. He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep knowing they were talking about him behind his back.

“We can’t just abandon him like this—he’s only a pup!” Patton protested.

“He’s not a pup, Pat, he’s a human . He’s not some innocent injured bird or kitten!” Roman argued back.

None of what they were saying was making any sense to Virgil. First, there was Logan disagreeing with Patton’s idea of inducting Virgil into a ‘pack.’ Then there was Patton himself referring to Virgil as a pup.

He originally assumed that the three were involved in a crime gang of some sorts. Now he was nearly certain they had to be furries involved in illegal activities, and either way, it was terrifying to him. He knew that most of the Furries out there were generally cool, chill people.

It sounded suspicious that Patton wanted to try inducting a virtual stranger into a group of some sorts. Were they involved in a Furrie Cult?!

If they were Furries, it made sense for Roman to call him a human if he identified as a wolf or some shit.

It didn’t change the fact that it caused Virgil to writhe in anger by the comment. He hated pompous bastards that viewed themselves as higher than everyone else for arbitrary reasons. It was one thing to hate someone for their actions, it was another to hate something they couldn’t change, such as being of flesh and blood.

“Patton, I have to concur with Roman. He is an adult who probably has obligations to attend to, and a community of his own. It is in the best interests of both us and him that we go our separate ways.”

“He doesn’t have a pack, that’s the problem!” Patton exclaimed, “Why he hasn’t he tried contacting his packmates to let him know he’s safe? Why haven’t his packmates tried finding him, for that matter?”

Virgil bit his lips. Was it really that noticeable to an almost complete stranger? He should’ve made a better effort to not seem like a complete total loser. 

At the very least, he could’ve tried calling into work and explaining the situation. Even though it would’ve been pointless, as there were no chances of his boss actually believing him.

“While that is odd, it is not our business to interfere with a stranger’s life. Perhaps he prefers a life of solitude.”

“Need I remind you he’s a human ? There’s no telling what dastardly tricks he has up his sleeve. I bet he’s plotting in his room as we speak!”

A blistering fury swelled inside of Virgil, replacing every ounce of fear in his body. He was a feral animal backed into a corner; if he couldn’t flee, he chose to fight. He tore down the stairs, careless of how loud his feet stomped. Three heads swiveled towards the noise, equally shocked by the appearance of their house guest. Virgil paid it little heed as he stormed straight up to Roman.

Virgil glared up at him with the intimidation factor of an angry chihuahua. He noticed that Roman was only a few inches taller than himself, nothing compared to Logan and Patton who were giants in comparison.

Logan cleared his throat.

“Salutations Virgil—”

“Hi, Logan.” Virgil kept glaring at Roman, who glowered back at him.

“How—how much did you hear?” Patton played with the sleeves of his jacket nervously.

“A lot.” Virgil glanced at Patton before turning his gaze on Roman, “Look, if you have a problem with me, spit it out.”

Roman looked like he could go on a tirade. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly as his breathing caught each time before words could be formed. At long last, he gave a sigh.

“You’re human.” He stated, as if those two words encompassed the indescribable disdain he held towards Virgil.

“So what if I’m human, huh?” Virgil spat out, “You guys are human, aren’t you?”

Patton avoided eye contact, his eyes drifting towards the floor. Logan adjusted his tie. Roman, on the other hand, chuckled. He leaned downward until their heads were leveled.

“Hardly.” He flashed a wide grin, and Virgil jolted backwards.

Roman’s teeth were too sharp to be normal. Pointed and elongated in ways that weren’t natural—for a human that was. Virgil’s breath hitched. They couldn’t be real—they must be fake, right? He glanced over to the others, who stood there quietly observing his reaction.

Patton hunched inwards towards himself, a bundle of nervous energy. Logan remained unreadable as ever, his icy gaze piercing through Virgil’s being. Neither made a move to deny Roman’s claim.

Virgil’s heart thrashed against his chest. Obviously supernatural beings such as vampires and werewolves existed. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. It only meant that out of everything that had happened this week, it was the most absurd thing. This was his breaking point.

Sure, he was mugged. In a large sprawling metropolitan area that wasn’t statistically unlikely. But running into a group of supernatural beings in a city that hasn’t sighted one in over a decade? What are the astronomical odds of that?

Then again, maybe those “outlandish” conspiracy videos were actually right. Virgil enjoyed watching conspiracy videos. It helped distract him from anxious thoughts on nights where he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. 

Some conspiracy theorists theorized that there were more supernatural happenings than the general public was let on about. One theorist estimated that one in a hundred people could be a supernatural being hiding in plain sight. Alleged sources said that the government chose to hide this fact from the public to prevent mass panic.

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them.” One anonymous government agent stated in an interview.

Considering he was staring at three potentially non-human beings, it could be very well true. His parents’ warnings came back to him. Be wary but polite . Which of course he threw out the window the moment he opened his mouth to speak.

“So, what, are you going to suck my blood or something?” He eventually asked, attempting to hide his panic under a layer of heavy sarcasm.

“What, no?!” Roman shrieked, looking offended at such an accusation, “We’re not vampires!”

“Then what are you?” Virgil raised an eyebrow, stuffing his trembling hands into his hoodie pocket.

“We’re lycanthropes,” Logan said. At Virgil’s vacant stare, he clarified, “Or Werewolves, to use another term.”

“Right, of course.” Virgil deadpanned.

“What, are my teeth not proof enough?” Roman snarled, and Virgil jolted once more.

He gathered his composure, despite everything in him screaming to up and flee. He needed to escape, he was in danger, oh god he was going to get his throat ripped out by three possible werewolves, if he sprinted fast enough, he might be able to reach the front door—

No . He shoved those thoughts away. There was no way he’d make it. So instead, he smirked. Since everything so far this week was fucked up, what was a little more at this point? The worst thing that could happen was that he ended up dead, and considering everything that happened so far, that might not be such a bad idea.

“How do I know those aren’t surgical implants?” Virgil gestured towards Roman, “and I suppose the next thing you’ll say is that you can’t transform to prove you’re werewolves because it’s not that time of the month?”

“Actually, that’s a bit of a misnomer. While the moon cycle does affect our transformations, we can transform at will.” Logan said matter-of-factly. 

Virgil swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Prove it then.”

Roman scoffed, “We don’t have to prove anything—”

“ Prove it .” Virgil gritted his teeth, standing his ground despite his feet threatening to collapse underneath him.

Roman hadn’t liked that. A growl rose from his throat, one that sounded too animalistic for Virgil's comfort. Before he could do anything, Patton put out a hand in front of him.

“I’ll do it.” Patton said, silencing the upcoming argument before it truly began.

“Patton,” Logan said warningly.

“I’ll be fine.” Patton reassured, taking a step in the other’s direction, “Logan, please.”

A look transferred between the two of them. Then Logan’s shoulders sagged.

“Fine.” Logan relented, although he didn’t sound at all fine about it.

Patton looked over at Virgil, smiling, “This will probably look really scary but, uh, don’t worry! I’ll still be here.”

“Uh, okay.” Virgil said rather stupidly. Because he was stupid. He realized a second too late that daring a werewolf to transform was probably the stupidest thing he had done in his life. The second stupidest was of course walking through a shady alleyway.

Yes, he was going to keep beating himself up for that decision—he wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for it.

He stared at Patton. A small, optimistic part of Virgil hoped he’d whip out a fursuit. Maybe this was all a stupid prank that Roman roped the other two into pulling on him. He could picture Roman being the asshole “It’s just a prank, bro!” type. Logan and Patton, however, seemed less inclined to be so.

Patton stood a few feet away, perfectly still. At first, nothing happened. Then he let out an abrupt cry and dropped to the floor, convulsing. Virgil immediately reached out towards him before being held back from helping.

“He’s transforming,” Logan said, keeping an iron grip on Virgil’s shoulder, “It’s not wise to try stopping a transition.”

Virgil wanted to yell that he was obviously having a seizure and in need of medical attention. One look at Logan’s face and Virgil’s words died in his throat. Logan’s eyes averted towards Patton, and Virgil followed their gaze.

He exhaled sharply at the sight. He’s seen poor CGI renditions of werewolf transformations in movies. Nothing could’ve prepared him for the real thing. It was no longer Patton convulsing on the floor, but another creature entirely. There were loud, audible cracks of bones shifting and morphing underneath the creature’s skin, shortening and lengthening in various ways to fit a whole new framework. Grey hair began growing all over the body. No not hair—fur. Patton’s screams turned less human-like as time went on.

Virgil closed his eyes, unable to look on any further. Oh gods, he could’ve just gone along with their initial claims, long enough for him to be able to escape when their backs were turned. He could have left without being none the wiser. 

It was too late now.

Now, he was probably going to get mauled to death by a werewolf. At least getting killed this way was a much more interesting way to go than dying destitute on the streets. Patton might even make it short and painless. He could only hope so, anyways.

He didn’t know how long it lasted until the final bone shifted into place; all he knew was at some point Patton stopped making noises.

Then something collided with him, knocking off his feet with ease. He let out a strangled whimper, prepared for sharp teeth to start sinking into his skin. Instead, a feeling of wet sandpaper crashed against his cheeks. He slowly opened his eyes to see a very familiar wolf enthusiastically licking his face.

It was then he came to a conclusion he should’ve reached much sooner. Patton’s dog was neither a dog nor a wolf after all. Patton’s dog was Patton himself.

Chapter Text

Logan was human once. He prided himself in it, in fact. Who wouldn’t desire to be a human? Humans were the most rational, intellectual species. Humans were the ones that invented things such as airplanes and automobiles. Humans had poetry, art, culture. Why would you ever want to not be a human?

Beings such as vampires and werewolves were the result of disease. Horrifying diseases that rendered its victims with limited rationale and fervent desires for bloodshed. Incurable diseases that affected victims’ ability to function in a civilized society.

Logan had believed those “irrefutable facts” because they could be found in the pages of his science and history textbooks. It was never a thought in his mind that history and science could easily be twisted to support a certain narrative. The truth was rarely presented itself in saintly white objectivity but rather it was colored black-and-purple with biases.

Logan was once human. He despised himself for it, in fact. How could he have ever been proud to be a member of a species that clung to centuries of systematic hatred of other humanoids? Not to mention the discrimination of humans by other humans.

He would not make the gross assumption that all humans were guilty, of course. Only, that he doubted if humanity as a whole possessed the ability to change their perspectives. The few humans who dared question things were mocked and labeled as lunatics (and if that was the worst of it). Which thus discredited their words in the eyes of society.

Patton had always been a werewolf. Yet he was fiercely convinced of humanity’s potential. Logan had known Patton for decades now and yet in many ways, he remained an enigma to him. How could he live for so long without giving into skepticism, let alone cynicism? Even through all his experiences, he remained optimistic through humans proving him wrong countless times.

Logan debated at times if it was stupid or admirable of Patton to hold steadfast to such ideals. In a more perfect world, everyone should be given the benefit of doubt. While he’d deny it out loud to the moon and back, there was a small part of him that shared in Patton’s optimism. The small naïve part of him that never truly metaphorically died. If he was honest to himself, this was why he acquiesced to Patton shifting for Virgil.

Logan did not fear being proven wrong. Oftentimes it led to an invaluable knowledgeable experience. This was certainly a time he’d prefer not to be proven right.

The human had gone unresponsive upon seeing Patton’s lupine form. He was not unconscious—his eyes were still open and occasionally blinking. But it appeared the human had been so spooked by Patton’s lupine form that he went into a dissociative state. Patton whined when he realized something was wrong, prodding Virgil’s face with his nose. The human did not react.

“Get him some room,” Logan said, pushing Patton away from the human, “It appears he needs a moment to gather his senses.”

Logan paid little attention to Patton transforming back. Instead, he paced back and forth in the living room. Quick steps, left, right left, turn, right left right, turn and so forth. While it was futile to reflect on past actions, he regretted not holding firm when Patton first brought the human to the house. Their existence would not be threatened at this very moment otherwise. A few feet away, Roman exploded into a flurry of words.

“—I knew letting the human stay here was a bad idea, I knew it! But does anyone care to listen to my opinions? No of course, not!”

Logan clenched his jaw, unhappy to hear Roman expressing his own thoughts out loud. Logan had expected Virgil to be gone within a day, vastly reducing the risk of the human discovering the truth. One would assume that being a former member of the human race meant he’d be better at predicting human behaviors. But alas, it did not.

To be frank, he never understood humans even when he’d been one.

Despite this, in Logan’s opinion Roman could hardly deserve the right to cast first stone.

“Correct me if I am wrong, but I am certain it was you who chose to reveal us to him, thus rendering the façade that we were simple normal human beings obsolete.”

“Psh, as if he hadn’t already figure us out by then?” Roman threw his arms up, “I didn’t see you or Patton trying to salvage the situation.”

Logan stumbled midway stride through his pacing. It was a fact that he could not deny. With the clarity of hindsight, Logan doubted the human meant it in any way than flippant. Deplorably, Logan had never excelled at unscripted interactions. By the time his brain started processing an adequate response to the human, Roman already ran his mouth and then some.

“Roman, I fail to comprehend how that justifies your decision to confirm his suspicions and I dare I say sabotaged our safety,” Logan fixed his crooked tie.

“Sabotage? SABOTAGE?” Roman exclaimed, “I would never harm the safety of pack.”

“Oh? What ways would you harm the pack, then?”

Roman went silent. He glared at Logan, eyes sharp with aghast fury.

Logan should not have said that. It was not productive by any measure and egregiously immature. Especially when he knew such an accusation was one of the most hurtful things he could’ve said to Roman. But Logan did not want to remain logical and rational. Not when he was upset over something that could’ve been easily avoided.

“Roman, Logan, enough.” Patton chided from the other side of the living room.

Logan’s retort died in his throat as soon as he threw a glare in Patton’s direction. The human had backed himself against the couch, curling up on himself like a snail attempting to hide in its shell. Most importantly, his eyes were no longer glassy. He glanced wildly between the three werewolves, his heart rate higher than normal for humans.

“You’re not going to eat me, are you?” The human whispered, “Shit, I probably don’t even taste that good!”

Roman made an indignant noise at that. “How dare you suggest such a thing! Even if eating human flesh wasn’t forbidden, I’d rather starve than eat a human.”

“Forbidden?” The human sounded surprised.

“Yes, lycanthropes aren’t as uncivilized as humans presume,” Logan spoke up, “We are just as sapient as humans. We possess our own culture as well as having our own morality code.”

“We would never eat you, ever!” Patton held up his hands, “We really don’t want to hurt you, I promise.”

“W-well okay I’m sorry I made that assumption,” The human blurted out, “But if you didn’t bring me here to eat me, why did you bring me here for?”

Roman smiled like that of one belonging to a cartoon vulture. He sauntered towards the human, clearly eager to provoke the human further.

“Why,” He gasped, clasping his hands with glee, “To feed you to the ravens of course!”

“No, absolutely not!” “We do not feed humans to the ravens!” Logan and Patton yelled in near perfect unison.

Roman groaned, “Oh fine! Whatever was the reason then?”

Logan exchanged a glance with Patton. His eyes were dilated—a common sign of panic. As he watched Patton bite his lips, he knew Patton wanted to resolve the situation in a satisfying way for all parties involved. When realistically, such resolutions rarely occur.

“It is precisely for the reasons we have explained before,” Logan stated calmly, “Patton never had any intentions of bringing you harm. He saw you were in trouble and jumped in to provide aid. You should be grateful Patton was there or there is a possibility you would not be breathing oxygen right now.”

The human stared at him. “What now then?”

What now indeed. It was clear that the human was terrified. When it came to responding to terror, the human seemed to be the avoidant type. Any person would be wary of finding oneself in a complete stranger’s home, true.

However, it was the watchful stare, the carefully rehearsed words, the back pressed against a wall, never left open and exposed. The human’s actions spoke of a rehearsed caution built from practice, his way of self-preservation.

Many would assume the avoidant types were less dangerous than the types that tended to resort to violence in the face of terror. From Logan’s experience, they could be just as dangerous. Because if they were forced into a corner, unable to escape, they would not hesitate to do all that was necessary to protect themselves. In some ways, it was more difficult to know what threatened them enough to bare their teeth in self-defense.

Patton tried responding to the human but all that came out was a soft whine. He had wanted desperately for the human to become a member of the pack. Logan didn’t think he prepared for the possibility of Virgil reacting negatively.

Likewise, Logan never planned a contingency that included the current situation. There was only one answer, really, to the human’s question.

“Now that you discovered the truth, we ask that you remain with us for the time being.” Logan clasped his hands together, “not permanently, of course. Just as a precaution.”

It was a plan. Not a very good plan, but it was the only plan that could ensure the short term safety of pack.

There was a glower in the human’s eyes, a blazing fire where only dying embers had existed previously.

“So what, I’m your prisoner now?!” The human questioned further, “L—look. I promise I won’t tell anyone about you guys. Hell, I doubt anyone would believe me. I’ll do anything you want just please—let me go.” 

“Logan—” Patton started.

“No,” Logan interrupted, unable to back down, “I am afraid we cannot take you at your word. I—we cannot risk another move. How do we have any way of knowing you will hold to your promise? Had you not discovered the truth, I would gladly permit you to leave. But I do not fully trust you to keep your word.” Logan paused, “I promise, this will only be temporary. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” The human spat the word out, “I understand.”

“Good—”

No sooner had the word left Logan’s mouth when the human vaulted over the couch and made a mad dash towards the front door. His hand grasped the doorknob when he was abruptly yanked away.

“I’ve got you, foul fiend!” Roman proclaimed triumphantly, hauling the struggling human back towards the living room.

“Roman let go of him at once!” Patton demanded, taking a step towards them.

Logan held a hand before Patton, “No. He’ll only try another attempt at running.”

“Damn right I would!” The human yelled, squirming underneath Roman’s grasp, “listen, my life was already hell enough before all this shit happened. I won’t say anything, I swear, just—just let me go already, dammit!”

Logan’s resolve faltered. Despite this being the rational decision, it did not sit comfortably within his mind. Yet short of murder (which they would never resort to), what else could they do? With the behavior Virgil portrayed thus far, he could not bring himself to trust the human not to immediately report the authorities.

“Roman, deliver him safely to the basement,” Logan spoke at last, “and make sure you lock the door.”

Logan was certain Roman was displeased with this course of action. But even he understood there was no other feasible option. He bowed his head before taking the human away towards the basement. The human did not yell or scream or cry out. He only continued thrashing, kicking out and flailing in futile attempts to escape Roman’s hold.

Logan waited until the human was gone from his sight before he collapsed onto the couch. He pressed his face into shaky hands, forcing himself to take deep, long breaths. This was in no way a suitable long term solution to their quandary. For many reasons, morality aside, keeping the human captive in their basement indefinitely was not ideal. It was a band-aid and like all band-aids, it would need to be replaced at some point.

The couch shifted as someone sat beside him. Patton.

“Logan, this isn’t right.” Patton said. Logan flinched at those words. It didn’t matter how many years had passed—whenever Patton chastised him, it caused Logan to feel much like a child being reprimanded by a parent. But Logan was not a child, even if Patton seemed to forget this fact at times.

Logan pulled his face away from his hands to stare Patton directly in the eye. “What do you mean, ‘this isn’t right?’ What did you expect to come from this situation? Regardless, isn’t Virgil staying with us what you originally wanted?”

“Not like this and you know that!” Patton burst out, “I wanted him to have a choice—packs are based on choice, Logan.”

“You should have never brought him here if you didn’t want this,” Logan snapped, “we cannot trust that he will not expose us.”

“He promised he wouldn’t!”

“He said that while he was under duress, Patton! He would have said anything if it meant we’d let him free!”

“You don’t know that for sure!”

“Yes I do! Not everyone is as good as you think they are!” Logan’s voice shook. Deep breaths, he needed to keep taking deep breaths. He was allowing himself to get too consumed by his emotions.

“Patton,” He began in a quieter tone, “In the event that he would expose us—the times are different, Patton, you know this. This is not the seventies, we can’t up and move across the country as easily to escape a problem like this. I made the necessary decision to best mitigate the danger you brought to the pack.”

“He is not a danger, Logan. He is just hurt, sick and scared. Doesn’t that remind you of anyone?” Patton pleaded.

Logan sighed, shaking his head. “Patton, why bring that point up when you’re well aware of what my response will be?”

 “You are right, I should’ve taken him to a hospital—but he looked so small and vulnerable, I couldn’t just leave him,” Patton said, his eyes glistening, “I only wanted to help him, Lo. And I believe he was telling the truth.”

“Why?” Logan asked, knowing such a question would be in vain, “Why do you insist on always believing in the best of people, of humans?”

Patton made a noise. It was something between a sob and a laugh, “I believed in you, Logan, even when you were human.”

“I—that—you really shouldn’t have.” Logan’s chest tightened.

“But I did. I always will.”
This was unfair. It was an absolute appeal to Logan’s pathos and Patton knew he had no reasonable retort to this.

Defeated, Logan silently spread out his arms out in an invitation for a hug, a temporary truce to their verbal conflict. Patton predictably threw himself into the embrace, knocking Logan flat onto his back against the couch.

“Oofmph!” Logan grunted from the impact, but he still wrapped his arms around Patton’s shuddering figure. Patton rambled something in an apologetic tone, but it was difficult to discern coherent words due to Patton’s face being squished into Logan’s polo shirt.

“There, there, I know you care deeply for the safety of Roman and myself,” Logan reassured him, “Patton, your heart is both your greatest strength and weakness. Though I struggle to understand, it is commendable how you insist on caring for the world and all of its inhabitants. But at the same time, you allow yourself to act upon things with your heart too much. I’ve said this time and time again, but you should think things through more…logically.”

“But that’s why I have you,” Patton mumbled, moving his head upwards to look at him.
“Patton, I’m serious.”

“Hi serious, I’m Dad.”

Logan groaned, making a half-hearted attempt to push Patton off the couch. The other laughed, shifting to where he laid side by side with Logan.

“I’m sorry Logan, but it was too easy,” Patton grinned before his face dropped into a stern gaze, “But you’re right. I need to think more before I leap, so I’ll land on my feet—like a cat! Meow!”

He punctuated that last word by making a clawing motion with his hand.

Logan stifled a smile. For the first time this evening, he felt a small tinge of relief. There would still be tomorrow to dwell over the next course of action, but for now things were amended between him and Patton. They would go forward and figure out a more conductive resolution.

“Try as I might, I fail to comprehend your infatuation with cats. Especially considering you are allergic and every cat you have ever come across tries to claw and bite at you.”

“I just think they’re cute!” Patton frowned, “besides, they don’t mean to hurt me on purpose, they’re just playing!”

Logan could point out that the cats showed signs of distress and were definitely not playing, but he kept his mouth shut. It was just a theory of his, but it seemed as though felines showed a natural dislike of werewolves. It was possible in their eyes they were seen to be poise as much as a threat as a dog would.

“Hey Logan?” Patton said, pulling at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve.

“Yes?”

“You meant your words to Virgil earlier, right?”

“Yes of course.” Logan steepled his fingers together.

“You promise?”

“I promise,” Logan said, forcing the words through a small lump in his throat. He couldn’t look Patton in the eyes.

He could promise that Virgil would not remain in the basement forever. He could not promise how long they might have to keep him there. It would take time to figure out a way to create new identities elsewhere, especially with the technological advancements of today. Much less, figure out a way to let Virgil free that minimized the danger.

If Logan had risked a glance, he would’ve seen something flash across Patton’s face. For the briefest of moments, Patton’s smile twitched downwards.

Instead, he only heard a hum as Patton rested his head against Logan’s shoulder.

“Good,” Patton yawned, “that’s good.”

Chapter Text

Patton was born many moons ago, during the night of a full moon. He was the eldest of three, his sisters Rieka and Rudi were born mere minutes later. The elders of the pack said that they were blessed at first to be born on a full moon. While werewolves respected all cycles of the moon, the full moon was respected above all. The full moon was a symbol of rebirth and new beginnings. It was a reminder of the night that those chosen homines had been reborn into werewolves.

As new life, it was a sign of a good luck for babies to be born under the gaze of a full moon. It signified a life full of promise; a life full of prosperity. Some new mothers forced labors specifically for their child to be granted this blessing. That practice was looked down upon, and it was said that children born from those labors were cursed for their mothers’ trickery.

Which why it was no surprise when others accused Patton’s mother of committing the taboo when his sisters died not long after birth. Why else would they die so easily? Werewolves weren’t weak like humans; they could survive diseases that decimated humans in droves. But his sisters’ immune systems had been too weak to fight off the illness that was circulating the pack.

Unlike his sisters, Patton lived. Throughout his life, others accused him of surviving through unnatural means.

“Your mother must’ve paid a visit to a witch,” They sneered, “You shouldn’t be alive—you should’ve died as a baby alongside your sisters.”

Some stood in his defense, proclaiming that he was spared the same fate as his sisters by the Moon for a reason. Surely the Moon took pity on his mother and spared one of her children from punishment.

Still, no one believed his mother’s pleas that the birth had been a natural one. No one except Patton, who hugged his mother’s weeping figure in the depths of her inconsolable anguish. His mother never cried in public. She refused to show weakness nor be pressured into admitting a falsehood.

Oh his mother believed it was a punishment from the Moon alright, but in her eyes it had to be for a slight from earlier in life.

She went to her grave with that conviction. Her body was found in the woods, with a twisted piece of silver stabbed through her heart. Patton was told humans committed the atrocity. As much as humans were a bogeyman to Patton at the time, he didn’t believe it.

Patton and his mother lived on the fringes of the pack, nearly ostracized from everyone. Patton’s father refused to speak to him, let alone acknowledge his existence. They were always given the smallest servings at mealtime. Others spoke cruelly behind his mother’s back, to which Patton did his best to defend his mother’s honor. He stopped after his mother discovered the bruises lining his arms and legs.

Most importantly, he saw how their eyes gleamed with mirth and their lips twitched to suppress a smirk. The rest of the pack went into a frenzy over the news. As much as his mother had been hated and despised, humans had still killed one of their own. Her death broke the tentative peace that was reached between the pack and the human community that lived nearby.

Later in life, Patton would realize that his mother’s death had been a political move to destroy any trust built with the humans. There had been an undercurrent in the pack that refused to see humans as equals, as anything other than evil. His mother was the perfect target. While her death would incite the pack’s rage, no one cared enough to investigate her death close enough.

Patton didn’t know the exact year in which he was born. Werewolves didn’t follow the same calendars as humans. But he lived long enough to see that evil existed in all beings alike, whether they’d be humans, werewolves or vampires and so on. But just as there can be evil in everyone, so can there be good in everyone.

That was why he refused to believe Virgil was evil just because he happened to be a human. From his childhood alone, Patton ran across enough werewolves who committed as many atrocious acts as humans. They refused to acknowledge that their actions mirrored those that belonged to cruel humans.

Roman’s former pack held many of the same beliefs as the one Patton grew up in. He was indoctrinated to see humans as lesser beings and to regard werewolves to be the superior species. It didn’t help that Roman was hurt badly by humans, further cementing those beliefs. Patton couldn’t fault him for that. He could only hope that with a few helpful prods Roman would come to the same understanding that Patton came to.

Logan hated recognizing he once was a human himself. He never said it out loud, but Patton knew it was because he was ashamed of how humans treated supernatural beings. How he treated the supernatural before he came one himself. Logan conceded logically that there had to be humans who treated beings like werewolves justly. But he was quick to assume the worst when he saw Virgil’s reaction to Patton’s transformation.

Both of them believed it was near impossible for humans to see their kind as anything but monsters. They didn’t seem to realize that their actions only served to confirm that view to Virgil.

Human or not, locking somebody up in your basement was wrong. It made Patton’s stomach churn just thinking about it. He’d only wanted to protect Virgil from other humans the way he wished someone done for him and his mother. He didn’t think that he’d have to protect him from his own packmates!

He sighed as he stood in front of the basement door, a sandwich on a plate in hand. Roman and Logan were going to hate him for this. But he had to right a wrong. He couldn’t sit back and pretend that keeping Virgil prisoner out of fear was right.

He unlocked the door before turning the doorknob. He expected the dim lights of the basement to greet him; instead a wall of black awaited him.

-

Terrified didn’t even begin to cover the extent of what Virgil was experiencing at the moment. Time had no meaning as he sat there, pitch black as far as the eyes could see. He stumbled around for a while, attempting to find a light switch or a weapon. Anything heavy he could lob at his hosts turned captors. He gave up after he stumbled over something in the dark and nearly sprained his foot in the process.

Out of all the ways he imagined his life ending, eaten by werewolves was not one of them. Sure, they said they didn’t eat humans. But Virgil didn’t have any reason to trust their words than they were trusting of him. He hoped Roman and Logan choked to death on one of his bones. Patton? Not so much.

He groaned, hitting his head against the post of the stairway leading to the basement door. Of course, Patton and the others happened to be werewolves. It couldn’t have been furries or some illegal gang thing, because apparently the universe hated him.

Virgil couldn’t believe he was saying this, but he missed his cold, lumpy bed. He missed his purple fleece blanket that he draped over himself like a cape. He missed his workplace, manager from hell and all. Anything was better than facing a lifetime stranded in the pit of a basement by three werewolves.

Virgil heard the floor above the basement creak, and his heart started pounding. Any moment now, the door could open. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that to happen. He was barely holding it together with his trademark sarcasm and self-deprecation.

After all, he spent the whole night lying in a puddle of his own tears. He was so exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, a nightmare awaited him. It was made worse by the fact he didn’t have his regular coping mechanisms. He couldn’t play on his phone or climb up onto his apartment’s rooftop and stare at the light polluted sky. Instead, he started quoting the Black Cauldron, knowing all the lines forwards and backwards.

When that became boring, Virgil switched to singing softly underneath his breath. Virgil wasn’t fond of singing—he grew insecure of it ever since a foster family teased him mercilessly about his voice. But he found nothing really mattered in the black nothingness of the basement.

If the purpose of the basement was to punish him for attempting to escape through sensory deprivation, it was definitely working. He felt like he was floating inside an empty void. Was he really sure that he really existed? Maybe he’d always been here. Just when he started to resign himself to living in complete darkness, the door opened, causing the light of the outside world to flood in.

He hissed, immediately covering his vision from the emergence of bright light. He shoved the hood of his hoodie over his face in an attempt to combat the light. Black spots dotted across his vision as his eyes adjusted to the vision.

“What the?!” The voice muttered, as something clattered to the floor. He heard a flick, and suddenly light shone from up above.

Virgil stayed huddled by the bottom of the stairway, shaking like—well like a leaf. He couldn’t think up a better simile at the moment. With each step the person took closer to him, his breaths grew shallower. Until at last, the person stood in front of him. He could hear their breathing, almost as erratic and noisy as his own.

“L—look, if you’re here to kill me, just get over with it already.” He muttered, his voice hoarse from screaming at the door for a whole hour before giving up.

“Kill you?” The person sucked their breath in, “Oh I’m not here to kill you, I promise!  I might kill Roman, though.”

That did little to reassure Virgil, who shook harder.

“Not for real! Just give him a really stern lecture about leaving you all alone in the basement like this!” The person withheld a sob, “I’m—I’m so sorry, Virgil. I never meant for any of this to happen!”

Virgil knew that voice. He lifted his head, squinting upwards to see Patton standing in front of him. A few feet away was a plate with a sandwich on it. The others must’ve sent him in here to feed Virgil. It seemed they cared enough to make sure Virgil was fed. Or maybe they were feeding him just to fatten him up.

“Go away, I’m not hungry,” Virgil growled, turning his back on Patton.

His stomach growled right after saying that. Traitor.

“Listen, you have every right to be upset,” Patton said, “but I’m here to fix things.”

“With what, a sandwich?” Virgil scoffed but he had to admit the sandwich was starting to look really appealing. He refused to give in that easily, however.

“Well, I figured you should eat something before I get you home.”

“Home?” Virgil looked up at Patton suspiciously.

Patton wrung his hands together, “Yes home! Logan and I talked last night, and we decided it’s wrong to keep you prisoner here, so we’re going to let you go home!”

Virgil rose an eyebrow, “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Darn, you got me kiddo,” Patton shook his head as he sat down beside Virgil, “Logan and Roman don’t know about this—both of them aren’t here at the moment. Look, I mean it when I said I want to fix things. You don’t deserve to be locked up in the basement. You deserve to be at your home with your friends and family.”

Virgil remained quiet for a moment, choosing to ignore that last bit about friends and family.

“Is this a trap?”

“What?” Patton questioned, looking startled by the accusation.

“Last night, I overheard you saying something about wanting me to join the pack, which I’m guessing that meant you wanted me to stay. Well, I’m stuck here!” Virgil did jazz hands, “You got your wish. So why help me escape?”

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Patton repeated his statement from earlier, “I wanted you to have a choice. A pack is all about choice. Roman, Logan and I stick together by choice. I didn’t want you to be forced into staying with us. That’s why I want to help you get home.”

“Won’t Logan and Roman get mad at you when they find me missing?”

“Well I tend to be really forgetful,” Patton smiled precociously, “It wouldn’t be the first time I forgot to lock the basement door.”

“You’ve had other prisoners here before?”

Patton’s eyes flashed with alarm.

“Oh no! That’s not what we use the basement for at all!”

“Then what do you use it for?” Virgil countered, as his eyes scanned the room.

He’d been too busy adjusting to the light to get a good look at the room now that he could see its contents. The basement appeared to be just like any other basement at first. The walls were a plain white with a grey cement floor. It was one gigantic room that ran nearly the entire length of the house. But instead of being stuffed full of storage boxes or being used as a bedroom or an office, it appeared to be something else entirely.

A variety of dog toys were scattered around the premises. Such as a large bone that Virgil was certain was the object he had stumbled over earlier in the dark. A few extra large dog beds were lined up on corner of the room.

“Both Logan and Roman…struggle with their transformations, so it’s safer for them to stay down here when it happens,” Patton explained sheepishly, “That’s why the door locks from the outside.”

“Makes sense I guess,” Virgil muttered before swallowing, “but seriously, won’t they be mad?”

“Oh, most definitely!” Patton hummed cheerfully, “but this is about doing the right thing, and sometimes doing the right thing has its consequences.”

Something flashed across Patton’s face before he covered it up with a smile. There was something the way he muttered that last line as if he’d bore those consequences before, and he wasn’t afraid to face them again. Virgil didn’t know if that type of conviction was foolish or admirable. He couldn’t say if he’d be brave enough in Patton’s shoes.

“You sure about this?” Virgil still asked, mentally berating himself for the question. Here he was, on the cusp of freedom, and still he hesitated. Fear gnawed at his chest. What if the others caught Patton helping him escape? Would they hurt him? Would they decide Virgil wasn’t worth the trouble to keep alive and kill him?

“I’m sure,” Patton reassured him, “Trust me kiddo, I’ll be alright.”

“Okay,” Virgil mumbled as he stood up, “Your funeral, I guess,”

“Hey, I put the fun in funeral!” Patton grinned, “but you should eat that sandwich before we go, kiddo,”

“Fine,” Virgil rolled his eyes, making a show of taking a bite out of the sandwich for Patton’s sake. He clutched it in one hand while he followed Patton out of the basement. Truthfully, he was more grateful for the meal than he let on. Still, he preferred to nibble it, his insides too knotted up for him to truly enjoy the ham and cheese sandwich.

Virgil cautiously glanced around each corner, wary of Roman or Logan popping up unannounced. Patton said that both of them wouldn’t be home for some time, but that did nothing to soothe his nerves. As they made it to the front door, Virgil noticed there wasn’t any cars in the driveway nor did Patton make a move towards the garage. Well, he noticed this right after his eyes were assaulted yet again by sudden bright light.

“Er, sorry!” Patton said upon catching his confused gaze, “It’s not that long of a walk—promise!”

“Okay,” Virgil shrugged as he took another bite of the sandwich.

He didn’t really have a choice in the matter, after all. If there were no cars, then there were no cars. It was either walk or stay imprisoned in the basement forever. Since Virgil wasn’t particularly fond of the latter option, he went with the former.

If Virgil could, he’d run all the way back to his apartment. But he had nowhere near enough stamina to accomplish that. He’d be lucky if he could run ten paces before collapsing. Especially after being bedridden for the past few days. As much as he wanted to be home quick as possible, walking was fine.

Walking was more than fine, in fact. Walking was great because he didn’t have to confine himself in a vehicle. Cars made him nervous. It was why he chose to move to the city where he could reach everything on foot or by train.

Patton and Virgil remained quiet for about half a mile down the road. Patton sung underneath his breath, too soft and low for Virgil to make out discernible words. It sounded like an old lullaby, but he didn’t recognize the melody. Virgil was content to stay a few steps behind him, as he finished eating the last bits of his sandwich.

“Hey Virgil, do you know where your apartment is from here?” Patton said, turning back to glance at him.

“Wait, you don’t know where we’re going?”

“It’s kinda hard to know if you don’t tell me in the first place, kiddo,” Patton laughed.

Shit. Virgil looked around their surroundings, but he’d never came through the city this way before. He was terrible at directions in general. It took Virgil weeks for him to be able to navigate his little slice of the city with ease. His phone was dead, so it wasn’t like he could just plug his address into the GPS app and follow its’ direction. They were screwed.

“Virgil,” Patton said, interrupting Virgil’s inner turmoil. He looked up to see Patton looking down at him with concern, “are you alright?”

“I—I—I just,” Virgil shut his eyes as he breathed deeply, “I don’t know where it is. I mean, I know where it is, I just never been this way before and I—”

Patton squeezed his shoulder, “It’ll be okay, I promise. I won’t leave you until we find it, even if it takes all day.”

“Thanks,” Virgil said, for once using the word for it’s correct usage instead of a sarcastic remark. Such as when he found himself stuck in the pouring rain without an umbrella.

A jingle erupted from Patton’s jeans pocket, causing him to retract his hand from Virgil’s shoulder to retrieve his phone. Virgil embraced himself for the incoming onslaught of bad news. It had to be a text from Logan or Roman about his disappearance from the basement.

However, Patton squealed happily which he took to mean that it was a good sign.

“My egg hatched!” Patton exclaimed, “here look at it! Isn’t it cute?!”

He shoved an image of a rainbow-colored baby dragon in front of Virgil’s face. The dragon rocked back and forth in a cutesy sprite animation.

“Definitely cute,” Virgil readily agreed.

“I know right? I think all the dragons look especially cute when they’re just babies!”

He tapped on the right-hand corner of the screen, giving treats to the baby dragon until it grew into an adolescent form. As Virgil watched over his shoulder, an idea hit him.

“I just realized something,” Virgil said.

“What’s that?” Patton asked, still busily feeding the now happily grown-up dragon.

“We can use the GPS on your phone to help us get to my apartment.”

“What’s a GPS?”

“You don’t know what a GPS is?” Virgil stared at him incredulously.

“Nope, I just use this to talk to Logan and play games!” Patton grinned.

There was a gleam in the man’s eyes that made Virgil unsure if he was completely serious or just pulling his leg. Regardless he held out his hand towards Patton.

“Fine, I’ll just show you it. Can I have a look?”

Patton handed the phone to him without any hesitance. Unlike Virgil, who would’ve sooner broke his phone in half rather than let someone hold it.

Virgil scrolled through the pages of apps on the phone. Patton really wasn’t kidding when he said played a lot of mobile games—dozens of them cluttered the phone. It made him wonder how he had the storage for them until he saw the absence of social media apps on the phone. After about a minute of searching, Virgil finally discovered the Maps app tucked away in a folder.

He clicked on it and turned to look at Patton to give him an explanation when the man’s eyes lit with recognition.

“Oh I know this one!” Patton said, “it’s the game where you put in an address and you have to follow the lady’s directions until you reach the destination!”

“It’s not really a game,” Virgil murmured under his breath as he entered the address into the GPS.

He sighed as he gave the phone back to Patton.

“Alright! It looks like we need to keep going forward for about a mile and then hang a right!”

“Okay,” Virgil said, biting back a groan.

It would be okay—it had to be okay. He just needed to focus on getting back to his normal dumpster fire of a life and he’d be okay. He can manage a mile or two to avoid becoming werewolf chow. He’d suggest taking the subway, but his five-dollar bill certainly wasn’t cover their tickets. Nor was he about to burden Patton any more than he already was doing. Virgil mainly tuned out Patton’s chatter as he focused all his energy in moving forward one step at a time.

The werewolf slowed down to match his pace with Virgil, which meant he was forced to take shorter steps than his usual long strides. It was a subtle gesture that Virgil appreciated. As the owner of short legs, he hated having to quicken his pace to match practically everyone else.

The GPS kept steadily giving out directions in a robotic feminine voice. Occasionally Patton switched the screen from the Maps app to check on one of his mobile games. One of his absolute favorites was the Dragon game. He showed every one of his dragons, explaining their names and history to Virgil.

“This one is named Conan, after the—”

“YOUR DESTINATION IS ON THE LEFT.” The GPS droned, interrupting Patton in the middle of his speech.

Patton and Virgil glanced at one another before staring up at the apartment.

“Well, I guess this is it.” Virgil drew in a shaky breath, before giving a lazy two-fingered salute.

He moved to turn his back away from Patton, when the other pulled him back into a hug. He found himself crushed against Patton’s frame, unable to wiggle away.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before I hugged you!” Patton sniffled as he withdrew from the embrace, “I just—you better be safe out here. Don’t go wandering through dark alleyways by yourself again!”

Patton’s reprimand reminded Virgil of a worried parent trying to sternly reprimand their child. There such a warmness hidden there behind the façade of a severe rebuke. Despite his multiple strings of foster parents, Virgil truly hadn’t heard that from anyone except his own parents. Patton barely knew him, yet he already cared for him in that fashion.

Virgil swallowed a lump in his throat. It didn’t matter. This would hopefully be the last time the two interacted. Patton was just trying to be nice by pretending to be concerned for his safety, that was all.

“Oh, believe me I’m not gonna be stepping foot in an alleyway for a long time.” Virgil said as he ran his hand through his hair.

“Glad to hear it!” Patton forced a chuckle.

The two stood there in front of the apartment, fidgeting, as both scrambled to find words to say. What more could they say, two strangers brought together by the strangest of situations? Goodbye just didn’t seem to cover it.

Patton cleared his throat, “I should head back—”

“Thank you,” Virgil interrupted, his cheeks growing warm, “I mean, I would be dead right now if it wasn’t for you. So um, thank you for saving my life.”

He shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket, groaning inwardly at his awkwardness. Why did he have to make everything worse?

Patton’s eyes grew misty.

“No problem, kiddo,” He whispered, “You take care, okay?”

“I’ll try.” Virgil shrugged before entering the apartment building.

As he entered the lobby, a wave of exhaustion hit him. It felt like decades since he last roamed the premises of the apartment. He was thankful not for the first time that his apartment possessed an elevator. He didn’t think he could take ten flights of stairs at the moment. He nearly collapsed in the elevator as it was.

He was sure he looked like a zombie to his floor neighbors as he made his way to his apartment. But again, it wouldn’t be the first time. Nate, one of said-neighbors, called out a greeting to him but Virgil strolled past without returning it.

He fumbled for his key when he reached his door, before sliding it into the keyhole. As he opened the door, he was greeted to the site of a trashed-up apartment. Same old, same old. Music roared from one of the bedrooms letting him know that his roommate was home.

“Jerad,” He croaked out, “What is this mess?”

“Oh hey dude!” His roommate popped his head out from his bedroom, “I was wondering if you skipped town or something!”

He could tell from Jerad’s stupid goofy looking smile that he was drunk. His roommate tended to be a volatile drunk. It was hard to gauge when he’d grow from happy to angry because it happened within a heartbeat.

“Nope,” Virgil said, “Look it’s a long story and I’m tired and I’ll probably have to explain things to you in the morning again anyways. Just, why this?”

He gestured vaguely towards the state of the living room, with the numerous beer bottles and broken lamp and the couch torn apart.

“I had a party,” Jerad said, taking a swig from something that was definitely not water.

“Of course, you did,” Virgil let out a frustrated groan. He did not have the mental capacity to deal with this.

“I thought we agreed at the renewal of the lease that’d there would be no parties?”

“Well, that was before yOU DECIDED TO SKIP TOWN!” He yelled, throwing his drink down on the floor in a fit of rage.

Virgil winced, holding his hands up. He learned the hard way before that there was no reasoning with Jerad when he was like this.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, alright?”

Jerad studied his face before breaking into a smile.

“You better not, buddy!” He laughed, slapping Virgil on the back as he staggered towards the kitchen. His previous cup laid on the carpet, abandoned.

“I—I won’t. I’m just gonna go to my room now.”

When his roommate didn’t say anything, Virgil let out the breath he was holding and darted to his room as quick as he could. He locked the door, flung onto his bed and pulled the purple fleece blanket over his head. Underneath the blanket he attempted to control his breathing.

Tomorrow he’d have to figure out a way to cover his share of the rent. Tomorrow he’d have to come up with a story to explain his disappearance to Jerad. Tomorrow he’d wonder if he really spent time in a house full of werewolves.

But today wasn’t tomorrow just yet. As much as he was prone to lying in bed and anxiously weighing out his dilemmas, it didn’t happen tonight. Nestled in the comfort of his own bed, he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

(Another Amazing Piece done by finiteframe3 on Tumblr)