Chapter Text
Robby knew that not all "monsters" were the scary kind. If he didn't, he probably wouldn't have married one. What could he say? Jack was funny, clever, strong, and, on occasion, a German Shepherd.
What they were dealing with now was, as a matter of fact, the scary kind.
They were sitting on the porch one cold December night. Robby's shotgun leaned on the wall beside them like an old friend as they shared a cup of coffee. An old quilt from the attic was draped over their legs.
"Why'er we even out here?" Jack huffed, words making steam in the air.
"Something's getting at the chickens," Robby said. "I think it's a coyote or something."
Jack hummed in thought. Robby turned his head and turned back to find a German Shepard sniffing the air.
"That's a little extreme for just a coyote, my human husband would probably do," Robby smiled, reaching a calloused hand up and scratching behind his ears. No response, obviously.
Snow fell all around them. He felt like they were in a snow globe. It was quiet, way quieter than Robby's old life in Pittsburgh.
He inherited the farm a few years ago, after some family member he hadn't spoken to since he was a kid passed it down to him. He still wasn't great at farming, but he had improved since his first years there. He met Jack there, at least. He had been slinking around the farm when Robby found him and later found out about his other form.
He'd lived a whole life out there by now.
Jack sat up suddenly beside him, pointing his muzzle in the air and sniffing.
Robby followed his eyes out to the tree line, just beyond what they could see from the porch. The snow made an indistinguishable white sheet out of the field. Jack made a low growl from the back of his throat before looking at Robby and nosing at him.
"What?" Robby hummed, picking up his shotgun.
Jack stood and waited for Robby at the porch steps. With a sigh, he stood and followed him a few feet to the fence. Jack slipped under, leaving Robby to flounder with the gate latch in the dark.
Before he could get it undone, Jack barked and climbed back under, tail between his legs and ears flat on his head. Jack, as a human, would rather cut his hand off than show fear. However, animal instinct could rarely be helped.
Robby looked up and saw a bloody trail in the snow, leading to a limping silhouette. He looked like a younger man, features hard to see from the distance and dark, but a boyish figure under his tattered and bloodied clothes.
The doctor in Robby wanted to rush forward and help him. The reasonable person in him decided to hang back and try not to watch Jack morph back human. They were married and Robby loved him very much, but yuck.
"I don't know what that is," Jack said, watching him limp out from the trees.
"What do you mean?"
Jack sniffed again. "He doesn't smell right. Besides, there aren't any other farms for miles."
"Maybe he was camping. We get wanderers all the time."
"In the snow?"
Robby, against his better judgment, held up his shotgun to use the flashlight attachment. Unfortunately, this also involved pointing a gun at a fatally injured man, which he had some conflicts about.
The man covered his eyes against the beam.
"What're you doing out here?" Jack called.
No answer, just some stumbling which left more blood in the snow.
"Are you hurt?" Robby asked.
"Obviously," an exhausted voice said back.
"Can we help you?" Jack yelled.
The boy walked closer before promptly collapsing a few feet from the fence in a puddle of snow and blood. With no other morally right choice, they hauled his body up to the porch. It wasn't hard, seeing as he was half both their sizes. Really, Robby probably could've carried him alone.
"Should we take him inside?" Robby asked, looking over the man in his arms.
"I don't think he's breathing, Mike. I'm not getting a manslaughter charge."
"I shouldn't have asked you. Open the damn door."
Jack opened the door reluctantly. Robby made him lay a towel out on the couch before laying the man down.
A lot of the blood was concentrated on his left shoulder. Robby unzipped his jacket and tugged off his flannel to get a look at the bloody, torn skin and gash it gave way to. Jack sniffed at him.
Robby scoffed. "Stop, that looks weird when you're human."
"He's too bloody, I can't smell him right."
"Maybe you should stop trying until he's conscious again."
"You're the one undressing him right now."
Robby huffed. He did his best to clean the wound with their emergency bag, but it wasn't his best work. He needed stitches, but Robby was too scared to hurt him more in the state he was in. He was out of practice anyways. The last stitches he'd given had been on Jack's one leg a few years ago, when he'd found the man as a snarling dog in his backyard.
Two wet rags later, and he was considerably more presentable.
Robby would've been more worried and considered calling an ambulance or driving the guy himself, but his gray eyes fluttered open and closed. He got out a few coherent sentences every once in a while, and somehow his gnarled shoulder looked better by the second.
Robby and Jack took turns watching the stranger all night. He had an unrestful sleep, both men watching him thrash and wince.
In the morning, Robby awoke to find that Jack had abandoned his post in search of making some coffee. He walked up behind him and slid a warm hand up his shirt.
"How's our new friend?" Robby asked, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.
"Alive, probably."
"Good. He up yet?"
Jack dumped some coffee grounds into the machine. "I have no idea."
"Some guard dog you are," Robby chuckled.
Robby kissed his cheek one more time before slipping out. His pajama pants dragged across the cold hardwood as he walked into the living room.
The man sat up on the couch, examining his bandaged shoulder like it was a foreign object. From where Robby was, his face looked unfinished. He resembled a poorly developed Polaroid.
"Sleep okay?" Robby asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes," he lied. "Thank you. And your friend."
Robby didn't correct him. "No problem. How's the shoulder."
The man gave it an experimental wiggle. He winced and didn't move it again. "Better than it would've been without your help."
Robby nodded. He sat down on the ottoman by the couch.
"Wanna tell me what scratched you up like that?"
The man looked away. He looked young, but impossibly exhausted. Whatever was eating at him ran down to his bones. Something deeply sad laid itself in the depths of his eyes and downturn of his smile. Robby wondered if he always looked like that, or only after getting torn to shreds.
"Never mind," he smiled. "What's your name."
The man looked at his face cautiously. "Dennis," he answered. "Whitaker."
"I'm Michael, but Robby's what most people call me. My husband's name is Jack."
Dennis peered into the kitchen where Jack was still messing with the coffee machine.
"Hungry?" Robby asked.
Dennis shook his head. Robby ignored him and walked back to Jack and the kitchen anyway. He leaned over to whisper.
"Got a name. Dennis Whitaker."
"Whitaker? Really?" Jack whispered back.
At Robby's confused nod, he continued. "If it's the same Whitaker family I'm thinking of…I thought they all died. It was a big deal before you came here. On a farm a few miles from here, somebody broke into the Whitaker family's cabin and…y'know…the whole family. No wonder the kid's so weird. He was in a damn tragedy."
After that lovely piece of information, Robby cooked the kid some eggs and toast and carried it into the living room with a glass of water.
Dennis took it with a thank you. It took him a second to smile, like he was remembering how.
He ate slowly as Robby tried to watch discreetly. The morning sun hit his pale face and slipped off, as if it couldn't find a place to stick. He ate half before looking up at Robby, pupils still blown.
"It was an animal," Dennis said.
"…What was?"
Dennis gestured to his bloody bandages. "Maybe two or three."
"What kind of animal?"
"Whatever lives out there."
Robby decided not to push. The sore on his shoulder looked more like a circular laceration or very wide puncture wound than a bite or scratch, but Robby figured it could've been a chunk taken out by angry teeth at the right angle.
"Why were you out in the woods?"
Dennis sucked his teeth before answering. "I was looking for town."
"Well, you were quite a few miles off and clearly don't have a working compass. Town is west of here."
He looked away awkwardly. "I see that now. Sorry."
Robby waved off his apology. Jack walked in and passed Robby a cup of coffee before standing in front of Dennis with his own. "Why were you looking for town at midnight anyways?"
Dennis looked between the two nervously. He didn't answer. They didn't inquire any farther.
He put the half eaten plate of food down on the coffee table and stood, injuries be damned. He didn't even limp, though the thick skin tear Robby knew he saw on his left leg should've been preventing him.
"I should head out now. Thank you for helping me-"
Jack raised an eyebrow. "What, you have somewhere to be?"
Robby elbowed him. Dennis didn't answer. He threw out a few more flustered thank yous and retreated out the door, insisting he knew where he was going and wouldn't like a ride, despite their best efforts.
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Jack had mostly put the whole ordeal behind him. His mind wandered to the young man every once in a while, but for the most part, he was way less concerned with the situation than he should have been.
The concern started with the footprints.
Leading in and out of the barn, up to their house's windows, and all along the fence line. Footprints were dug into the snow in clear paths that just…disappeared. There was no path from where they came. He couldn't help but think that it was intentional. He knew better than most what kind of thing lived out in the woods, what kind of animals.
He waited one night until Robby fell asleep. He kissed his shoulder before slipping out of bed and into his other form. It didn't hurt. It hadn't for years. His body got used to the switch nowadays, what with how often he used it to herd their sheep and sniff around for coyotes. He'd even gotten good at walking with only three paws to hit the ground.
Using the doggy door felt a little degrading, but at least he knew he wouldn't wake Robby with the creaking of the front door as he went to investigate.
He smelled it as soon as he stepped outside. Metallic, clean, not human. Right at the edge of the field full of dead crops Robby hadn't bothered to burn yet, wide, glowing eyes watched Jack's every move. He slipped closer, sitting himself down in the snow and giving a low growl to the familiar figure in the snow.
Dennis gave him a crooked smile. He wore a thin sweater, the same jeans he was wearing the first time they met, and a distinct lack of shoes or socks. He looked pretty out here, snow complimenting his skin. He was too pale, even for winter. Jack could see his veins on his hands, but more distracting was the splatters of blood all over them.
"I know what you are," Dennis said. His voice was rougher now than it had been the first night. There were no humans here for him to pretend for.
Jack morphed himself back, gripping a knife in his pocket. It was silver. It burned his hand. He figured it would burn Dennis too, if he let it.
"Why are you out here?" Jack asked. He was shocked at himself for having the decency to do so.
He tilted his head. "Do I scare you?"
"Do I?"
He answered too quickly. "No."
"Answer the question."
"I was hungry."
Jack looked at his mouth. His lips were wet with something too red to be spit.
"Was?"
"Check your barn."
Jack watched another smile spread across his lips at the disgusted look he knew he was wearing. He would've been scared if he wasn't the same once in his life.
"You don't have to do this," Jack sighed.
"Do what?"
"Kill things. You can be peaceful, if you want."
Dennis made a face. "Maybe I don't want to."
"You do. Everyone does."
Dennis touched two puncture wounds on his wrist, peeking out from his sweater sleeve. As fast as his injuries had healed, those two were still intact. He wiped his mouth on his hand, intentionally letting Jack see the blood left on his palm.
Jack sniffed the air without meaning to, flooding his senses with copper. Dennis smelled like a thunderstorm over a slaughterhouse, all death and ozone. Jack felt like he was standing where thunder was supposed to strike, hair on end. He was unearthly, really. More of a phenomenon than a physical being.
"You shouldn't have let me in," Dennis whispered. He sounded apologetic, just barely.
"Why's that?"
"You won't be able to get rid of me."
"Why's that?"
"Because I like it here."
Jack didn't have to repeat himself again.
"Because you're nice, and I'm not supposed to want things like that."
Jack nodded his head to the chicken coop.
"Take one. A small one. Don't tell my husband."
Dennis sunk back into the tall stalks of the field. Jack heard a few squawks from the coop, a slam of the wire door, and a final squawk that died out slowly on the snowy wind.
He slipped back through doggy door and into bed. Robby stirred beside him, looking at him through his eyelashes. Jack kissed his cheek softly, human again.
"You're cold. Did you go outside?" Robby asked in a tired drone.
"Yeah. Coyote got into the chicken coop. He only got one, the tiny one we knew was done for."
"I thought I heard something."
Jack laid back down in his husband's arms and fell back asleep.
He dreamed of a beautiful face covered in blood with snow on its eyelashes.