Chapter Text
𖠰 I'm in the dark till you light the way 𖠰
He closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath and then exhaling. The earthy aroma flooded his nostrils while droplets fell from above, the clean scent of petrichor enclosing his vicinity.
He counted every time a drop touched his skin.
Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two.
His tongue licked around his lips, tasting an explosion of sharp coolness from Mikey’s mint chapstick. It would have been nice to continue their little makeout session on the couch. He could still feel his boyfriend's lips tantamount to sandpaper, moving along with his, never wanting to let go.
Instinctively, he placed a single finger on his lips, the rough skin of his own fingertip not being enough. Nothing could replace Mikey's lips. The unfortunate thing was that he was here and not at home kissing his boyfriend nonstop.
Removing his finger from his lips, he submerged both his hands into the ground, the wet dirt sticking to his skin. There was a small comfort to knowing soon he wouldn't have to be stuck with his own thoughts. Three years ago, he had to learn to accept the new version of himself. It meant hiding something big from his family and friends. It meant having to move into Little Hawke—not because he wanted to, but there was a net of comfort and reassurance by staying.
Hayley. Ryan. Vic. Billie Joe.
There was something nice about being able to ask someone questions about being the new him. Even when he felt like he had it all down, it was like he had to make sure a thousand more times after something happened.
Like Mikey. Who would have thought some random lanky kid would have ended up being a big part of his life? Once he had exited the music store, Ray was expecting to never see the kid again. In some other universe, their paths had never crossed.
A ghost of a smile crept onto his lips. “Mikey…” he whispered the name of his favorite coffee addict in the world. “Mikey… Mikey…” he repeated like a mantra.
Call his name out all you want, but he can't save you tonight, a cruel voice infested his thoughts.
He dug his fingers deeper into the ground, pain shooting into his nail beds. If he pressed harder, his nails would crack or tear apart.
It doesn't matter though, does it? As long as he didn't lose anything due to silver, it would all just grow back. He wasn't a normal human that could be broken so easily.
Mikey could break a bone and it takes forever to heal. Not him.
Mikey could die from a regular bullet to the heart or head. Not him.
Any wound on Mikey could leave him permanently altered. Not him.
Not unless he was like you, that cruel voice returned. He growled, not knowing if that was just him or the wolf within.
No. Mikey wouldn't be like him.
He wouldn't allow it. He would rather take a silver bullet to the heart than curse that lovable four-eyed javaphile.
The rustling of two squirrels from the closest tree on his right nor the crunching of twigs from some deer could make him focus on the task at hand.
How could one calm down when their happiness could be threatened by a single bite?
With his hands submerged into the dirt, he flung his head upward to eye the familiar friend of his. A friend that felt more like an enemy.
The moon couldn't have Mikey Way. He would not let it change his boyfriend into an uncontrollable monster. He would not let it turn the coffee addict into something he would learn to hate about himself. He would not let the moon force the Pumpkinhead to build unbreakable walls in the direction of his family.
He snarled, keeping his mouth widened while the aching in his teeth began. It was always the fangs first. If he touched one of them, the razor-sharp tooth would cut his skin instantly. By the end of the night, they might be ripping into something.
His fingers stung like they had been smashed in between a drawer. If he raised his hands from the ground, he would see the sharpening of his nails. They would be able to kill something with one swipe.
“Argh!” he groaned, throwing his head down to stare down at the ground, arching his back.
Crunch!
His arms cramped like he had been lifting heavy weights for hours.
Crunch!
His legs ached as if he had been running for miles without pause.
Crunch!
His whole body throbbed like he was throwing himself at brick walls all day.
He couldn't let this happen to anyone else.
He couldn't let Mikey endure any of this.
He would not be the one to pass such a bad card to him.
He still didn't have a clue how Ryan had been able to do it to Brendon.
“You think I'm the worst, huh?” Ryan had asked him as they sat across from each other a month ago. Ray had stared at Brendon in confusion when the hyper kid was gushing about being a werewolf too. It was when Brendon had run off to the bathroom from slurping down his coffee that Ray confronted the problem. Ryan looked insulted by his distaste. “At least when shit hits the fan—I'll have someone to endure it with.”
The conversation with Ryan hadn't been enlightening. There was so much the younger man had spouted that Ray didn't see eye-to-eye with. No matter how much Brendon and Ryan loved each other—and Brendon being happy to be a werewolf—none of it could convince him to turn Mikey.
Nothing would.
CRUNCH! RIP!
He howled.
Everything came to him like it always did.
While his bones broke, he could hear the soft chews of a hedgehog munching on a beetle.
When his muscles ripped, he could smell the charbroiled hamburgers and the canola oil dripping from the French fries emanating from The Grub.
Soon, all he would taste on his tongue was iron.
Shortly, all he would feel is the squishy, wetness of the ground beneath him.
In the blink of an eye, he would see only whatever was in front of him. And in a sense, he would see it through the lens of a monster.
With one last glance at the enemy above, he scoffed. The moon could have him, not Mikey.
Mikey was his.
CRUNCHH, CRUNCHHH, RIPPPPP! SPLATTT!
◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ❨ ◯
The familiar sticky substance woke him up. There was a discomfort to feeling like a dipped-cone, but instead of being covered in chocolate it was blood.
He stared at the blue sky streaked with white clouds while the golden sun shone brightly. He smiled.
He didn't have to worry about anything after the full moon.
Somewhere scattered throughout the town, the other werewolves were waking up from another night of uncontrollable monstrosity. He could imagine they were all caked in blood and likely guts too. Any of them were lucky when they woke up with it just being their own blood.
In his hazy mind, he couldn't think of a whole lot. Memories differed for everyone—Vic swore up and down he never remembered anything after a full moon while Billie Joe claimed he could recall every second after his transformation.
There was a plus to having tiny pieces of his full moon memories. There was only one time when the tiniest piece of a memory left his blood running cold.
He raised his hand to touch the familiar scar on the right side of his face. He knows to stay away, he sighed in relief at that fact.
He slowly started to sit up, falling back down when a shock of pain spread on his back. An ice bath sounded like a dream right now. A nap would be pure heaven. He could get neither of those things if he stayed glued to the ground.
He inhaled. Then exhaled deeply. Using whatever strength he had left, he pushed himself to get up from the ground. His legs wobbled, but he stood still to prevent himself from falling. His legs continued to shake a bit as he took a few steps.
“Shit!” he cursed when he fell against a tree. He groaned softly at how scratchy the bark was touching his bare side.
Every wolf always ended up back in the forest. The best thing about that was the park ranger boxes Billie Joe had stuffed with extra clothes.
No, Billie Joe was no park ranger. But he knew of one. Ray believed there were advantages to that.
He leaned his head against the tree, not loving the hardness on his sensitive skin. He placed a hand on the bark, using it to push himself from it.
It was no easy feat going from a night of running on four legs to going back to walking on two. He stumbled, wobbled and fell more than three times. The mixture of dirt and blood on him just had his body screaming for a shower.
When he fell onto the ground for what felt like the hundredth time—still not having seen the park ranger box yet—he considered just sitting there.
Someone would call the cops if they saw him. They would take him to the hospital or recommend him to seek rehabilitation.
It wasn't his first dance with the full moon. No matter how long he has been shifting into a werewolf, it didn't mean it all became easier. Accepting it was the easiest it got.
However…
He pictured Mikey.
Mikey playing his white Gibson Thunderbird. Mikey snuggled with him on the couch as they watched sci-fi and horror movies. Mikey refilling his coffee mug for the sixth time in a day. Mikey searching for comics in the bookshop in town.
His whole body hurt, but the stumbling and falling wouldn't get him back to Mikey any sooner.
He would have that bath and bed once he got back to Mikey.
He pushed himself forward. Every ache just convinced him to keep going. The reward at the end was worth it.
The red metal box was a quick find. There were no tricks to it either. Billie Joe always made sure the boxes were stuffed with necessities the morning before.
He grabbed pants, a jacket and some sneakers. He knew he wouldn't find a phone in the box—it wasn't necessary anyway. He used some of the clean towels to wipe away what blood he could from his face and hands. He took the ten dollars from the wallet inside in case he could find someone to give him a ride. And a water bottle.
Shielding his head with the hood and stuffing his hands in his pockets, he took his time. He took a few large sips from the water bottle, keeping his eyes on the journey ahead. Seeing the bowl-shaped cavity on the forest ground, he knew he was in Mini Malingen—a forest about twenty miles away from Acorn Hill. Once he got to Acorn Hill, he would be close to The Grub.
Calling the road back home long would have been an understatement. When he first looked at Little Hawke on a map, he thought there was no way it could have a lot of anything.
He found out he was wrong.
After a mile of walking, he decided to stop and extend a thumb for the coming cars. It took six for one to finally stop.
“Hey, man, where you heading?” He blinked back in surprise. The Jersey accent was one of the astonishing things to him. The other one was the fact that the guy looked like he could be fifteen, but the piercings all over him told him he couldn't be any younger than eighteen. He didn't have to look at the luggage in the back to tell this guy was an outsider. The fact that he couldn't recognize the guy was enough.
He snapped his head back when he smelled the scent of wet dog. In the backseat, he spotted a dark-haired small dog looking up at him with its tongue lolling out of its mouth.
“That's just Sweet Pea. She's just chilling.” Ray smiled a bit as his stare lingered. He had always wanted a dog. “Not a dog hater, are you?” He turned his head to glance over at the guy. He shook his head at him. The guy sighed in relief. “Thank God. I'll happily beat the shit out of someone if they hate dogs.”
Ray leaned back in his seat, unbothered by the suggested violence. “I admire your love for animals,” he said genuinely. He looked out of the window, watching Mini Malingen escape his view. “Acorn Hill. Where I'm heading.”
The guy scoffed, sending him a crazy look. “Leaving one forest to head into another?” He saw a map sprawled on the dashboard. Ray could feel the guy’s eyes lingering on him. “Not some crazy cult leader doing ritualistic shit in these forests, are you?”
If he was not in the state he was in, he would have joked around a bit. “Nah. Meeting up with someone.” He kept boyfriend stuck on his tongue. He didn't know this guy. The guy might love animals, but that didn't mean he liked homosexuals. “Moving into town?”
The guy's eyes were back on the road. “Did the Jersey accent make it obvious?”
More like your unrecognizable face, he stopped himself from saying. Little Hawke wasn't as tiny as he thought, but it was still a small town where most knew every inhabitant. “More or less.”
The guy gave a little shrug. “I lived in California all last year. Trying to do the band life.” Ray could see a guitar case in the rearview mirror.
Ray wondered. “How'd that go?”
“Went to shit,” the guy admitted, a sad smile creeping on his face. “The most recognition I got was being able to make a damn latte at a Starbucks.”
Ray felt a little bad for the guy. “It's not the life it seems.” He bet this guy tried hard and thought it would get him somewhere just to realize it was going nowhere.
The guy sighed deeply, gesturing at the backseat. “Had my baby with me. Had to put my big boy pants on and realize I needed a fresh start. Plus I was low on cash.”
Ray chuckled lightly at the story. “So you packed up everything and drove all the way to this random little town?”
The guy had a bashful redness that crept up from his neck to his cheeks. “Honestly? Yeah, kind of…?” The guy then cackled like a maniac.
How reckless! Ray couldn't stop himself from laughing. When he had moved to Little Hawke, at least his family and he had been living in California for years and had visited Arizona many times to be somewhat familiar with the place.
This guy leaves New Jersey, lives in California for a single year and then leaves to some out-of-nowhere town?
The guy was lucky he hadn't come across some psycho.
Once the guy had stopped laughing, he gave him a calm look. “Actually, a buddy of mine lives here. I'd call him but Motorola pulled the plug on me,” the guy used one hand to lift up his Motorola RAZR from the cupholder.
That was reassuring. Not only did it mean this guy wouldn't be all by himself, but it meant he would soon learn of the ins and outs of Little Hawke.
“Well…I hope you like it here.” There's nothing more he could say. The guy wouldn't believe him if he mentioned werewolves. He knew better than to just reveal that information. “Be careful at night, though.”
The guy grinned like a madman at him. “Lemme guess—bear attacks?”
Ray didn't look at the guy, keeping his eyes on the window. He counted every pine tree they passed by. “Something like that.”