Chapter Text
John MacTavish was an ordinary man.
Born to a long line of alchemists and herbalists, he was raised with a fierce desire to protect. Whether it be from the balms he made to cure ailments, or the potions he crafted to pack a punch, nothing filled him with more pride than helping others.
His family’s name was known widespread through the villages of the land, having a reputation for always having the right solution and never turning anyone away - no matter their affliction or adventuring needs. They had spent generations like that, being a well-respected household name that was reliable, that upheld trust.
Though, if you knew John close enough, you would know he wasn’t much of an ordinary man at all.
He had been bit by a creature, many, many, years ago, one that seemed to freeze him with the face from his late 20’s despite decades passing him by. The tale of his family’s history had been one that was expertly crafted, meant to hide the fact that the ‘long line’ of ancestors had been none other than himself. Continuing to hone his craft as he outlived generation after generation of patients.
It had been difficult at first, having to pack up and relocate every time too many people became suspicious of his un-aging features. The only bright side was knowing that he’d be giving a new village the opportunity to access new medicine and alchemical potions. Knowing that he was making a difference in communities that would have died out otherwise.
And in the end, it helped his business spread, anyway. Each place he left behind had been on good terms, the villagers continuing to mention his success stories by word of mouth even years after he had disappeared.
It had honestly taken him years to accept his new way of life, to accept that he’d been cursed with the gift of immortality and other vampiric abilities. But through all of the turmoil he fought to get over, he truly did enjoy his profession. Loving the way the ingredients came together to help heal wounds, cure sicknesses, and pack punches for those who were more of the action type.
For all that he did, his life was fairly quiet.
Shortly after his life had changed forever, he made the decision to distance himself from others, to no longer seek out anything more than acquaintances. The pain from watching his family and friends age away while he prevailed was something he couldn’t bear, so he chose to run from it. Resigning himself to customer interactions as his only source of the connections he craved.
And that was enough.
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That was, until a mysterious, handsome man trampled into his hut one evening.
John had been packing up for the night, finally slowing down after a day where the customers seemed to come and go non-stop. All he had left was to finish sweeping before he could relax, mentally planning to head to the woods in search of dinner once he was done.
Heavy footfalls interrupted his train of thought as he was taken aback at the sight of the cloaked figure that had entered. He almost wasn’t sure if it was a man or a mountain who had walked into his shop, being built like no human he had ever seen.
The soft moonlight meant that it was difficult to see his features, but John could see enough. A crooked nose that stood out against the dark cape that cast a shadow on most of his face. Piercing eyes, one sky blue and the other a dark brown, that made him shiver as he felt them lock onto him. Not to mention the strong physique that seemed to build off of his height.
John was left standing still, mind immediately engrossed with enigma in front of him.
The stranger didn’t bother to give a greeting, instead just heading towards the various bottles where they sat along the back wall. Soft clangs of glass dissipated in the room as his fingers danced between the selection of elixirs, picking them up one at a time before swiftly examining their contents. Despite the wide variety that John had for stock, though, each bottle wound up back in their original place on the shelf.
Neither of them spoke as they stood in the shared space, an almost uncomfortable silence falling over the two. Which was fine, John supposed, used to newcomers waltzing in and choosing to browse quietly instead of making conversation. Although… it was quite clear that the stranger was in a rush, and as he moved onto the fifth shelf with no luck of finding what he was looking for, John decided to throw him a bone.
He cleared his throat, “Looking for anything in particular?”
The man’s hand stilled where it was about to reach for another bottle, though he made no indication that he planned to speak. John almost figured he was about to be ignored entirely, before, “Do you have anything to stop the lycanthropic process?”
“What?” John couldn’t stifle down the surprise in his voice, at both the nature of the question and by who had asked it. The sweet, low-pitched rumble that came from the man had John’s heart lurching, evidently so easily drawn in by every feature of him.
“You know,” The stranger grumbled, irritation permeating into his voice as he had to explain further, “something to stop a human from turning after being bit? And wolfsbane, if you have any in stock.”
John frowned at the request, taking a moment to properly examine the stranger. He could see the beads of sweat dripping on his forehead, how his chest seemed to rise and fall with erratic breaths. How one of his arms was pointedly tucked out of sight.
He squinted his eyes, “Someone’s been bitten by a werewolf? It would be easier to treat the victim if you could bring them to me, yeah?“
The stranger took a step towards the door, “No one’s been bit, just,” he sighed, “I’m going on a hunting trip, and with the reports of some monster messing with the village’s livestock, I’m not naive enough to go unprotected.”
John didn’t buy it.
He knew what a marked soul looked like, the disbelief the changing individual usually tried to shroud themselves in. But there was no way to truly hide the fear that followed them, the immediacy in which they’d always try to seek out a cure. It was also clear that the stranger wasn’t born into wealth, if his clothing and general appearance was anything to go by. John doubted that he had much of anything at all - surely not enough to pay for a potion that was so rare.
Part of John’s mind recognized that most of his kind would prey on people like that. Often finding food sources in those who didn’t seem to have any connections, or a family that cared for them. He could never understand sentiments like those, feeling disgusted at the prospect of cutting an honest person’s life short… or thrusting them into immortality without their consent.
In fact, he never turned his teeth towards humans, able to sustain himself on the nearby wildlife instead. He was one of those helpless humans, for a while, and knew all too well how awful a transformation could be - especially if you had to go through it alone.
There was no way he would leave this man to the fate that he thought he deserved.
John flashed what he hoped was a warm smile at the stranger. “Here— what did you say your name was?”
The cloaked figure seemed to hesitate for a moment, teeth brushing over his bottom lip as he considered offering up something personal. “Ghost,” he gritted out after a moment.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ghost.” John quipped without missing a beat, brushing past the fact that he was given something more akin to an alias than a real name. “I’m-“
“Soap, I presume?”
John couldn’t help the tisk that rolled off his tongue at the somewhat correct assumption, to the nickname that apparently hadn’t died down yet. Honestly, it was one mistake made years ago - how was he supposed to predict that brewing an experimental potion would end up turning his shop into an explosion of suds? He had hoped the townsfolk would have forgotten about it by now, but evidently there was at least one person still speaking about it.
“Damn nickname is never going to leave me, huh?” He quipped with a huff of breath, waiving a dismissive hand, “John is more than fine… Anyway, I think I might have something to help you out, if you’ll follow me?”
Soap led the man to the corner of his hut, squatting as he located a handle on the floor before giving it a pull. He gestured for the stranger to follow him, leading him down a ladder to a cellar that was normally used to store any of his extra wares.
There were a few candles scattered around the dimly lit area, providing just enough light to see the general shapes of the items around them. The large quantity of bottles— some empty, some full— that were abandoned around the perimeter, once placed on shelves that had since collapsed. Old herbs, too dried out to be potent, that were tossed in a large pile - Soap not having the heart to truly get rid of any of it. Books that were scattered around the various flat surfaces, all open to display scribbles of various coherency.
It was a mess, but for what he had planned? It would have to do.
“Alright,” Soap clapped his hands together, “help me move some of these crates around, would ye?”
Ghost cocked his head to the side, “If I didn’t know better, I'd wonder if you lure all your customers down here like this. Not going to cut my heart out and throw it in a jar, are you?”
“Don’t be daft, I just needed to get a space big enough so you don’t break anything during your shift.” Soap spoke calmly, but with no room to argue. Without thinking about the consequence to how his wording may come across, he turned on his heels to begin the clean up effort. Hoping to create a large enough opening before the process kicked off.
While Soap had quickly gotten to work, Ghost was left in place, frozen by the man’s words. For the large man that he was, he had all but physically shrunk at the implication. “You know what I am?”
Soap hummed, “I do,” completely unfazed as he tossed a crate of failed experiments into the corner of the room.
“So then you know how to stop it from happening, right?” the other man spoke, hopeful for the first time since entering the hut. “You can fix this before I hurt anyone?”
Soap paused in his actions, abandoning his reach for a discarded leather-bound book as he turned back around. “Wha- no, Ghost. I’m-” His face scrunched up at the thought that he misled the man, “I’m sorry, but I can’t stop the process.”
He brought up a finger to halt Ghost as the other man’s mouth opened, clearly ready to make another demand. “What I can do, though, is try to make your first shift more comfortable. So help me clean out some room for you, yeah?”
Ghost remained silent for a moment, jaw clenching and unclenching as if there was a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue. But in the end, he gave a short nod, letting the conversation die out in favor of picking up a stack of wooden crates.
The two worked in silence, neither knowing what to say. Though Soap wasn’t a werewolf, he understood first hand how overwhelming it could be for one mistake to permanently change your life. He supposed that he could see part of himself in Ghost, recalling just how scared he had been to feel a set of sharp fangs growing in, to try to see them in his reaction only to notice that he didn’t have one anymore.
So yeah, it might have been a bit presumptuous to offer help to a strange man who was about to turn into a feared beast, but the strong pull that he felt towards Ghost was something he couldn’t ignore. A bite was a bite, and he was determined to provide at least some amount of comfort to him.
To provide the support he wished that he had received.
“…I was in the woods,” Ghost’s gruff voice suddenly cut through the silence. Soap turned to look at him while he spoke, only to see that Ghost’s back was still turned away from him. Not stopping his task of clearing out the space as he began his story.
“My brother was sent out early this morning by my father, ordered to get fresh meat for our butcher shop since the old man can’t be half-arsed to collect it himself…” Ghost trailed off for a moment, seemingly getting caught up in a memory before letting out a sigh.
“He knew about the recent reports, that there was a monster nearby that had been stealing livestock. Something that was large enough to leave these huge, deep slashes against the barn’s wood as it fled into the night. We all knew about the rumors, but my father insisted… the bastard wouldn’t take no for an answer. So Tommy left, and I-” A grunt of pain cut Ghost off, hand shooting out to brace himself against the nearest wall.
Fuck. Soap looked up through a broken board in the ceiling, just barely able to get a view of the moon outside where it rose in the middle of the night sky.
They were out of time.
“Ghost,” Soap called as he walked over to him, grabbing a blanket off of the nearest shelf. “We need to get you on the floor, it’s about to start.” Soap tossed the blanket underneath the other man as he helped him slide down the wall. He was surprised at how easily Ghost listened to the command, a testament to being in much more pain than he was letting on.
“Try not to fight it, okay? I know this whole thing is a shit situation, and I know you don’t want this, but it’ll only hurt worse if you try to hold it back.”
That seemed to snap Ghost back into the present, letting out a frustrated growl as he threw his head back, uncaring to the hard impact it had against the wall behind him. “I can’t-“
“You can, Ghost. You have to,” Soap slumped down next to him, letting out a huff of breath as their knees knocked together. The more labored Ghost’s breaths became, the more Soap realized just out of his depth he was. What was he doing - thinking he could handle this on his own?
But it was better than the alternative, a small part of his mind kept reassuring him. Somehow knowing that if he didn't mislead the man into sticking it out in his cellar, he’d be far away from civilization. Subjecting himself to the painful process without any form of comfort… or worse.
So Soap ran his tongue along his top teeth, letting the pain of hitting a barely exposed fang ground him in the moment. He could do this.
The moment of clarity seemed to do its job as Soap thought of an admittedly stupid idea. Immediately unfolding his arm from where it was tucked against his chest and holding it out to Ghost, a cheeky smirk appearing on his face. “Here, you can hold my hand if you need… heard it’s soothing during the birthing process with all that pushing, so how different could this be?”
“Piss off,” Ghost grumbled, drawing his eyes down to the man’s hand with disdain. But as soon as another jolt of pain sent him lurching, he couldn’t help but reach out to the offered support, squeezing tight as he rode out the ache.
“Hey, hey-” Soap soothed, regretting the teasing for a second, “how ‘bout the rest of that story, huh? Focus on that.”
Ghost let out a huff of breath as he shut his eyes tightly. “Not much more to tell… it was only supposed to take my brother half the day, it’s never taken longer than that. So when the sun began to set and he wasn’t back yet… I had to find him.” Ghost’s voice was beginning to strain the longer he talked, feeling the effects of the shift start deep within.
“I ended up finding some big bastard of a monster hovering over him, and, I don’t know… I just couldn’t let anything happen to Tommy. I think I wound up lunging at the thing,” He paused, shrugging as he looked down at his free hand.
Now that they were sitting so close, Soap could see the deep gashes in his palms, the claw marks that racked up his forearms. He could only imagine Ghost in that situation, the strength it must have taken to decide to go up against something at least twice his size.
“I didn’t have anything else on me— Tommy had taken our only rifle— so what else could I do? Guess it was the wrong beast to pick a fight with, though, 'cause…” Ghost waved a hand in the air, “well, you can guess the rest. It was reckless of me to have done that… and now I'm paying for it.“
“But you protected him.” Soap supplied, making sure to note the good in his sacrifice. Because it was a sacrifice, what he had done. Choosing to save his brother, regardless of the almost certain consequences he would suffer from.
“I did, and if given the choice, I’d do it agai-” Ghost’s voice cut off as he doubled over. The jolts of pain were becoming more frequent, Soap noted, assuming that meant they would be in the thick of it soon.
“Shit, okay, uh-” Soap tried to retain the man’s attention, to try to keep it off of his pain. He didn’t know where he was going with this all, but, “why was the strawberry crying?”
Who didn’t love a good joke?
Ghost’s eyes squinted shut, his expression contorted as his limbs finally began to expand. “W-why?”
“Because, he was in a jam. Get it?” Soap let out a huff at his own joke, pleased to see Ghost’s lips turn up the smallest amount. “Now you,” he prodded.
It took Ghost a moment of heavy breaths before he was able to focus, trying his best to push down the pain flaring up as he could feel his body growing. “What,” another breath, “what has two legs and bleeds?”
Soap rolled his eyes, not even needing to hear the punchline to assume how piss pour it was about to be. “What?”
“Half a dog…” The man answered, with a mix of amusement and pain.
“Och, sorry I asked.” Soap nudged into his side lightly, unable to hide the humor in his voice. It had been ages since he had someone to banter with like this, and he didn’t realize how much he’d missed it. “God, you’re awful at this… another?”
And so the two traded jokes back and forth throughout the night, Soap doing most of the talking once Ghost made it to the most painful part of his shifting. The grunts and howls that the other man let out only left Soap feeling worse, wishing he could do more. With all of the solutions he provided his customers each day, he couldn’t help but feel like a failure - being so ill equipped to face this.
Soap did what he could to keep the man comfortable, though. Eventually shuffling around to hold Ghost’s head in his lap, absentmindedly fidgeting with the man’s golden curls even after they turned into tufts of black fur.
The two stayed like that for hours, until the transformation finally ended. Soap whispering words of encouragement despite the grunts of pain having faded into the sound of labored breathing.
In his experience, this was the most difficult part of it all. Sure, nothing could compare to the pain he had felt when physically shifting from a human into a monster…but after? It’s only after the process ends that you’re left to reflect on what happened, when you can no longer hide behind the idea that it was all just a bad dream.
Soap remembered the nights after his transformation with extreme clarity. Remembering how he laid on the forest floor, far enough away where he wouldn’t hurt his family, during his shift and for weeks after. Not able to bring himself to move, wallowing in the fact that his life was officially fucked. He was honestly lucky that he survived without blood for that long, that he was found by—
He shook his head, now was not the time to drag his old trauma back up. Ghost needed him, and he’d be damned if he didn't provide as much comfort and support as he could.
Looking down at the man (not monster. Never monster.) resting in his lap, his chest panged at the predictability of it all. Ghost was frozen, eyes glued shut as he couldn’t bear to look at what he had become.
Soap, though? Soap had a front row seat to the enormous werewolf that had shifted in his cellar. Finally able to focus on his new features now that everything was done changing. Immediately noting the dense fur that fully coated his body now, marking a stark change from the lighter hair the man had walked in with. It was strange, how something as simple as a change of hair— fur color seemed to significantly change the aura of the man. From someone selfless and protective, to being more withdrawn and vicious.
Soap found he didn’t mind either one.
It had been years, decades even, since Soap had last come across a werewolf. But he could tell that even by their normal standards, Ghost was huge. The space that they had cleared out was only just large enough to provide ample room, his hind legs directly pressing up against a pile of supplies that had been thrown in the corner last minute.
Ghost’s head barely fit in his lap anymore, his snout alone practically towered over Soap’s boot that it rested on. His tail was easily the length of Soap’s arm, and the man couldn't help but feel a strong desire to run his hands across the large mass of fluff. Even Ghost’s new claws had grown to an impressive length, his hands now bigger than Soap’s head.
A small part of Soap wondered how large Ghost would be if he shifted to his pure wolf form.
He knew he should be scared, being so close to a werewolf who had shifted for the first time. After all, it was well known how little control they had over themselves, especially without years of practice. Vampires especially knew to be wary - their strength and agility sometimes not enough to fend off an attack. But looking down at the man, he didn’t feel as if his life was in danger.
“It’s alright,” Soap whispered after a moment, trying to provide a pitiful amount of comfort to the man. His enhanced hearing would be sensitive at this stage, and he didn’t need another reason to startle him. “It’s over now… you can open your eyes. You’re still you, Ghost.”
The only response he received was one very large head tilting back and forth on top of his legs, which he interpreted as a ‘no’. It was understandable, and Soap wasn’t going to push him any further for now.
“That’s fine, Ghostie. You’ve done good, just rest for now.”
The two stayed where they were as silence fell over them. Soap’s hand returning to brush through Ghost’s fur, softly petting between his ears as his tail occasionally thumped against the floor.
And if Soap eventually slumped forward, using Ghost as a pillow as the constant motions lulled them both to sleep? Not another soul would have been around to confirm it.
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When Soap awoke, he immediately noted how cold he was. He let out an unintelligible groan as he reached around in search of a blanket, assuming he had one when he had fallen asleep. Only to feel the firm ground below him.
Wait, where was he?
In a moment, the sleep clouding his mind cleared away, allowing him to recall the events of the previous night. How he let a stranger into his hut, willingly volunteering to be present to witness a werewolf’s first shift…
But though the man was a stranger, it hardly felt that way anymore.
“Ghost?” he called out as he stood. Chiding himself as he looked around the vacant cellar. Of course the man would leave as soon as he was able - they barely knew each other, after all. It would be wrong to assume he’d want to hang around someone who knew his largest secret.
Soap made his way back to the main floor, pointedly not moping as he got ready for the day. Sure, he may have been hopeful at the idea of having a new non-human acquaintance, his heart itching for the type of connection that he constantly denied himself. But it was unrealistic to assume a few hours in close contact would make someone want to stick around.
Not like that mattered now…
Throwing on a clean set of clothes, Soap was about to start working on a new batch of elixirs when there was a knock at the door. He instinctively went to open it, mentally groaning at the idea of having to deal with villagers so early in the morning after the night he just had, when-
His heart stopped in his chest as he opened the door, just to see Ghost on the other side. The man offering a small smile from where he stood. “Noticed you were out of water, so I went to fetch some.” He provided as an explanation, lifting up the basin in his hands as further proof.
Soap just stood in the doorway, frozen. He couldn’t believe that Ghost had come back for him— no, not for him, his mind argued, but he had returned nonetheless. He considered it a win that Ghost willingly went back to the hut after their business had concluded.
Not only was Soap shocked by his overall presence… but with the sun shining down on them, he could finally get a good view of the man. And oh, if he didn’t look like a god standing before him, even more stunning than when he had first laid eyes on him.
A messy mop of blonde hair, freckles that kissed his face, strong muscles covering all of his limbs. It almost felt criminal to see the various new injuries that coated most of his body - either from his fight with the werewolf, or from complications associated with shifting for the first time. Both eyes, the blue and the brown, looked breathtaking with the sun’s rays bouncing off of them, and… were those his clothes?
“You alright there, Johnny?” Ghost questioned after watching Soap greet him with silence.
The man blinked a few times, pointedly ignoring how well the nickname seemed to roll off his tongue as he brought himself back to the present, mumbling out a few curses. “Mmm? Och, sorry, just surprised to see you again so soon. Thought you took the opportunity to run off on me while I was asleep.”
“What, and leave without giving my thanks?”
Soap waved a dismissive hand at him, “You don't owe me anything, Ghost… although, maybe an explanation of how you ended up in my clothes?” It was almost comical to see him wearing something of his, everything being a few inches too short. He also couldn’t help but admit it wa a bit… hot.
Focus, MacTavish.
“I-” Ghost paused, blush spreading across his cheeks, “I shifted back while I was still asleep, woke up to discover that my clothes didn't survive the transition. I figured I could snag something from you until I could make it back home… but I apologize if I overstepped.”
The two stood in silence for another moment, before Soap’s brain decided to come back online. He immediately stepped aside, tilting his head in a gesture for Ghost to follow him in.
“Don’t worry about it. I’d honestly offer to let you keep them, but they don’t appear to be in your size,” Soap let out a huff, “Anyway, how are you feeling?”
Ghost walked around the man, going to place the water basin back where it belonged before walking back to the main area. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, “all things considered. But I do have to ask - why did you do that?”
The confusion on Soap’s face was palpable, “You’d have to be more specific there, Ghostie.”
“Last night. You didn’t even know me, other than the monster I was about to turn into. But instead of shooing me away, you took me in. Why?”
“Shifting… no one should have to go through that alone.” Soap shrugged, “You weren’t as inconspicuous as you tried to be, you know? There was no way I was letting you walk out of my shop just so you could do something stupid in an attempt to stop the change.”
Ghost hummed, seemingly in thought, “You have a lot of experience dealing with this sort of thing?”
This was the perfect time to tell Ghost about who he was, but- Soap didn't know if he was ready. He’d never told anyone, outside of his family, about his affliction. Though he had never met another non-human before, someone who understood him like that, he couldn’t risk it. It was tempting, he couldn’t lie, and maybe he would in time, but… not yet.
Soap waved him off instead, “Just know how I'd be feeling about all of this if it was me…” Before they went too much further down that path, he clapped his hands together. “Anyway, customers shouldn't start arriving for another hour or two. You up for some breakfast? I'm not well stocked for company, but I'm sure we can find something edible for you.”
A small, but genuine grin broke out on Ghost’s face, the first uninhibited one since they had met. Soap wanted to bottle it up - to keep it for the pleasure of basking in it again and again.
“I’d like that.” Ghost answered without hesitation.
And maybe, just maybe, Soap was pining for something that was more attainable than he had thought.