Archive of Our Own

“Our next story brings it closer to home. Recently, there have been reports of wolf sightings in the area. Though authorities say that it isn’t uncommon, it has been noted that they’re approaching more close to town. Local farmers are taking every precaution to protect their animals from harm. Authorities say to stay alert and report any sightings. You can call them at the number listed below, or for more information, visit our website at-”

A yawn breaks the news chatter that echoes through the room, and Thomas looks over to watch as his brother, Mark, rub the sleep from his eyes and stretch as he sits up on the couch.

~*~ To Howl at the Moon ~*~

Mark blinks lazily at the television as the newscast changes to the weather while his brain wakes back up after an early evening nap. His older brother greets him, asking if he slept well, and Mark hums a confirmation that he, indeed, did sleep well.

Finals had just wrapped up the week prior, with the majority of the engineering tests being back-to-back, so by the time Mark had finished and traveled home for the holidays, the college student had planned to use every opportunity of vacation to just sleep. After finally getting a few days of rest, Mark finally started to feel more like himself.

Thomas ends up teasing him for sleeping so much, and Mark can only muster enough energy to flip him off. This response only causes his brother to laugh, and Mark huffs before his own smile graces his lips.

Soon, their mother calls out from the kitchen that dinner is ready and asks them to set the table. The sons agree to the request and stand up before heading to the kitchen. They retrieve the dishware as the television program switches to a game show.

It isn’t until after dinner when the dishes are washed and bellies are full that Mark decides to head outside for a walk. It isn’t a terribly large piece of property, but their backyard meets the edge of the woods, and it’s the many memories he’s created with his brother that make it seem that the woods are an extension of the family home. He knows the immediate area like the back of his hand, and Mark enjoys his stroll through the familiar trees and brush. The sun has recently set, but there is still enough light in the sky to guide his way without the use of a flashlight.

He carefully hops down the side of a small cliff, and the resulting sound of rubble falling with him is familiar to his ears. The creek creates its own soft sounds as the water flows gently over the rocks, and Mark steps in the shallower parts of it as he crosses it in order to move deeper into the woods. He can see the remaining dead leaves falling softly from the trees, and it’s another sign that winter is settling in. Mark isn’t really focusing on anything, just enjoying the peacefulness of it all, but he eventually comes to a stop in a small clearing surrounded by trees. He tilts his head back so that he can look at the tree tops; They are cast in shadow with small hints of the setting sun’s rays highlighting their edges. The sound of a small branch snapping in the distance hits Mark’s ears, and although it’s just another familiar sound, he’s not sure why it catches his attention. Regardless of the reason, it does break his trance, and Mark turns his head towards the direction of the source.

It takes him a moment to process what he’s seeing. There’s a profile of an animal, pretty large by the look of it, but out of all the animals he’s seen out here, Mark can’t quite place what he’s looking at. Soon, though, his eyes widen as his brain finally starts to remember the news broadcast. Something about reported sightings, close to town, and a--

The soft smile falls from Mark’s face as the creature takes a step closer to him and into the soft break of light through the trees.

Wolf.

Mark spends only a half-second more staring at the beast before doing a complete one-eighty and bolting for the house. He barely recalls running past the trees, both his jeans and boots become damp from splashing through the creek, and it isn’t till he takes a flying leap and pulls himself up the edge of that small cliff that he dares a peak back.

The wolf has closed the distance between them by nearly half since they started the chase, and Mark immediately curses to himself and double-downs his efforts on sprinting home. He hopes that the cliff is high enough that the wolf can’t immediately jump up over it, and in return, he hopes it buys him enough time to get back into the house. He sprints across the yard, flies up the porch steps, and slams the backdoor behind him before he even dares to look back once more.

He vaguely hears his brother asking him what’s wrong over the sound of his blood pumping in his ears. Mark’s lungs feel like they’re on fire from the sudden impromptu mini marathon, and he tries his best to take deep breaths as his eyes dart from side to side to scan the forest line for any sign of the wolf.

His brother eventually pulls Mark away from the back window and sits him down at the table. Mark explains what happened in the woods, and Thomas makes the comment that he’ll report it to the authorities right away. He nods in agreement but can’t stop himself from glancing at the backdoor while his brother pulls out his cell phone and calls the appropriate authorities. His mother orders both of them to not leave the house for the remainder of the evening, just to keep them safe, and the sons don’t argue.

The night sky takes over, and a full moon is soon high above the house by the time Mark finally goes to bed for the evening. The early nap had kept him awake, and as a result, it made him the last one in the house to call it a day. With the lights off and doors locked, Mark uses the sections of moonlight shining into the house as his guiding light. He quietly makes his way upstairs to his old bedroom, and it’s not until right before he climbs into bed that he stares at his accompanying window. Taking a deep breath, Mark cautiously walks over and peers through the glass.

The wolf is sitting at the edge of the forest, just out far enough out into his yard for the moonlight to shine upon it, and it’s staring right at him.

Mark squeaks before quickly grabbing the curtains and yanking them shut. He climbs into bed and throws a pillow over his head, and Mark curses at himself for being so terrified. Even though he knows he’s safe in his house, Mark just blames it on his stress from school for reacting in such panicked and silly a way.

Morning eventually comes. The sun’s rays shine through the crack in the curtains, and Mark realizes he must’ve fallen asleep at some point because it isn’t until she calls Mark down for breakfast that he wakes up for the day. The wolf is gone, and none of them see it for the remainder of the day. There is no sign of it the day after either. The week passes, and soon his brother departs from the home and heads back to his own place of residence.

It isn’t until another week passes that Mark has nearly forgotten about the incident. It’s an updated newscast that speaks about a couple of wolves finally being hunted down and killed that he recalls the event in the woods. His heart pangs for the loss of the wolves lives, but knows that there’s nothing that he could do about it. He turns his head towards the backdoor once the news switches over to sports and lets the dialogue become background noise.

It isn’t until a couple days later that Mark dares to take another walk in the woods while his mother was out grocery shopping. It’s midday when Mark makes himself a sandwich, pours some water into a bottle, and grabs some basic first aid stuff before placing the items in a backpack and heading out the door. His eyes are open now, head on a swivel, Mark becomes hyper aware of every detail, but his heartbeat calms the longer he walks with no sign of the beast. By the time he crosses the creek and reaches the edge of the clearing, Mark’s mind has calmed down enough to where he’s starting to enjoy the presence of the woods once more.

He’s about to sit down and enjoy his small picnic when he hears an unfamiliar sound. It’s either a low whine or a whimper, Mark concludes, but its distant. The man is cautious and still as he tries to pinpoint the direction it was coming from.

After a moment, Mark slings the backpack over his shoulder and walks slowly towards the noise. It does get louder the closer he gets, but soon goes silent when Mark swears he’s right next to it. The man rounds a bush and a tree before he comes to a stop.

He’s not sure why, but there’s no mistaking it. It’s the wolf from before, but the only thing stopping Mark from running away this time was the fact that the wolf couldn’t run itself. The wolf’s back right leg is caught in a spring trap with makeshift teeth welded to the bars. The fur around the wound is coated with old blood, making it matted and dried in random directions. Mark’s heart falls as he takes in the sight of it. The wolf looked like it fought with the trap for a long time before giving up and collapsing onto its side, and the thing looked absolutely exhausted. Upon closer inspection, Mark could see some older wounds and infliction's from the past.

It wasn’t until the wolf growled at him that Mark realized he had stepped closer to the being. He jumped at the sight of fangs but didn’t back up any further. Dark brown eyes were staring back up at Mark, and the man flinches as the wolf tries to move towards him. The wolf doesn’t get far, the teeth from the trap causing more pain, and the growl quickly turns into a yelp before the wolf does the equivalent of willing his body to not make any more sounds of pain.

Mark gets an idea and is pretty sure he’s about to do something stupid, but he slowly puts his hands up in the air and takes one step closer. The wolf growls again but doesn’t move.

“Easy…” Mark addresses the wolf for the first time, “I just… I think I can remove it,” he explains what he’s planning on doing like it can understand him. Mark doesn’t make any sudden moves, only cautiously sets his backpack down next to him before getting close enough towards the injured leg. His eyes only leave the wolf’s face once he’s next to the trap. It’s still growling at him, but the sound is quieter now. It’s more like a warning that if Mark does anything other than saving it, he’ll bite the man’s face off. The thought makes Mark shiver. “What the fuck am I even doing?” he says to himself as he reaches down and cautiously gets a good grip on trap. Placing one foot on the side of the mechanism, he looks back up at the wolf’s face, and the being meets his gaze. From this distance, Mark can even see some gold specks mixed within the brown color of its eyes. Another growl breaks Mark’s trance, and he quickly apologizes before telling the wolf to prepare itself and that it’s probably going to hurt. The wolf doesn’t give any form of response, so Mark takes a deep breath and counts down from three to one before putting all his strength into pulling the trap apart.

Mark grunts and groans but doesn’t give up. The trap is slowly opening, and even though Mark hears the wolf whimper, it miraculously doesn’t move it’s leg until the trap is pulled far enough open that it can jerk it away. Mark quickly pulls his hands away and lets the trap close with a loud snap before finally taking a step back and giving the wolf some space.

It’s licking its wound immediately, only pausing momentarily to look at Mark and almost daring him to comment on it’s wounded pride, but the man keeps quiet. Instead, Mark takes a few more steps backwards before his back hits a tree. The entire ordeal leaves his legs weak, so Mark slides down the trunk of it and sits while he tries to calm his body and the resulting adrenaline pulsing through his veins.

The wolf ignores him for a while, and Mark can see that the wolf seems somewhat thinner than what he’s seen in wildlife photos. From all of the reports he’s heard, on top of the wolf getting trapped and apparently starving, it amazes Mark that the wolf is still alive. He glances over to his backpack and, after a moment, reaches for it.

The next thing Mark knows, the wolf has pinned him to the ground, back against the dirt, and the man cries out in shock and surprise before a paw is pressed against his throat. For as thin as the wolf is, it’s still is larger and heavier than Mark can handle, and the man can’t get out from under it. Mark does realize that he can still breathe, though barely, and the wolf has its fangs bared at him. The growl is loud in Mark’s ears.

Mark doesn’t dare move. Instead, he’s being completely submissive in an attempt to have no more harm come to him. It seems to work, and after the wolf stares at him another moment, it slowly moves off of Mark and limps its way towards Mark’s backpack. The man stares in bewilderment as the wolf takes the handle into its mouth and starts to carry it away. Mark tries to protest, but the wolf straight up glares at him, silencing any and all complaints, before limping away behind a tree line and out of sight.

After a moment, Mark huffs and tosses his hands into the air out of exasperation before deciding that this vacation has been nothing but stressful to him and his sanity. He eventually gets enough strength to get back up on his feet and makes his way home. His mother is back by the time he arrives home, and she asks him about where his old backpack went. Mark makes up some excuse that he lost it somewhere in the woods but told her not to worry about it. His mind is exhausted once more by the time sleep wants to claim Mark for the night. He doesn’t see the wolf this time, and he leaves his curtains open to let the moonlight pour into his room before crawling into bed and falling into a deep sleep.

Days pass, and his winter break from school is coming to a close. It’s early morning, and his mother has left to do some early morning errands before the rest of the general public is awake. Mark is rubbing the sleep away from his eyes as he makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. Eggs and bacon are cooked, a glass of orange juice is poured, and Mark is halfway through consuming his meal and watching the news broadcast with half awake eyes when there’s a knock on the door.

Operating on autopilot, Mark sets his plate down onto the coffee table and makes it halfway towards it before stopping in place. It takes him a minute to process that it wasn’t from the front door that the knock come from.

There’s another knock, distinctly from behind Mark, and the man slowly turns his head until his eyes land on the backdoor of the home. He stares wide eyed at the locked entrance until a more impatient knock breaks his trance. With cautious steps, Mark approaches the door, slides the lock out of place, and reaches for the handle.

The first thing he sees when the door opens is a backpack, his missing backpack, specifically, and he blinks dumbly at it. It’s covered in more dirt and leaves than before, and he’s not sure what he was expecting to see this morning because it certainly wasn’t that . The pack is being held in one hand, hanging by a man’s side, and Mark’s attention immediately snaps to the strangers face.

The idea of looking at what might as well be his double is added to the growing list of things that have nearly given Mark a heart attack during his winter break.

The guy was dressed in a thin, long sleeve v-neck black sweater, jeans, and sneakers. A darker grey cabbie-driver hat adorns the top of the stranger’s head, and the man is supporting the majority of his weight on one leg rather than the other.

Before Mark can even begin to question the situation, his backpack is shoved against his chest. By the time he regains his balance, the man had turned to leave and was already halfway down the steps.

The shock of the situation quickly leaves Mark, and after tossing his backpack to the side, he follows the man out the door. “Hey, wait just a goddamned minute!” Mark shouts at the man, and the stranger looks over his shoulder back at him with a dull expression - right before his bum leg gives way. The man brings out his arms to brace for the impact, but Mark instinctively reaches out to catch him. The resulting glare from the stranger is immediate, and Mark has had just about enough of the other’s shit and glares back. The guy tries to stand back up on his own two feet, but the bum leg collapses underneath the pressure.

Mark’s glare softens, and without another word, he helps the guy back to the house and sets him on the steps of the porch. The man huffs and scoffs but otherwise doesn’t protest at the prospect of resting his leg. Mark figures that the man has been rude enough where he doesn’t even ask permission before he sits down next to the man. “Let’s try this again,” Mark begins, “How did you get my backpack? Hell, how did you even get here ? This place is in the middle of nowhere.”

The man reaches down to rub his sore leg through the rough material of his jeans and scoffs. “I’m the one who took it from you in the first place,” the man replies. His voice is rougher than Mark’s and even has an edge to it.

It’s Mark’s turn to scoff. “Listen, I’ve had one hell of a vacation, but long-story-short, I’m pretty damn sure a wolf took my bag.”

“Is that a fact?” the man mumbles. He’s clearly unimpressed by the explanation and is still staring at and nursing his leg. Some of his hair has fallen in front of his face, blocking his eyes from Mark, and the strands look greasy enough to show that it clearly hasn’t been washed in days.

“Yes, it is,” Mark huffs. He’s aware of how silly the explanation could be to someone who wasn’t there. “Though I haven’t seen it since then.”

The man hums in response, finally leaving his injured leg alone, and chooses to look out across the yard instead. “I see,” he says after a moment, “and what did this wolf look like?”

Mark tilts his head in confusion. “It looked like a wolf...” He receives an eye roll for his answer.

“Yes, very good. I figured out that part for myself.” The man looks down at one of his hands, and Mark notes that there’s a lot of dirt under his nails. “Describe to me what it looked like - in detail.”

Mark purses his lips as he stares at the stranger. He still doesn’t have a clue on who this guy is, why he’s practically his double, and why he even has his backpack. The man looks like he wandered in from off the street, but the only other closest sign of civilization is their neighbors who live five miles away. No matter what scenario he comes up with, Mark continues to fail at reasoning why the man was at his house.

“Black,” Mark finally answers, “The fur was completely black.” The stranger hums in response but doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns his gaze towards Mark, and it’s the first time he gets a good look at his face.

Specifically, his eyes, which are brown with the hints of gold.

Mark’s brain makes the connection immediately, but the reasoning behind it is so bizarre and foreign that even though it was the truth, his mind struggles to believe it. “How … in the hell…?”

The man smiles back at Mark, and, yep, those were definitely fangs. “How odd,” the man begins, “Yet, here I am. A stranger with an injured leg shows up on your doorstep where he has no reason to be, holding the same bag that he has no reason to have...” the man trails off for a moment as he reaches for his hat to remove it. His hair is flattened from being pressed down by the object, but something moves underneath his black locks. When whatever-it-is rights itself upon his head, it becomes obvious what he’s seeing. “...And has features that don’t quite match your average human image-”

The stranger is cut off immediately by Mark reaching up to both gently squeeze and pet the wolf ears between his fingertips, and he is both shocked and stunned into silence, Mark’s eyes are wide in fascination, and student’s mouth is parted in awe. “They’re so soft.”

The stranger smacks the hands away from his head as fury and bafflement takes over. “Wh-- IS THAT SERIOUSLY YOUR REACTION -” The man begins to shout before he stops mid sentence. Coughing and quickly composing himself, the stranger runs a hand over his hair and ears, straightening out the fur, before adjusting his his sweater back into place. Mark is holding his own hands together, thumbs rubbing his skin from being smacked, and observes the man’s behavior. “Honestly…” the stranger finally concludes. After a moment, the black ears twitch, and the man sighs as he reaches for the railing and pulls himself up. “Your mother is almost home, so I shall take my leave.”

Mark snaps out of his stupor. “Wait, what? You can’t be serious. You can barely stand!”

The stranger ignores Mark’s protests and starts making his way down the steps. “I got here just fine on my own-”, the man begins to argue, but as soon as he lets go of the railing, he falls. Mark is up already and catches him once more before he hits the ground. The man instantly growls at the contact, but Mark tells him to shove it. They both hear a car pull into the driveway.

“You’re in no state to go anywhere with that leg,” Mark counters as he adjusts his grip on the other. He pulls an arm over his shoulder and places a hand around his waist.

The man growls once more but gestures for his hat so he can cover his ears. “You’re foolish to be nice to someone who literally tried to kill you.”

Mark leans them down far enough to the ground for the stranger to retrieve the garment. “You could’ve killed me again after that, but you didn’t, so your argument has no merit.”

The man scoffs as he places his hat back into place. “You are, by far, one of the stupidest human beings I ever met.”

“Yeah, well,” Mark replies as the backdoor opens, “the feeling is mutual.”

“Mark! What in the world- what’s going on here?” His mother steps out onto the back porch, a small bag of groceries still in hand, and her face expresses worry.

Before the stranger tries to explain his way out of the situation, Mark makes up the excuse that the man was a friend from college that had made a surprise visit. However, while taking a tour of the property, the man ended up twisting his ankle. The man is subtly displeased by the explanation but stays quiet, and Mark’s mother seems to buy the story. Mark ends the tale by telling his mother that they were making their way back to the house for rest, and she immediately ushers them inside.

His mother orders Mark to go get the first aid kit from the upstairs bathroom, and while she becomes distracted by the house guest, Mark uses the opportunity to sneak his returned backpack up into his room. By the time he gets back downstairs, his mother is in the middle of heating up some soup for an early lunch, and the man is sitting at the dining table with his leg propped up in another chair. The stranger is holding a cup of hot coffee in both hands, and despite the circumstances, the man appears content with the situation he finds himself in.

His mother ends up asking for the stranger’s name, and the man almost seems to struggle with a response. “Damien,” he replies in a low but clear tone as he brings the cup to his lips, “you may call me Damien.”

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Damien,” Mark’s mother replies. Mark continues to look at the man, Damien, and the other looks up to meet his gaze. The tired eyes immediately glare back at Mark as he sips on his coffee, and Mark’s mother is lecturing them on not being careful while exploring the woods. Mark sighs quietly to himself and listens as his mother and Damien carry on a conversation once lunch is served. She asks him about what major he’s studying, and Damien acts his part perfectly. He tells her that he’s studying for Law and explains that he’s working on becoming a lawyer. Damien tells her that he met Mark during one of the school’s more common required electives.

Eventually, the food is eaten, and the mother makes the statement of going back out for more groceries so she can feed them this evening. Damien starts to protest, claiming that he needs to be on his way, but she’s not hearing any of it. His true scowl comes back out full force once she’s gone, and Mark looks back at him over his shoulder as he finishes washing dishes. “In all honesty,” Damien begins to speak, “Your mother is just as dense as you are.”

Mark glares at the comment, and with a twist of the damp towel, he lets it snap against the man’s leg. He’s about to follow up with a retort of never insulting his mother, but the man cries out in pain at the infliction.

They both freeze and look at each other. Damien immediately tries to get up and walk away, but Mark is faster. Dropping the towel, Mark reaches for the hem of the pant’s leg and pulls it up the calf. Damien shouts for him to stop, but Mark ignores it and instead favors staring in shock at the wounded leg. The gashes from the teeth of the trap have grown in size, almost in proportion to how much larger Damien had changed, but they all but infected. The bleeding had stopped at least, and there’s a couple of familiar bandages on his leg over the bigger wounds. Mark immediately recognises that it’s the bandages that were previously in his his backpack, but it’s obvious that the dressings are a couple days old now. Not much else has been used to treat the wound, and Mark is pissed. “Are you fucking serious? Do you honestly expect to walk around with such a serious injury?!”

“ Of course not. ” Damien spits back. His hands are gripping Mark’s wrist in attempt to stop his inspection. “I was going to take care of it later until you went and dragged me into your house. If I knew you were going to cause this much trouble, I wouldn’t have even bothered bringing back your bag!”

“You are so full of shit, you know that?!” Mark yells back. He yanks one of his arms free to reach for the first aid kit. “You show up, hunt around my property, hunt me, and then when I find you again, you’re all skin and bones and injured!” Mark opens the kit and starts taking supplies out of the container. “You wouldn’t have come so close to here if you didn’t have a choice.” Mark reaches towards the leg to start treating the wound, but Damien recaptures his wrists and increases the strength of his grip. Mark meets his eyes and the level of intensity from their glares can easily rival each other.

“Don’t… touch me,” Damien mumbles in a cold but serious tone.

Mark squints back and tosses around the idea of treating him regardless of his request, but after a moment, he decides on a compromise. “Either I do this, or you do it yourself. Regardless of your decision, I’m not letting you leave this house until it’s treated.”

Damien says nothing else, but the resulting huff after a long pause signals Mark’s victory. He stands and backs up, giving the man some space to treat his wound, and preps a bowl of warm water and clean towels for the injured man. They work in silence, and it isn’t until Damien is done with the towels that Mark takes and disposes of them.

Leaving the man alone in the kitchen for a moment, Mark goes back up into his room and looks over his backpack. It’s a little worse for wear, having been dragged across the ground for a few days, and the contents of what was in it before have been scavenged. There’s only and opened sandwich bag, empty water bottle, and an empty first aid kit. Sighing, Mark cleans out the bag and dusts some dirt off the side before moving to his closet to put it away.

As he sets it down, a glint of something shiny catches his eye. He recognises it instantly as an old sword cane he had found previously in an antique shop a few years prior. Taking it in his hand, he pulls the object out of the closet and looks it over. Its black sheath and steel ball handle is covered in dust from lack of use, so he uses his hand to brush the dust away and reveal the shiny overcoat. Mark smiles fondly, remembering a couple video sketches him and his friends tried out during high school. They never did anything more with it, but it was too cool of a prop to dispose of afterwards, so Mark decided to keep it. He pulls the handle, and after a slight resistance, the blade comes out with ease. The blade has some wear marks from lack of proper maintenance, and the handle doesn’t provide the best grip, but the sharp edge provides some fear factor in case of emergencies.

The smile falls from Mark’s face as his attention comes back to the present, and he looks towards his door at the path leading back down to the kitchen. He debates with himself for a while, weighing the pros and cons of the idea that popped into his mind, before sighing and sheathing the sword back into place.

Damien has just finished dressing his leg in bandages and medical tape by the time Mark comes back downstairs. The man’s eyes immediately fall to the cane, observing it’s detail, and the frown on his face becomes more prominent when Mark hands it to him. He doesn’t take it immediately, gold-tinted brown eyes meets his own instead, and they question Mark’s actions without speaking any words.

Mark rolls his eyes in response. “Look, don’t be fucking stupid. You don’t like to be touched, which means we can’t help you move around due to your leg right now, so this ,” Mark gestures to the cane in his hand, “is a compromise. Take it.”

The endless staring and glaring from the guy is starting to get annoying for Mark, but right before he gives up and takes it back to his room, Damien finally reaches out and grabs the cane. Mark mumbles out an unprompted and sarcastic ‘you’re welcome’ when Damien doesn’t say anything, and the other man immediately comments back about how he shouldn’t be thankful yet in case it doesn’t actually help him in the first place.

Mark throws his hands in the air again and huffs, not believing the nerve of this guy. Moreso, he can’t believe that he’s still taking care of this man. He walks over to get a glass of water for himself, but when he turns around, he finds Damien actually standing up. He’s supporting his weight with both the cane on the floor and a hand on the table. Their eyes meet once more, and Damien’s expression dares Mark to even make one comment about how he looks like a fawn trying to walk for the first time. Mark breaks the gaze and looks away as he decides to spare the man of commentary.

After a few tries, Damien finds a rhythm for walking around with only the cane to support him. Though neither comment on it, it’s obvious to Mark that Damien is relieved to have some independency back. The man likes to be in control, Mark duly notes to himself, and honestly he can’t blame the guy. He still looks like he hasn’t eaten in days, and it didn’t pass by Mark how fast the man consumed the lunch that was offered to him earlier. The visible locks of hair are still greasy from not being washed, and Mark frowns at this. “Hey,” Mark calls out, and the man looks over at him, “I know you just dressed your wounds, but do you want to take a shower or something? Or at least wash your hair?”

The man looks like he’s about to protest before it seems like he’s finally noticed how disheveled his hair looks. He frowns, looks down at his leg, and makes a comment about the possibility of not being able to balance. Mark offers his assistance without even thinking about it. The man glares once more, and Mark argues that, look, it’s either him or his mother, and Mark has already seen his wolf ears. Damien practically huffs and puffs before finally asking where the bathroom is.

Mark directs the man up the stairs, giving him plenty of space and time that he needs to climb, and walks around him to open the door to the bathroom. Turning on the lights, he walks over to the bathtub to turn on the shower as Damien looks at himself in the mirror. The man observes his own baggy eyes and dirtied face, and his fingers from his free hand reach up and touch the tips of his oily hair. Mark talks in a softer tone, telling the other that the shower is ready, and they make eye contact through the mirror.

Damien sighs and rests his weight against the counter’s edge. Setting the cane aside and removing his hat, the man grabs the hem of his sweater and pulls it up over his head. Mark’s eyes widen at the sight of nearly a dozen scars decorating the man’s body; they vary from knife wounds to bullet inflictions and bite marks. He frowns when he notices that he can start to see the man’s ribs and makes a mental note to give the guy something more to eat once they were done. Damien catches Mark staring, and Mark breaks his gaze while mumbling an apology.

He helps the man walk over and sit on the edge of the tub, back facing the water, and Mark straddles the ledge beside him. Mark speaks before touching him and tells Damien that he’ll support his head and chest as he leans backwards to get his hair wet. The man huffs but doesn’t oppose the plan, so Mark cautiously places his hands on the back of Damien’s neck and the front of his chest before cautiously leaning his head back into the stream.

The man’s black ears twitch and fold back on his head at the moment water contacts his hair, but soon the man sighs at the pleasant warmth seeping into his skin. Mark begins to move the hand resting on the neck and tells Damien that he’s going to move his hair a bit to allow the rest of it to be soaked. The man hums back but says nothing else. Mark works quietly, leaving each other to their own thoughts, and once he’s done with that step, he leans the man forward until he can support himself once more.

Mark offers the choice between the floral shampoo or his own less flower scented brand, and Damien snorts before taking Mark’s shampoo. He looks away to give Damien a little bit of privacy as he scrubs his own hair and rinse his hands clean of soap before helping him lean back once more.

He’s careful around the ears, making sure that water doesn’t get into them, and Mark begins to wash out the suds. Damien closes his eyes halfway through and quietly sighs to himself as Mark’s hand works against his hair and scalp. The oil finally washes away, and Mark can feel that Damien’s hair has a texture combination of both fur and human hair. The sensation is bizarre, and Mark spends a few extra minutes running his fingers through the man’s locks and ears and memorizes the feeling before telling him that he’ll be propping him upright once more. Mark swears he sees a brief hint of disappointment cross the man’s face before it sets back into its usualy scowl, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he offers the man a cloth and some soap, giving the man an opportunity to have himself a sponge bath, and the man accepts.

Mark dries off his own feet and moves the cane to more reachable position for the man before pulling out a dry towel for him and leaving him be. He pauses by his bedroom before going in and fetching out some clean clothes. Mark knocks on the bathroom door and tells Damien that he’ll leave the sweater and sweatpants right outside the entrance for him to change into, and the other man acknowledges him with a grunt.

His mother gets home after Mark settles down on the couch to watch some tv and Damien finishes cleaning himself up before joining them downstairs. The hat is on his head once more, covering his ears, and his old clothes are tucked under his arm. Mark notes that he must’ve found a spare razor in the bathroom because the man’s face is freshly shaven. The damp hair has been brushed back with fingers and styled in a way where he can claim that his human ears can be hidden by black locks. Though still tired, the man looks less dead than before, and Mark smiles at that. His mother compliments Mark for giving the cane to the man before asking him to help prepare dinner.

It’s a bigger feast this time, a korean meal with all the works, and Mark bites his lip from smiling when he sees Damien’s eyes widen at the many dishes that soon spread across the dining table. They consume it all, Mark chatting with his mother over random events, and Damien listens with interest while he practically stuffs his face as politely as he can.

Time passes and night falls over the house. Mark and Damien are sitting on the couch by the time his mother announces that she’s going to bed and tells them that she’ll see them in the morning. She especially emphasises the point to Damien, and the man smiles politely back at her before bidding her a good night. Once they hear her bedroom door shut, the scowl is back on Damien’s face.

“I’m leaving tonight,” he mentions out loud, “I have already extended my stay for far too long.” Mark rolls his eyes, tired of hearing the same old arguments, but says he won’t stop him. Mark has did all that he can possibly do to help the man, anyway. Instead, he takes Damien’s glass from the coffee table that was previously filled with water and carries it to the kitchen to refill it. He turns around after it’s filled to find that Damien has slumped over on the couch. Mark bites his lip to keep from giggling when he starts to hear Damien snoring. It seemed that sleep had finally caught up to the man.

Setting the cup gently on the table and turning off the tv, Mark goes to the hall closet to pull out a spare blanket. Damien mumbles in his sleep when the blanket covers him, and Mark whispers solfy to assure the man that he’s alright. Damien soons begin to snore once more, and Mark turns off the lights in the house before going to bed himself.

He’s woken up in the middle of the night by a noise, the sound of his back door opening and shutting, and before he’s fully conscious, Mark is rushing out of his bedroom and down the stairs as quietly as he can. The couch is empty and the cane is gone. He’s following the man out the door before he can even think, and Damien is already halfway across the property and heading towards the woods.

“Wait!” Mark shouts and is half surprised when the man actually stops. Damien doesn’t turn around, however, but Mark runs over and catches up with him anyway. Mark comes to stand in front of him and notices that the other is wearing the same clothes he fell asleep in while his old ones are tucked under his arm. The man is also carrying a plastic bag in one hand filled with a loaf of bread, some bandages, and water while the other hand leans on the cane. Mark doesn’t bother to comment on the stolen goods, and Damien never gives it back. “Are you really leaving?”

“Is that a problem?” the man replies gruffly. Their breaths are visible in the cold night air under the waning moonlight.

“Dude, there is no way your leg has healed that much after just a few hours of sleep,” Mark argues, and the man hums in agreement.

“Indeed. However, I wish to keep moving.” Damien moves the bag to his wrist so he can reach up and adjust his hat. “I can’t hide my true appearance from your mother forever, and I don’t like being in one spot for too long.”

“What do you mean?” Mark questions, “You been here for less than a day.”

“I’ve been in the area for over a month,” Damien says simply, and Mark’s eyes widen. It really has been about a month since this whole ordeal started. He’s honestly kind of sad to see the man go, though he frowns at himself because he’s not quite sure why.

Mark looks back up at the man’s hat and remembers the ears he washed earlier. “What… even are you?”

At that, the man smiles. His canines show, and there’s a glimmer of amusement in the man’s eyes. Regardless, he doesn’t answer Mark’s question.

With that, Mark simply answers himself. “So, you’re a werewolf, then.”

Damien’s cocky facade crumbles immediately into an insulted and defensive stance. He takes a step back and is affronted of the accusation.  “ How dare- I am no such vile thing! Don’t you ever accuse me of such!”

“You are legit a wolf that is also a human, what the hell am I supposed to think?” Mark argues back.

“If you’ve ever read a book once in your life, you’ll realize that I do not, in fact, portray the majority of traits that are associated with werewolves,” Damien concludes. Mark huffs in annoyance, but realizes that he’s made a good point.

They take a moment, staring at each other, and Mark can’t really believe the situation he finds himself in. In a handful of incidents, Mark has went from shock of being hunted by wolves, to accepting that beings like Damien are a normal occurrence. Mark squints at the man he’s considering, and the other raises an eyebrow in response. “There’s no way your name is Damien,” Mark states simply, “It doesn’t suit you.”

The stoic expression doesn’t change on the man’s face, nor does the stare. He searches  Mark’s face for something before he breaks the gaze to look at the forest. “Not anymore,” Damien starts out, and Mark immediately picks up that there’s a whole other story implied by those two words. “I now use it as an alias.”

Mark considers asking about what that answer implied, but he decides not to press on that matter for now. “Do you have a name you prefer to be called, then?”

The man closes his eyes and smiles, but says nothing. Mark makes the comment that all of this silence and mysterious aura bullshit he’s hiding behind was getting annoying, and this causes the man to chuckle through his teeth. “What’s your full name?” Damien asks instead while opening his eyes, and he focuses on the college student once more.

“Mark Fischbach,” he replies cautiously, but the other hums and is pleased with the answer.

Apparently, the stranger decided that he had entertained Mark’s presence for long enough, and Damien readjusts his grip on his bag as a sign of his departure. “I’ll remember it,” he state and begins to walk away.

Mark puts his hand out to stop him. That earns him a slight glare, but the man makes no other step forward. “What makes you think that I’ll never tell anyone about you?” Mark asks quietly, and Damien considers him.

Their eyes search each other’s for a while, neither one speaking for a bit, and the quiet sounds of the night air perform a quiet melody that surrounds the area where they stand.

The man’s next actions catch Mark off-guard completely. He blinks and Damien is within his personal space. Damien’s free arm frames Mark’s waist, and his nose is pressed up against the student’s neck. The sound of the man taking a long sniff reaches Mark’s ears, but he’s too shocked to do anything but stand there. Damien’s nose and lips ghost over Mark’s skin, and Mark can feel his face heat up as they travel towards his ear. The other’s warm breath flows over the side of his face, and Mark’s throat is suddenly dry. The lips rest right at the base of his ear, and he can feel them move as Damien speaks.

“Who would honestly believe an idiot like you?”

It takes a moment for Mark to process the words before he shoves the man off of him and spews out profanities. Damien is chuckling loudly as he regains his balance, and Mark lectures him in broken sentences about him being a perv and cursing himself for helping Damien out in the first place. “Fuck you, man!” Mark finally spats and crosses his arms in a huff. He’s grateful for the cover of darkness because his face is bright red and hot from the encounter.  

The man smiles and winks at him through the darkness before simply walking past Mark, and this time Mark lets him go. “Till we meet again, Fischbach,” Damien says and bids Mark farewell with a wave of his free hand.

Mark huffs and places his hands on his own hips as he watches Damien’s retreating frame. “Yeah,” he replies, “See ya, I guess.”

The wind picks up a little, and Mark waits until the man disappears into the forest and out of sight before he turns and heads back into the house. Mark happens to look up before goes inside and sees that only a small sliver of the moon is visible in the night sky.

Years pass since that night. The moon is full once again, and Mark refocuses on it as his mind shifts from the memory to the present. He always wondered what had happened to that mysterious not-werewolf. Mark recalls that the wolf sightings soon calmed down and ceased all together following the days that Mark had last seen Damien. That was back when he was still a Freshman in college, and now he’s in the Fall semester of his Junior year.

Mark sighs and breaks his gaze from the sky before he adjusts his bag on his shoulder and pulls the collar of his flannel closer around his neck. Winter is settling in early this year, and Mark regrets not bringing a warmer jacket to class. The breath from his sigh is visible in the cool air under the nearby streetlight. The classes have become more difficult as the semesters progress, and more than once Mark has considered quitting all together. The added stress of loans are starting to pile on as well, and more times than not his friends have caught him being lost in his own thoughts as he thinks about the future of everything.

Mark shakes his head, not wanting those same lost thoughts to haunt him tonight, and he resumes his journey back to his dormitory. Unaware that he’s being followed, Mark adjust his earbuds and turns the music up on his phone in an attempt to tune out his mind for a while. The figure cast in shadow gets closer to Mark, and their footsteps are drowned out by the bass of the music. A hand reaches out for Mark’s shoulder just as he rounds the corner.

Mark smacks right into someone. He brings his hands up against the other’s chest, steadying himself, and the sudden movement jerks out one of his earbuds. There’s an apology on Mark’s lips, and he starts to take a step back, but he’s suddenly held in place by a hand on the back of his neck. Mark, with his face suddenly pressed into the stranger’s neck, is understandably confused and begins to freak out at the sudden situation he finds himself in. The grip isn’t terribly tight, so Mark moves his head as much as possible to get a better view of what’s going on.

His eyes land on a familiar object, and Mark freezes in place.

“I’m not sure why you’re following my dear friend of mine,” a gruff voice rumbles in Mark’s ears from being so close, and Mark moves his line of sight even further to notice and unfamiliar figure standing terrified behind him. “However, should you take one step further, I can guarantee you that it will be your last.”

Mark’s blood runs cold at the threat, and he isn’t even the wannabe thug that’s being threatened.

The blade of the cane has been unsheathed. It reflects brightly in the light of the full moon, and the sharpened tip is pressed against the throat of the assaulter. Mark can now feel the sheath, the remaining part of the cane, pressed against his back and being partially held by the hand against his neck.

“Now, run far and run fast before I change my mind,” Damien’s voice startles Mark once again, and Mark only moves his hands to get a better grip on the lapels--

…Is Damien wearing a suit?

The assaulter sprints away the second the sentence is spoken, and Damien lowers the blade. Mark tries to move back, but Damien holds him in place to press his own nose into the crook of Mark’s neck. The student’s face flushes bright red when the man inhales his scent, and Mark smacks Damien’s shoulder lightly in response. “You’re about as annoying as I remember you,” Mark speaks into the ear near his face, and Damien’s deep chuckle reverberates in his own eardrums.

“Yes, well,” the man replies, and Mark feels him smile against his neck, “the feeling is mutual.”

Mark huffs at the familiar words from so long ago. He’s about to reply until something catches his eye. Deep in the shadows behind Damien shine a pair of glinting eyes. Scratch that, make that at least a half dozen pair of glinted eyes. The hand on the back of his neck loosens enough for it to move and hold Mark close at his waist, and Mark takes the cue as it is to lean back enough to face the man.

He’s greeted with the sight of brown and gold-speckled eyes.

Mark sighs as he gestures vaguely at their predicament. “I believe we’ve past the point of you hiding your proper name from me,” Mark states quietly.  

The man hums with a smile. “You may call me Dark Iplier,” Damien, no, Dark murmurs in an equally quiet tone.

Mark huffs with a smile. “Yeah. That’s the name that suits you.”

The fangs revealed from the resulting grin shines brightly in the light of the moon.