Chapter Text
The shelter was grim, to say the least. Dry, white lights bore down and flickered all too often on the glossy, yellowed tiles; bouncing off the strangely fuzzy, concrete walls. A ceiling window about the size of a cat door streamed a pathetic ray of sunlight down the center of the hallway. The dogs, set in individual cages on either side of the hall, longingly stared at the ray of light like a baby to a bottle. Not a single sound emitted from any of them. The sight tugged at Tyler’s heart painfully.
Despite all that, it was clear the shelter managers loved the mutts under their care. Each dog’s cage desperately tried to resemble a home-- worn stuffed animals; chew toys; proper dog beds-- strings of Christmas lights decorated the tops of their cages. According to their schedule on the sign outside, they went on morning and evening walks, had “outside time”, and had monthly check-ups.
But as it seemed, the mutts spent their nights in here, cold and alone. Howling at their empty cages as though they were singing the blues. That’s enough for anyone’s spirit to whittle away, with none left over for the rest of the day. The subtle scratch marks on the kennel walls make Tyler flinch.
Wednesday wasn’t a maternal person, not in the slightest, but even she felt the strong urge to take all of them home. Dogs need to run, wild and free from the figurative shadows. Literal shadows are always welcome.
Tyler walked ahead of Wednesday, quickly greeting the only employee they could see. The woman looked middle-aged, and her stringy, platinum blonde hair currently obstructed a frumpy sweater with a hummingbird pattern. Plum, cat-eye glasses accentuated her kind eyes. She didn’t have a name tag, but she looked like a Brenda. The woman smiled, tired but enthusiastic. “Hi there, I’m Bonnie!” Close enough, thought the couple. “How can I help you two?”
Tyler tugged at his jacket, eyes still roaming about the cages. Wednesday stayed behind, preoccupied with a particular cage that displayed various warning signs. “Hey,” Tyler started, not quite knowing where to begin. “My wife and I uh,” Unsure, he looks back at Wednesday in mild panic. Wednesday blinked with somewhat of a stern look in her eyes. As if to say, you’ve killed people, mi monstruo, surely you can manage adoption. “We’d like a dog. To adopt one. I mean-” Tyler gestures awkwardly around the shelter. “Well uh, obviously. But we’d like to have one.” He inhales jaggedly, the relief of a finished sentence fills his lungs in place of oxygen. Distantly, Wednesday taps the padlock of the cautioned dog’s cage with a bigger lock than any of the other dogs’ cages.
In it, laid a sleek, charcoal grey pit bull with coffee-ground eyes. Ugly, bald streaks framed the short fur on his stomach, back, and forelegs; scars. His ears were short and pointed upwards like devil horns. His cheeks and nose twitched and scrunched every so often, baring his teeth threateningly. But he makes no effort to move from where he lays still as stone on his belly, paws by his snout.
“Has this one been claimed?” Her steel-cut voice slits the drab silence at its jugular. Bonnie’s eyes soften at the mutt's recognition.
“No, sadly, but it was expected.” Bonnie shuffles to Wednesday’s side, sighing. “He’s a good boy when he starts trusting you, seems that not many people are willing to put in the work to get to that place. Takes a while.” She tilts her head in pity. “He’s been in a foster home before, but they were…” She shakes her head a little-- whether it was from disgust or heartbreak, Wednesday couldn’t tell. “They were awful, probably worse than his original owners.” Bonnie crouches down, Tyler joins her. His eyes zero in on the pup’s scars. “We love the old guy, the only reason for all these signs is he doesn’t react to most strangers… kindly.” Wednesday crouches down next to Tyler and takes his hand, squeezing softly. Bonnie continues. “We’ve had a few incidents. It’d be a dream for Mister to find his forever home, with good people.” She looks up at them and smiles. It crinkles her eyes and roses her cheeks in a way that reminds Tyler of Mrs. Claus. “You two look like good people.”
Wednesday and Tyler share a look, it sparks like flint and steel. She speaks up. “My husband is one of an endangered species infamously known for ripping people apart without remorse. I’m an arsonist-activist with a burning passion for torture.” Tyler grins and shakes his head, utterly amused. “Hunting down sex offenders and shareholding capitalists is our favorite pastime. My brother is fond of handling the taxidermy portion.” Bonnie stares, mouth parted and eyes unblinking, before giggling breathily.
“That’s erm, swell,” She smiles unnaturally, a little strained. “You should really write for SNL! Hah, that sorta dark humor is all the rage with the kiddos ya know?” Bonnie stands, bouncing up like a spring. “I’m sure you can hold your own, just holler if you need me!” The click of the backroom door ends their conversation.
Tyler chuckles and stands. “She might not let us adopt now, ‘Day, you gotta tell her you were joking.” Wednesday dismissively flicks her hand at the air as she gets up and smoothes down her skirt.
“I’m unbothered, you can handle that.” They turn back toward the pit bull. A faint rumble, like the beginnings of a thunderclap, leaves the dog. Wednesday looks over at her partner, his eyes have that far-away look he gets when his feelings become louder than his thoughts. That used to happen a lot. They sigh. Tyler crouches back down, sitting cross-legged as close to the cage as he can.
“Hey, Mister,” Tyler’s voice is affectionate and warm like a melty chocolate bar as he sticks a couple of fingers through the gaps in the cage, wiggling them a little in hello. “You’re a fighter, aren’t you.” Mister sits up, nose fluttering as he smells him, Tyler smiles. Something deeper flickers across his face, sympathy, recognition. Wednesday observes the interaction from a slight distance. Something about it feels too private and personal to interrupt, as much as she knows Tyler wouldn’t mind. Mister inches towards Tyler, and the man beams in response. All those signs and jumbo-sized padlocks for this?
As Tyler held his hand out, palm down, for Mister to sniff, Wednesday approached the cage. She didn’t need to crouch down for the considerably large pit bull to sniff her hand too. In seconds, Mister’s tail started wagging, and dog slobber coated Tyler’s knuckles. He grins, giggling like a kid. “Aw look at him, he reminds me of Elvis.”
“He reminds me of you,” Wednesday replies without missing a beat. Tyler’s smile eases into something sadder; wounded and melancholic. Tyler’s little pets on Mister’s snout stutters, as does his breath.
“That too.” He looks up at her, a silent plea of “I need you down here, just for a bit, I need you with me right now” signals from his eyes to hers like a radio. Wednesday swiftly rests on her knees beside him, a hand on his knee and a hand hesitantly grazing Mister’s left ear. It brings Tyler back to earth, grounding him like a string on a kite. He sighs, still petting Mister. ”I want to get in the cage but Bonnie’ll probably be mad if I break the lock, think you could pick it?”
“Think? Could? You must think low of me.” Wednesday pulls two, thin picks from her pigtails and a tension wrench from her boot. The padlock hits the ground moments later. She smirks, he beams.
“You’re the best.” He noisily kisses her cheek, a loud muah sound bounces off the walls. Tyler eagerly opens the gate to a happy Mister, whose entire lower body wiggles with his tail. “Hey, buddy! Who’s a good boy?” He coos, shedding his jacket and kneeling by him. Tyler ruffles Mister’s coat with glee, Mister pounces at Tyler like he’s a trampoline, and before Wednesday could say “Machiavelli” the two began play fighting as if they were rolling about their warm living room carpet and not a concrete-floored kennel. Tyler’s muscles ripple beneath his forest green wife beater as he laughs and grips the baby blue rope he and Mister are playing tug-of-war with. Wednesday blinks. Her lips tilt in fondness. She knows Tyler is happy, that he’s more than content with the life they’ve built together.
But nights are hard on him. And as much as he's in love with the complete embodiment of it, darkness is hard on him too. There are other things, things that weigh down on him more than he’d ever admit. He can’t stand small, enclosed spaces and his eyes get all foggy when his wrists are bound in any way. He doesn’t like needles, and he doesn’t like waking up alone.
Tyler is happy, but she hasn’t seen him so light in… in a long time. Seeing him like this right now? It's like sunbeams spilling through the blinds of a dark, dark room. Wednesday missed that light in him. Tyler’s laugh rings in her ear, and her eyes can’t help but prickle in relief, in joy saved just for him. Oh, the things she’d do for her monstruo to be this light all the time. She joins him in the cage but keeps a respectable distance.
The beasts’ rowdy playing slows down to gentle belly rubs. Tyler aww’s. “Just look at that mug! Hey there pal.” His voice is softer than Wednesday’s ever heard it, she feels her insides melting like butter. “Check it, ‘Day.” Their eyes meet, and Tyler’s face splits into a childish smile. He flexes his right arm, twisting it toward her so the pale scars that stretch into his back are on full display. At the same time he manoeuvers Mister’s leg so his scars are just as visible. “We match!”
Wednesday’s “smile” grows. Two beasts, kin, playing in that dark, dark room together; the blinds open up a little more. More light shines through.