Chapter Text
When white stuffing littered the mascot room floor instead of scarlet blood, Daryl came to his senses laden by a strain on his rapidly beating heart. The foreign weight was an unpleasant perturbance, one he noticed only after he had fired his double-barrelled shotgun— not once, not twice, not thrice, but thirteen times, totalling to twenty-six bullets unloaded on what was supposed to be his... kill— whilst in the midst of his adrenaline rush. That realisation struck pinpricks of fear and guilt into his conscience.
Daryl almost lost his best friend by his own hands.
Did he nearly throw away several months worth of camaraderie for what could have been a mistaken assumption? What if he judged the situation irrationally? What if Kyle was just playing a prank or performing a rather strange act of rebellion by wearing the mascot? If so, why didn't Kyle tell him? Ah, but Kyle was too frightened to defend himself properly, and Daryl was too enraged to listen to logic and reason. What about CEO Howl? No, he was already dead before Kyle's shift started. Will Kyle avoid him after this? Had Daryl ruined their friendship? What would've happened if Kyle hadn't escaped?
Where even is Kyle?
It took a while before Daryl caught glimpse of a rope leading out into the streets below, and in that fraction of a second it took him to reach the open window, he hoped, begged even, to see a Kyle with spotless skin, silky brunette hair, a thin physique, a human face, and a lack of a tail. Those expectations immediately shattered the moment he saw a creature whose bulky body sported features that did not belong to a human, nor the Kyle he came to know so fondly of.
Kyle had been lying to a friend for the entire week. He was not a dutiful janitor; it was but a werewolf in human's clothing that almost committed a massacre because it prioritised its rent over the safety of its co-workers. And so, despite the initial dilemma, Daryl decided to do the world a favour by sending this dangerous creature back to hell from whence it came once and for all.
Just as Daryl prepared to take aim, the werewolf glanced up with calm indifference, at least, until it saw the gun. From the very moment their gazes met eye-to-eye, Daryl suddenly couldn't bring himself to shoot the darned thing... the thing he invites on fishing trips, the thing who drops him small gifts, and the thing who was only trying to survive a harsh circumstance he was put through. His finger, hard as a marble statue, trembled as he hovered over the trigger, struggling to find reason to follow through with his intentions.
What made the internal conflict worse was that, instead of expecting an instinctually hostile reaction to getting cornered, as typical as it is of their kind, Kyle was displaying sentiments of remorse and wordless pleas of innocence. With so much terror packed behind those pulled back ears and dilated eyes, Daryl began to question once more if this really was the right thing to do.
Why was he hesitating now when he didn't the first time?
Kyle momentarily broke eye contact to risk jumping the hefty distance between him and the ground, ungracefully so that he landed on his back and his precious equipment.
It would be his second biggest mistake since showing up to work.
It will be Daryl's first for pulling the trigger.
The pained noises shook his entire being down to his core. It was a sound torturous and grating to the ears, akin to the whimpers of a kicked puppy. Daryl was mortified with himself, more so as he watched Kyle attempt to crawl away with a badly mutilated leg, unsure why he shot. All he knew was that his finger spasmed into pulling, as though it unpaused itself without his intervention. He could convince Kyle, and mostly himself, that he was startled by the sudden haste, or he could always blame his fast reflexes, but deep down, he knew.
Of all the excuses that exist in the world, none could be made for what he had done.
"Daryl Guntherson!"
Daryl jumped at the sudden entrance of a familiar elderly voice.
"What in heaven's name are you carrying that gun around for, young man? Not only have you worried everyone, they're all panicking! For what? To take your anger on the mascot? I know my husband was not a great person, and everyone has had their fair share of soliciting a weapon around the office, but as a security guard, it is your job to ensure that your co-workers are safe! They're not supposed to feel threatened by the person who's supposed to protect them!"
As Janina continued to scold Daryl, he thought of his co-workers and all the good memories he made with each one of them. That's why he had the shotgun in the first place, so he could protect them from a threat. Had circumstances been different, Emma and Seung would not be here sharing conspiracy theories about vampire Cameron, Abby would not be here turning people into drunken party animals, Moose would not be the manager anymore, and Janina would not be here baking chocolate chip cookies for everyone, except for...
"Think about poor Kyle who has to clean up your mess!"
...the peanut butter cookie she makes for Kyle, the one and only co-worker Daryl was the close enough to confide in his thoughts and feelings.
There was a lot of denial before Daryl also remembered that everyone was alive. They have been alive for the entire week the werewolf was loose because Kyle, the elusive creature who was only trying to make ends meet, made sure to avoid them. Was Kyle supposed to just become homeless? Meanwhile, Daryl was trying to protect them from a threat no one even knew existed.
Kyle killed no one; Daryl almost killed one.
"I fucked up."
"Language!"