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Jack tries his hardest to make things between you two better, and you have to admire his tenacity. He’s doing everything to try and put you at ease, making himself available for anything you might need from him. Other than that, he acts relatively normal around you, but there’s a new sense of disconnection between you two. On your end, you know it’s distrust. He’s blocked you off, at least partially, your entire friendship. Truth omitting or just straight up lying, you don’t have enough information to label it correctly just yet. But still, it hurts. It hurts way more than you were expecting.
Granted, he had good reason to block you off from that part of his life. I mean how does someone spring “by the way I’m a werewolf!” on a best friend like that? It could never be a natural tidbit of information, no way. But, you had always tried to show up for Jack. To allow him the freedom to be open with you and not have to worry about judgement, just as he had for you. So what was it then? Did he just not trust you? Was he truly so worried that you would have run off screaming for the hills if you knew about his true nature? Whatever it was, it made him nervous. Well, more nervous than normal.
Much like he is now. You’re in the kitchen, putting away the groceries you bought around noon. The morning had been spent with both of you exchanging simple “good mornings” and breakfast bagels, but there had been that underlying tension that now seemed to drench every interaction you two shared. He’d snuck the usual glances at you, but the way he watched you felt different. It felt like he was analyzing you, just waiting for the moment you run off. He’s still watching you now, his eyes remaining glued to your form as you go about putting the mini cucumbers in one of the produce crispers while he places the Frosted Flakes box next to the box of pancake mix in the pantry. Now that his ruse is up, he’s able to travel throughout the house freely without having to pretend to lock himself up in his room for 72 hours. So, you took up his offer to help you out with the groceries. You’re regretting it now, wishing you had time to think. Though it’s not like you haven’t spent all hours of the previous night thinking. Your head is practically bursting from all the overstimulation.
As you move to grab the Greek yoghurt, he leans over you to open the spice cabinet, shakers of ground cinnamon, cloves, and black pepper in one of his hands. You tense immediately, pressing yourself into the counter just as you turn to face him, tub in your own hand. His body is extra-warm as it hurdles you in place. You drop your eyes from him. Usually this accidental-unaccidental forced proximity between you both would make warmth blossom in your chest. Usually. The hurt on his face is clear, his eyes looking at anywhere but you as he moves away quickly, a quiet “sorry,” making its way past his lips, putting the spices beside you before he moves all the way across the kitchen. You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine and say nothing in response, both of you finishing up with a renewed speed fueled by awkwardness and shame.
As soon as you’re done, Jack is out of the kitchen like a bat out of hell, taking a granola bar with him for lunch. You sigh when you realize he’s gone and get to work, finding something simple to make for dinner. You choose something filling after reconsidering for a moment, since you really don’t know when or even if he eats once he leaves during the night. How much should you make? How fast do werewolf metabolisms work anyway? He had an appetite, he always did, but how much did the wolf eat in comparison to Jack? All valuable questions that you put into the back of your mind for now, fully intent on asking Jack about them later. You decide to make beef stroganoff, with a side of potatoes and a fresh salad. It’ll keep him full for the night you hope.
You let your mind wander as you cut and dice and cook and boil and bake for the next few hours. Your movements are on autopilot as your busy mind tries to think about anything but Jack and what he’s doing. Most likely preparing for his next transformation tonight. Your brain replays the events from last night - yet again. It’s been doing that on-and-off all day. This time around, it chooses to focus on the cage you saw before he decided to tackle you. The way it was absolutely bare, no bed, no comfort in it. Not even a blanket. It had been a clear place for punishment. The chains, the dirt floor, the damp and cold of it all. The deep claw marks. Your stomach twists uncomfortably at that last image. You shake your head, but your brain doesn’t let you rest. A sudden idea pops into your mind and you decide to act on it, heading to the linen closet before going outside as quietly as possible, not wanting Jack to hear.
When you’ve finished with that and are back in the kitchen a couple more hours later, you serve yourself a plate full of food before making your way upstairs quietly. Once in the room, you grab your laptop from your bedside table and power it on. You decide to browse around for some job listing in town, having set up your resume through one of those job search websites. No offers yet. You turn on the TV, finding a two-and-a-half hour movie to watch as you eat and continue applying to local listings. The food is just as filling as you’d hoped, and the creaminess of the stroganoff and starchiness of the potatoes quickly puts you into a food coma, your laptop still on your knees as the end credits of the movie roll.
The sunlight filtering through the window wakes you up in the morning. Your laptop is now beside you, having tipped over while you slept. It’s dead, so you connect it to the charger as you grab your phone from your nightstand. No calls or messages from Jack, but you get up anyway, knowing where he’ll be.
Before making your way outside, you grab the throw from the living room, and then a pair of his slippers that he keeps by the front door.
The sound of oldies from the 1940s makes its way across the lawn to your ears as you begin your trek towards the cellar. The doors are wide open, and you make your way down the steps slowly, cautiously. When your eyes adjust to the darkness, you spot him immediately, taking advantage of your idea from yesterday. The blanket covers him completely, and he’s sound asleep as you approach the cage. His face is open as he dreams, a soft snore slipping from between his lips. You notice though that even in his sleep, there’s that familiar furrow between his brows and his mouth is turned down in a slight frown. You watch him for a few minutes, not wanting to disrupt him from his sleep just yet. There’s mud caked under his fingernails, and his body (the parts of it you can see anyway) and face are covered in streaks of dirt and grime. His hair is a mess, leaves and twigs caught in the strands. You spot a bruise on his left shoulder, and then a deep scratch on his right calf. The knuckles on both of his hands are swollen and purple. What the hell did he do last night? Before you have a chance to speculate, he startles awake. His eyes shoot open and he sits up, the blanket falling from his upper torso. His eyes dart wildly around the room as he begins to hyperventilate, his mouth agape as he breathes roughly.
“Jack, Jack!” His eyes find you and you move closer. “It’s ok, you’re safe.” His features shift in confusion, his gaze hazy and unfocused. “Can I come in?” You ask. He nods, rubbing his eyes as his breathing slowly evens out. You cringe as the shrill creak of the door pierces through the relative calm of the cellar. He’s watching you again, his expression still holding fear. You move very slowly, shifting into a crouching position so you’re at eye level with him. “Are you ok?” He slowly shakes his head. He’s trembling. You grab the throw you brought from over your shoulder, placing it over his form. He curls it around his body. When you sit down on the floor, keeping a few feet of space between you, he quickly shuffles over and hugs you to him, curling his face into your neck. You don’t move, and he’s about to pull away, remembering. But you can tell he’s scared, his heartbeat fast against your chest and little huffs of panicked breaths ghosting over your pulse point. Slowly, you hug him, wrapping your arms around his body. At your touch, he holds onto you tighter, instantly melting into you and leaning his head on your shoulder.
“I’m ok. I’m just tired.” He mumbles into your jacket. You don’t believe him, but you don’t push it.
“Ok, do you want to go inside?” You ask. You feel him shake his head lightly.
“Let’s stay here for a few minutes.” So you do, sitting there with him. He smells like moss and dirt. But there’s also his scent underneath that, the cologne you always get him for his birthday that smells like musk and vevitier. Hints of citrus and leather. It’s so familiar, it makes your heart skip. You curl a hand into his hair. He lets out a long sigh, his breath warm but finally even against your skin as your free hand rubs up and down his back.
Your mind begins to wander as your eyes scan the bleakness of the cellar. You realize then that if you didn’t know about his condition, then surely not many others do either. Jack was a solitary man by nature. Not unfriendly, but he kept a tight lid on his emotions around others. Now you know why. Still, you realize he must be much more lonely than you could have even imagined. Never letting anyone be too close. Never formulating a true connection. And that revelation breaks your heart. For you, of course, since you always considered him your most trusted friend. But for him as well. Did you truly know him? You liked to believe you did. But you still couldn’t be sure.
After a good 10 minutes, he pulls away, helping you stand. He keeps both blankets wrapped around him as you two walk back to the house after locking up the cellar.
“What did you do last night?” You ask him as you both walk across the dew-soaked lawn.
“Had a job to do out in the woods: a fae got loose from our research facility and I had to track him down.” He says. He says it so nonchalantly that you have to laugh, shaking your head.
“What?” He asks, his expression light as he gazes at you.
“Nothing, just.. Man, I can’t believe all this.” You say, another sound - something between a chuckle and a scoff - coming out of your throat.
Inside the house, you are about to direct him to the bathroom.
“Why?” He asks.
“Well, you gotta shower first of all because you’re covered in dirt and muck.” He glances down at his covered body. “And second, I gotta clean up all those wounds on your-” You cut off as your eyes fall to his knuckles keeping the blankets close to his form. They’re red now, and barely swollen at all.
“Oh.” He says, calling you attention back to his face. “Don’t worry about my injuries; they heal on their own pretty well most of the time.”
“Is that another wolf thing?” You ask.
“Yeah, fast healing.” He replies. You nod, pensively.
“Well, I guess that explains that time I swore I saw you break your ankle playing flag football with the Suarez boys but you were able to chase down Ms. Torres pig the next day.” He goes red at the memory, nodding sheepishly.
“Yeah, I did break it that day, but it healed quickly. It was the day after my first transformation ended.” You nod, resuming your guiding. He smiles, following, and steps into the bathroom.
“Well, you still need to shower. Go, and I’ll get you some clean clothes from your room.” He stops you with a touch on your wrist. You turn back towards him and he drops his hand.
“I’m glad you know the truth now.” He says, his relief genuine. You smile after a moment, nodding.
“Me too.”
You place the clothing - a grey t-shirt, some navy flannel pjs, boxers, and a pair of socks - on the counter. You go outside, checking the mailbox at the end of the driveway. There’s a few letters all for Jack, and a fresh newspaper. You take your time walking back, and by the time you go inside Jack is in the kitchen dressed and cooking what seems to be french toast and breakfast sausage. He glances at you over his shoulder as you sit at the table, opening up the newspaper and laying the mail on the table.
“I forgot to thank you for dinner yesterday. It was really good, thank you. And for the help this morning.”
“Yeah, of course. I wasn’t sure if it would be enough for you, but I figured there’s probably not a lot of places you can eat as a wolf. The help well, I just did what I thought would be best.” You respond, but your eyes remain glued to one of the front page headlines: 2 Dead in Forest Animal Attack.
He calls your name and you call back with a “Yeah, what’s up?” As you look down at the newspaper in your hands, beginning to read the actual story.
“I have something for you.” The tone of his voice catches your attention. It’s quiet, and grave. You set the newspaper down on the table and turn to look at him, but your eyes immediately zero in on the gun in his hands. You hadn't even noticed it beside him on the kitchen counter, away from the hot stove, of course.
“A… hunting rifle? Gee, Jack you shouldn’t have.. You really shouldn’t have.” He knew you had an aversion to weapons.
“This isn’t a regular rifle. It’s a special gun I had made.” He reaches you and holds it out to you but you don’t grab it.
“Don’t tell me there’s a round of silver bullets in here.” You say, only half joking. One corner of his mouth quirks up into a tiny smirk.
“No, it’s a tranquilizer gun. I want you to have it.” You meet his eyes, your hands almost reaching for it but you hesitate again. He nods in encouragement and you purse your lips for a second. You grab it but immediately set it on the table away from you.
“Why are you giving me this again?” You ask him as you eye the body of the gun.
“I can be… unpredictable the morning after a full moon.” He explains, averting his eyes from you as he answers.
“Unpredictable?” You ask, quirking an eyebrow at him. He nods, returning his gaze to you and you can see that his eyes are dead serious.
“Sometimes I can recover in five minutes, other times it takes five days. It’s all still unpredictable. I’ve never hurt anyone. But, I don’t know where I am - who I am - until the adrenaline passes. And if you’re still willing to do this, this is my only condition.”
“So… you want me to use this?” You ask, your voice already teetering on protest. He was your friend, there’s no way you could shoot him, even if he begged you. You didn’t have the heart to shoot anyone, let alone Jack.
“I want you,” he grabs your hand then and places it on the gun, closing your fingers around it with his own. You notice how his hand encompasses your own entirely, warm and firm around your grip. “to have a way to protect yourself.” Your eyes meet and you know there’s no negotiating this. He wants you safe, even if it has to be from him. Your gaze searches his, but there’s still no give in his intensity. Your eyes dart from him to the gun, then back again. “Please, it’ll give me some peace of mind.” After a beat, you nod, and his body visibly eases with relief.
“Ok.” He smiles, appreciative that you’re not fighting him on this too much, and drops his hand from yours as he turns back to the food at the stove. You’re left to contemplate this latest bit of information, turning the gun over in your hands. You finally take a closer look at it. It’s nothing fancy, looking like any old rifle to you with a rich brown butt, handguard, and pistol grip, while the rest of the body is a charcoal grey metal. There’s a scope attached to it, and in the chamber is not a bullet, but instead a small dart with a metal needle and a glass vial which contains a bright red liquid within it. Must be the tranquilizer.
“Are you hungry? I’ve got breakfast ready.” He says, changing the subject. You can’t help yourself as you grin, familiar playfulness returning.
“Mmm, like a wolf.” You reply, standing up and placing the gun back on the table.