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Robby moved out of Pittsburgh to live a stress free life. Unfortunately, he chose the most stressful way to do that.
He thought that moving to his aunt's old farm would be a nice change of pace. His therapist had suggested retiring early, and everyone at work, while sad to see him go, backed the decision. The ER, after working there for so many years, wore him down like the soles of old shoes.
What did not contribute to a stress free lifestyle was finding a man he didn't know in the barn one night.
Robby had always heard scary stories about the woods. His cousins used to torment him during his summer visits every year. They told him that there were big, scary creatures out in the trees and corn fields. They told him not to go out at night because things that looked like humans might trick him, and make him like them. The word "monster" was never used, because Robby's aunt ran a tight ship when it came to that word, but it was always implied.
This man, sturdy and silent, lingering at the edge of a cattle pen, looked like he was ripped right out of one of those stories.
Robby's heart thumped in his chest, but his feet stayed frozen on the floor. His cousins always told him that if you saw something like this, don't try to outrun it. You'll always loose. Instead, bargain.
The man turned his head slowly until he was staring at Robby with piercing eyes. Robby did his best not to shiver, but he was scared for his life.
"Who are you?" the man gruffed, turning around. He wore a brown coat and worn out jeans, along with a mean expression.
"It's Michael, but Robby is what most people call me." His voice wavered, exposing his nerves.
The guy huffed. "Why're you out here? It's dangerous, y'know."
He said it as less of a warning and more of a promise of things he was planning on with his barely there smile. He was the most dangerous thing out here, Robby decided.
"I could ask you the same," Robby said, gripping the flashlight like it would save him.
The man slinked closer, busted boots clacking on the hay-strewn barn. Robby hadn't been out in the barn much, except to feed the animals, but he had spent some time trying to rake up the scattered mess. The wind blew it all back, though.
He moved like a water snake, creeping like he didn't know how to walk on his two bow legs. He was about the same height as Robby, if not just barely shorter, but his disposition seemed to make him loom over the man.
"That's not how you talk to folk you've just met," he said, tilting his head as his impossibly sharp eyes tacked themselves on Robby's face.
"You're right…I didn't catch your name?"
He crossed his arms. "That's because I didn't say it…'s Jack."
"Jack, what're you doing out here?"
He stared at Robby's face harder, lips pressing into a line.
"I'm the fuckin' farmhand out here," he huffed. "Didn't whoever you bought this place from tell you that?"
Robby's shoulders relaxed, just barely. "No, they didn't say anything about a farmhand."
"Yeah, well. I come by once a week."
Knowing that Jack wasn't actively going to rip his face off was nice, but Robby was still dubious of him. Something about him was unnerving, mostly because he had a mysterious quality Robby had never seen in a man before.
Robby figured he just put too much faith in his cousin's word. This was just normal man. There probably weren't monsters out here at all.
"I'll be on my way, then," Jack said, walking out, watching Robby over his shoulder all the way out.
Robby watched him leave, listening for a car to start or something. When nothing happened, he stuck his head out the door and looked for him. He was gone, somehow. Robby walked back to the house and double checked all the locks and windows before settling into a restless sleep.
Fuck, this place was scarier than he remembered
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Robby didn't see all too much of Jack, honestly. When he did, he scared the shit out of him, but he mostly kept to himself. Usually, Robby didn't even know he was lurking around the farm until he saw him, sitting in some corner or messing with the animals that Robby was still learning how to take care of.
Robby was a hard man to scare. He'd seen enough in his years at the ER to put a normal person into a coma. Still, something about Jack's stare made him uncomfortable. He tilted his head like a wolf looking for the best place to bite a chunk of skin out.
When they did run into each other, it was in the barn.
One morning, when the sun was just barely rising, Robby hauled himself out of his warm bed and went down to the barn to give the animals breakfast and let them out of their pens. The barn was big enough to house both the sheep and cattle, with a hayloft on the right as you entered.
Robby opened the door, peering in the dark room. He flicked the lights on, grabbing the wall blindly until he found the switch.
"Shit!" He said, jumping like he'd been shot.
Jack turned around, face the same blank slate it always was. Robby wondered if he was capable of smiling, or just baring his teeth.
"What's the matter with you?" Jack huffed, looking at him with a craned neck. Given his height, the position made it so he had to look though his eyebrows at Robby, casting his face in shadows.
Robby muttered an apology.
Jack stared at him, silent and wary, before reaching into his pocket and producing a yellowed piece of paper. "You're gonna want to go restock on feed soon. That's the blends they used to buy. You can do whatever the hell you want, though."
Robby read the list, thankful for the help. He paused.
"Is that…a blood stain?" Robby said, grunting at the paper.
Jack scratched the scruff on his jaw. "Was like that when I found it."
Robby didn't know if he believed that, given the state of the rest of the imposing man, but he wasn't going to argue. Jack's fingernails had blood on them too, or maybe he was just a big fan of strawberry jam.
Robby realized that he was not as afraid as he should be. Subtle confirmations of his growing suspicions about the man, or, not man, kept getting confirmed, but he just wasn't phased. Maybe his therapist was right, maybe he was desensitized forever. Or, maybe there was just something kinda fucked up in him that made scary men more appealing than, well, scary.
Jack didn't just look at him, he stared. Even with the short distance between them, he squinted his eyes and looked at Robby like he could see his organs through his skin. His eyes were the shade of green that movie color grading put in storm clouds.
"Do you know what you're doing out here?" Jack asked.
Robby laughed. "Not really. Can you tell?"
"You know about what people say? What's in those woods?"
"A little."
"It's dangerous shit. I'd be packing my bags and leaving, if I were you."
With that confidence instilled, he climbed up to the hayloft and made it clear that he wasn't coming down anytime soon. Robby shot a cautionary glance toward the barn before looking down at the list in his hand and walking inside.
Strawberry jam, sure.
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There was a dog slinking around the farm. At least, Robby was pretty sure it was a dog.
He had seen it in the backyard, walking with it's tail down. It was a German shepherd, grayed right around the muzzle but young enough to look strong. Robby had never gotten a good look at it, but there was old dog kibble out on the porch and he was bored out of his mind out there.
He started leaving food out, and on some early mornings he'd see a blur of black, gray, and brown running from the bowl to the treeline.
Robby walked away from the kitchen window one morning, sighing into his coffee cup and satisfied with his observation of the dog for the day. He was too afraid of rabies to pet it or anything, but he liked the idea of one day having some farm dogs.
He went about his day, starting off with trying to mend a fence post his aunt never maintained.
He ended up kneeling in the grass, sweaty, frustrated, and out of his element. Whoever decided to make these fences with the world's worst wire was on his shit list.
He felt something while he was sitting there, back exposed to the field. The silent, prickly dread of being watched.
He turned and came face to muzzle with the dog he had been watching.
It watched him from a few feet away, head down and tilted, eyes sharp. It's ears stood tall on it's head, waiting rigid as a statue.
Robby stood cautiously. "Hey, buddy," he said, trying to sound calm. "I'm not gonna hurt you. You like that food on the porch, huh?"
Not a budge from the dog, minus the slow raise of it's tail. Robby stepped a half an inch closer.
The transitioned was immediate. The shepherd lunged, giving Robby exactly two seconds to pull his hand back before he presumably lost a finger for good. He stumbled back, hard, as a low, guttural growl ripped from the dog.
Don't come closer the dog seemed to say.
Robby froze, putting his hands up, watching the animal and debating if he should run for the house. His heart raced, not from fear but from realization.
The animal in front of home wasn't a stray looking for help, but something that was playing a game with him. Something that knew exactly what it was doing and how to do it.
Fuck the fence, Robby felt really out of his element now.
The shepherd held his gaze for a beat, intense and merciless. It turned and padded back to the woods, breaking into a full run. From behind, Robby could see that it was missing a hind leg. Still, it was faster than Robby ever could be.
Robby stopped leaving food on the porch, instead setting it further out in the yard.
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It was the first storm of the season. Robby could hear nothing but the pitterpatter of the rain and the song of droplets hitting the bottom of a bucket he put under a leak upstairs. He sat by the fire for a while, watching the rain it the windows.
Faintly, he wondered what the farmhand was up to. Last Robby had seen of him, he was fixing something in the barn.
He felt bad, imagining him working in the rain, and decided to go out and offer to help.
He pushed on the backdoor and met some resistance.
From out the door's window, he could see the German Shepherd curled up and soaking right in front of the door.
"Come on, bud," Robby sighed. "You can sit anywhere but there."
The dog sat up and gave him a mean snarl. Robby stepped back to hopefully avoid being bitten. Instead of nipping or snapping, the dog looked at him before brushing past him and laying by the fire.
Robby decided that was not his problem, and left to go check on Jack, who wasn't there. A truly fruitless journey, and now he had a probably rabid dog who liked to bite in his house. Shit.
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Jack wasn't shy, apparently.
Over the next few weeks, he made himself a regular occurrence. He didn't hesitate to knock on the door at any hour and make himself comfortable on the couch. He'd even gotten bold enough to simply let himself in, inevitably scaring the shit out of Robby.
Robby had grown pretty used to him. Jack wasn't a talkative guy, but he gave Robby a smile or two, so he figured they had bonded.
Robby never really wondered what Jack did when he wasn't at the barn or house. He just accepted that he was a secretive man, and he would never really know.
Robby went about his chores one afternoon, having just gotten in from a day spent in town. The sun had well set, so he looked over his shoulder cautiously with every step. He could shake his mild fear of Jack, but not the rest of the woods.
Robby stepped inside, new boots clacking on the half rotted wood as he reached for the ladder. He climbed up to the hayloft, pausing at the top to look around for what he needed.
A blanket was bundled up in the corner, Jack beneath it.
He raised his head and gave Robby a hard stare. Robby put a placating hand up.
"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up. Just came to dish out dinner."
Jack rubbed a hand down his face. "Already did it," he gruffed.
"Thanks…are you, uh, do you sleep out here?"
"Sometimes."
Robby frowned. It wasn't too cold during the days, but at night the temperature dropped. Jack had menacingly warned Robby enough about whatever lived in the trees and cornfields Robby was too scared to sow for him to feel bad leaving Jack here alone.
Robby had come to the conclusion that Jack wasn't one of the things he was always warning about. No, Jack was just a lonely, gruff man who had lived out in the middle of nowhere, presumably alone, for far too long.
"Why don't you come spend the night inside?" Robby hummed.
"I don't need to."
"I want you to, c'mon."
Jack seemed conflicted about bending to Robby's will, but he obeyed eventually. Like a poorly trained dog, he did as told reluctantly.
Inside, Robby showed him the guest room and left him to be for the night. Jack, however, did not let Robby be for the night.
Robby sat at the dining room table, looking over his plans and expenses for the month. He really was in over his head with this farm thing. He had no clue what he was doing aside from the few things his aunt had left behind for him and Jack's occasional input.
Jack walked downstairs in a tee shirt and his jeans an hour later. He walked to the sink and filled a glass, watching Robby sharply from the table.
"Why do you always look at me like that?" Robby hummed, too tired to stop himself.
"Like what?"
"Like you're gonna eat me."
"Maybe I am."
Robby looked up, finding a crooked smile on Jack's face. Huh. That was new. Robby didn't know he could do that. Jack walked back toward the guest room. Robby decided it was time for him to turn in, too.
Jack was leaning on the wall by Robby's bedroom, water glass in hand. Robby started to walk past him, but Jack crowded into his space.
Robby could hear his heart in his chest. This was how it happened. This was how he died. He let a strange man into his house and was facing the consequences.
Jack tilted his head at him, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. His eyes darted all over Robby's face, looking at him intense enough to set him on fire. "You let me in," Jack said. "You're either dumb, or you like danger." He was practically whispering, breath hitting Robby's cheek.
"Are you dangerous?" Robby asked.
"I am if you want me to be."
"Are you going to kill me or something?"
Jack laughed, a wolfish grin spreading on his face. "No."
He stepped closer, if that was even possible with how close they were.
"You did me a favor, letting me in tonight. Let me repay it," he hummed. "Or don't, and I'll leave and never come back. Choice is yours."
Robby knew he should've declined. He should've let Jack go and hired a new, less threatening farmhand. He should've looked into those grayish hazel eyes and turned him away. That would've been the smart thing to do. Unfortunately, Robby liked danger. More than that, he liked men like Jack.
So, instead of doing any of those better options, he led Jack into his bedroom.
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Robby was really getting worried about this mean ass dog. He had a tendency to let strays in, if Jack wasn't evidence enough. He noticed the dog eating less and less from the bowl, sometimes not even coming up to the house for full days at a time.
Robby tossed and turned one night, unable to fall asleep, so he sat on the back porch, watching the sun begin to set.
He heard a whining noise, and looked around to find the Shepherd dragging himself away from the trees. He seemed hurt, limping more than he usually did on his three legs. Robby watched him pull himself up to the house, seeing in the dim porch light how blood splattered his coat was. Grey fur was covered red haphazardly, as if he'd walked under a falling paint bucket.
Robby, for the entirety of his life, had always been too eager to help everyone but himself. Even if he got bit, contracted rabies, or found himself with a missing finger, he still wanted to help the poor, shaking thing.
"Hey, c'mere buddy," he mumbled, leaning down and offering out a hand.
The dog edged closer until he was on the porch steps, looking at Robby with that same aggression. Robby considered pulling his hand back before he got bit, but he kept his olive branch extended, waiting to get hit with it.
Instead, the dog put his blood crusted fur under Robby's hand, right by his ears. His drooping tail lifted half an inch.
Robby smiled and scratched gently. "Yeah, hey bud. I'm not gonna hurt you."
Robby led him in and took a damp cloth to his fur, listening to occasional whines of protest. He had a few little scratches, but nothing that would make him bleed as much as what was on him. Robby concluded that it wasn't his blood, but didn't want to consider what it could be.
The shepherd looked up at him like he was the first merciful thing he'd ever encountered. His tail thumped unwillingly when Robby scratched behind his ears. Robby had been told in his younger years as a doctor that he had a smile like Jay Gatsby, portraying unending reassurance and kindness. He had, of course, lost that quality over his many years. Still, he liked to think that it was there when he needed it to be, and he felt that with the grayish hazel of this violent dog's gaze that it was.
The dog reminded him of Jack, almost. That night, when they had finished what they entered the bedroom for, Jack started to leave immediately, searching the floor for his shirt. He had, somehow, managed to keep his pants mostly on. Impressive. Robby sat up on his elbow. "Leaving so soon?" Robby hummed, not disappointed but also not quite pleased.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to stay?"
"Do you want to stay?"
"I asked first."
"So? My question is more important."
Jack looked at his clothes on the floor. He fiddled with his dog tags, which Robby hadn't actually been able to read, but had assumed were Jack's. He wore a cross, small and hardly there. It was attached to his tags like an afterthought.
He climbed back into bed with Robby, and was there when they woke up. In those early hours of the morning, his eyes looked at Robby like he had shown him some great kindness.
Robby finished wiping blood off the dog's fur and looking it over. He didn't see any wounds too bad, just a few nicks and scratches.
More surprising than the dog showing up at all was what happened after Robby had finished working on him. He went and sat by the fire, and a few moments later the shepherd curled up by his leg. Robby scratched it obligingly, watching his tail thump against the floor.
When he pawed at the door a few hours later, Robby let him out and watched him run out into the belly of the empty night, wondering if he would ever seek out kindness in him again, or if he could go back to biting and snarling at the offer.
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Jack spent the night at Robby's pretty frequently, usually checking on the barn and coming in "just for a minute" before a minute turned into an hour and an hour into the whole night. That wasn't to say that Robby minded, because he absolutely did not. They had fallen into a strange relationship with no name. Again, no complaints.
One morning, Robby found him shaving the stubble on his jaw that he occasionally rubbed while thinking. He stood shirtless over the sink while Robby slid up behind him.
"Hey," Robby hummed.
"You're up," he said mindlessly, eyes still trained on his reflection.
"I didn't realize you stayed the night last night. Quit sneaking in," Robby teased.
Jack huffed a laugh, dragging the razor he'd apparently found down his cheek in a clean swipe. He shaved the way Robby's grandpa had. Grandad was an old veteran who did everything like he was still in the military. Robby's eyes flicked Jack's dog tags on his bare chest. He had taken the cross off.
"I made a new friend," Robby claimed, leaning on the wall beside the mirror so he could see Jack's face properly.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? The tractor doesn't count. That old piece of junk is no one's friend."
"No, no. It's a dog. This shepherd that I keep seeing."
Jack hummed thoughtfully.
"There's a lot of dogs out here," he said finally.
"Are there? He's the only one I've seen."
"Yeah. You should be careful. They're dangerous."
"I've come to the conclusion that either you think everything is dangerous, or I'm the weakest man alive."
Jack smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He rinsed the razor in the sink and wiped shaving foam off his jaw. He missed a spot, which Robby ran a thumb over to collect.
"I'm serious," Jack hummed. "Those dogs all hate people."
"Why's that?"
"Well, a lot of people used to live out here. Then they all moved away after…something, and left their farm dogs behind."
Robby nodded, leaning his head against the wall.
"Have you always lived out here?" Robby asked.
"Ain't nobody from here. If you end up out here, it's because something went wrong somewhere else…no offense."
Robby hummed and kissed his freshly shaven jaw before walking to the kitchen in search of coffee.
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Robby had never explored the woods around the farm much. To be honest, he was kind of scared of them. However, the pile of wood by the fireplace was dwindling and a storm was rolling in. So, Ruby put on his boots and big boy pants before making the walk out to the treeline.
All those nasty stories he got told as a kid came flooding back as he stood at the edge of the trees. He adjusted the strap of his uncle's shotgun he had slung over his shoulder and walked in.
Rotting, white churches surrounded him, buried behind foliage and trees. Many of them were covered in ivy, but some had the plants ripped off them and what looked like graffiti smattered on them. Carvings in the walls and paint streaks all claimed that God was missing, that he had abandoned these woods.
Robby looked down and saw dog or coyote paw prints in the mud. He remembered something his aunt used to say all the time about the farm dogs when Robby got worried about them. "Dogs out here don't die. They just chase something into the woods one day and never come back."
He shook the thought out of his head and started picking up kindling and a few big branches. He never had to do this chore, so he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. He really should've just ridden into town and gone to the firewood stand to buy some, but he was afraid he wouldn't beat the storm and the old truck wouldn't be able to take the weather.
He heard something. Barely audible, and if he wasn't so terrified off the woods already he probably would've missed it.
It sounded like wet chewing.
Robby started to turn back when he saw it. Under a stone statue of an angel, a pack of dogs feasted on something. He started to back away slowly, looking over the pack for the grayed shepherd. He didn't see him.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he fought the urge to scream.
He whipped around and saw Jack, looking at him without any of the gentle kindness he recently started extended to Robby. He was streaked with blood, and had this wild look in his eyes.
"Why the hell are you out here?" Jack muttered, tilting his head the way he always did in the beginning.
"Uh, I…I was getting firewood. Are you ok? You're all bloody."
"I told you not to come out here."
"Jack, are you ok?"
Jack clenched it jaw. His eyes looked through Robby rather than at him.
"Go inside," Jack huffed, pushing his shoulder.
Robby did as told, but cast a glance over his shoulder. Jack watched him, wiping blood off his face.
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Robby decided it was a good time to text his aunt. Jack never scared him too badly, but something about their meeting in the woods had creeped him out. Plus, he hadn't seen Jack come in the house in about a week now, which was unusual.
She hadn't given him the details to what nursing for or assisted living she had checked herself into, but Robby suspected that it was nowhere near town.
"Hey, Aunt Frankie. Did you ever have a farmhand? Or did you ever know a Jack?"
It took a few hours, but eventually he got his response.
"No, we never had a farmhand. Why? Do you think you need one?"
He shot back a reply, but felt the hairs on his neck stand up. Jack had been lying the whole time, and he hadn't known.
Robby slipped his pocket knife into his sleeve and each foot to the barn, where Jack was working with his hat pulled over his eyes. He hadn't so much as spoken to Robby in days, and spent all his time ether in the barn or, apparently, the woods. The occasional blood stains that Robby could ignore before were now prominent, staring at him from Jack's jeans and jackets.
"Jack," he hummed, saying the name so differently than how it usually sounded on his tongue.
He turned his head, but kept his hat pulled down so Robby couldn't see where he was looking,
"I talked to my aunt today," he said, ignoring how his voice shook with the accusation. "She said she never had a farmhand."
Jack turned, losing his head so Robby could see the shadows of his face. "I knew you'd figure it out one day. Didn't realize it would take so long, though," he rasped.
He took off his hat and stepped closer, movements slow but jerky. His dog tags clinked on is chest. He usually wore them under his shirts, but they hung above his shirt collar today, with the cross attached.
"So, now what?" Jack huffed, standing a few feet away.
"So, now you tell me what the hell is going on."
"What if I don't?"
"Then you run into those woods, and you don't come back."
Jack stepped closer, putting his face right by Robby's.
"Are you scared now?" he smiled, eyes empty of anything human that used to be in them.
"I've never been scared of you."
"But you are now, aren't you? That's why you've got that knife up your sleeve."
Robby took a step back. Jack laughed, not the warm chuckle he usually gave, but something mean and knowing. Something that was going to rip Robby apart.
"Go ahead, take that knife out and use it."
Robby opened his mouth, and didn't bother to stop the proclamation that came out.
"I love you," Robby said.
Jack wrinkled his nose. "No you don't. You don't know me. I'm nothing like you."
"You're-"
"I'm a monster. I've been stealing your livestock for months and dragging them out to the woods. This blood? It belongs to your cattle and the poor fucks who wander into the woods after I tell them not to."
Robby was about to speak, but Jack pushed past him. In the moonlit barn door, he transformed. His body shifted, the horrific sound of bones crunching and skin shifting accompanying. He stood as a grayed German Shepherd, with those piercing gray hazel eyes. He turned his head back to Robby, snarled, and ran off into the trees.
It was the most beautiful thing Robby had ever seen.
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It took a few days, but Robby eventually found Jack again. Turns out he was pretty good at avoiding people when he wanted to.
Robby found him staring at a stone angel with gore draped over it's delicate wings. He wondered if Jack had put that there, or something else that wandered out here.
Jack hadn't seen him yet. Robby didn't know what he was going to do if Jack did decide to rip his face off and put it on that angel too. He didn't bring his knife or shotgun, so as to not scare Jack further off.
Could Robby have just left him alone without searching the whole forest for him? Sure. That probably would've been the smart thing to do. Their budding love could sputter out, as Jack seemed to want it to. Robby could move back to Pittsburgh and act like none of it happened.
However, he hadn't lied about what he told Jack in the barn. He did love him, and he was willing to let him rip him apart to prove it.
Jack turned to look at him, finally. He looked more feral than he ever had, blood staining his hands and face. His stubble had more than grown back in, an unnatural look on him. He held a serious expression.
"Why are you here?" He asked, barely a whisper.
"I came to look for you."
"You found me. Now what, you kill me and rid the world of one more monster?"
"No, I wanted to ask you to come back."
Jack made a face at him. A few dogs walked out from the surrounding trees, all snarling and snapping their teeth in Robby's direction. Jack cast them a glance and they stopped, but stayed there to watch. Robby got the impression that they, too, were not just dogs.
"Why would I do that?" Jack said. "I belong out here."
"If you want to stay, that's fine. But, I do miss you."
Jack looked at him, the first look in a while that he'd given that wasn't loaded with malice. He looked like he had when he dragged himself up to the porch in his other form that night, tail between his legs looking for help.
His face softened, but he didn't speak.
"I don't think you're a monster," Robby said, finally. "I think you're more like me than you think you are."
Jack agonized over the opportunities before him. The dogs retreated back into the woods. His shoulders slumped and he followed Robby back to the house, where he allowed him to wipe the blood off him and lay down in bed together.
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It took a few months, but eventually Jack was back to his old self. He spent every night curled up beside Robby in bed, occasionally as a shepherd and occasionally as a man.
One evening, Robby was sitting in the living room, fiddling with and old VHS player. He heard the sound of Jack coming downstairs from the guest room where he spent some of his days, and looked up to see him in a borrowed shirt and boxers. Robby smiled at him and patted the spot beside him.
Jack wore a thoughtful expression as he padded across the floor and laid his head down in Robby's lap, laying on the couch.
"Who knew you were such a lapdog, huh?" Robby hummed, tangling a hand in his curly hair.
Jack smiled up at him. He had been pretty quiet for the past few days, melancholy almost.
"What's up with you lately?" Robby's asked warmly, scratching his head the way he knew he liked.
"Did you ever wonder how I got like this?" He asked.
"Like what?"
"Y'know. Half human half…whatever."
Robby hummed. "I guess I've wondered once or twice."
Jack looked out at the room, thinking quietly to himself. "I was a combat medic in the military. There was this guy. He said he got bit by something and came to me begging me to make whatever it was stop burning. I thought they looked like human teeth marks, but i fixed him up. I guess I…I don't know. They put him in quarantine and said that anyone who touched him had to get checked for…something. I ended up getting sent home on account of my leg, and never told anyone that I patched him up. After that I…felt different."
Robby watched his eyes as he talked, practically seeing the events in the blacks of Jack's pupils. "How did you end up out here? In the woods?"
"After I came back, my wife said I was…different. Like I was sick or something. She didn't want me around the kids, so we split up and I went out to look for someone to cure me. Some guy told me to come out here. Eventually, I gave up on being normal again and met a bunch of other people like me."
Robby hummed and toyed with his hair, watching him fall asleep in his lap.
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It only took a few years for them to get married.
They spent their days working on the farm, sitting by the fire together, and curled up in bed.
Robby could live content, knowing that Jack knew he wasn't a monster. Instead, he was Robby's husband and dedicated farm dog.