#he runs away from fights; he shrinks and cowers when threatened/seeing a weapon; he still gags and uses a hanky at some bodies

[lisbonsteresa]

[sorcererinthestars]

The Wolf Inside

In the hellstorm we are currently living, the RT Writers Discord called off their Secret Skeleton event. However, I was almost done with my piece and I thought, since it has nothing to do with The Offender, I would still share it. Maybe we need to be revitalized in our work, in our love of those who we still have.  Trigger Warning: Suicide Mention. This is sort of dark/angsty, but no major character death. It’s for spooky season, after all!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994361

Michael is a werewolf. Gavin begs to see that part of his life, and nearly pays the ultimate price. (Ragehappy/Mavin.)

--

As he presses himself farther into his closet and shoves his fist in his mouth to stop the gasping whimpers that are ripping themselves out of his chest, he knows this is the end. It’s curious, knowing when you were going to meet your death. He had hoped he would go out in bed, surrounded by family, but no.

He was going to meet his death hidden in a closet behind a load of clothes, a balled fist in his mouth to stifle the sobs and a bent metal coat hanger in his hand to use as a weapon.

The noises outside were muffled, but easily heard when he was straining to locate them. A scuffle, the sound of a chair moving and hot, labored breathing. A small whine and then — crash! — the sound of something glass shattering.

It was Gavin’s idea. He had pressed for this, he had said it was okay. He had honestly begged, wanting to know what happened when the transformation came. It was always a secret between them, a gap. It was something Michael never wanted to talk about, always kept hidden. Once a month, he would leave their home, disappear somewhere for a few days.

Gavin never knew if the other was safe. He could never know for certain if this would be the time that Michael would never return to him, would be gone forever and he would be left waiting alone at home, checking his phone for a call that would never come.

So he had begged. Take me with you, he pleaded. We can rent a cabin. I can stay inside, safe. You go do what you need to do, but at least I’ll be near if you need me.

Michael had protested and as Gavin shrinks farther back against the wood of the closet, trying to hide himself and his scent under moldering blankets, he finally fucking understands the reason for that protest. Michael was dangerous. He guesses he must have not fully comprehended that, not really. Yes, Michael was a dangerous creature who transformed once a month, but he was also his fiancé. Almost his goddamn husband. And the fact that Michael tried to keep a part of himself so integral to his being away from him made Gavin upset.

As the sounds came up the stairs and the snuffling grew louder, along with the panting and the growls and sound of sharp claws ripping its way through the wood, Gavin knew he should learn to leave some things the fuck alone. If he had time after tonight to worry about anything.

Michael had got bit as a child, he had admitted to Gavin over a year into dating. He had been playing in the woods under the light of the full moon and he had gone to the wrong place at the wrong time. Thankfully, he had managed to get away. Most people who got bit didn’t have to worry about the transformation. They were eaten first.

Gavin couldn’t help but think of the scenes Michael had described to him. Of bodies ripped to shreds, of nothing left of people but pieces of their clothes. The thing that Michael became was not him. He had pleaded with Gavin to understand that. He had little to no control over the beast. It overwhelmed him, terrorized him, and when he came back, he had a full belly, a raging headache, and only sensations and fear where there should be memories.

But Gavin had insisted he wanted to be with Michael during this months’ transformation. He had done the stupid puppy dog eyes that Michael pretends to hate, pouting lower lip and all, and had threatened to follow him if he went alone. So Michael had taken him. They’d rented a cabin deep out in the woods, far away from any civilization. It had been almost an hour drive on empty dirt roads to get out here to this hunters’ cabin.

The man who had rented it to them had scoffed. Warned them of what lurked out there this time of the month. A creature, he had said. Something bigger than anything ought to be. Something that disappeared, something they couldn’t catch.

Michael had just shifted awkwardly. As they sat side by side in their Jeep, he had turned to Gavin and turned a bit red, as if he was trying to fight back his anger. Again, he had tried to get Gavin to go. He had pressed his credit card into Gavin’s hand, asked him to get a hotel room back in the city. He would pay and he would join Gavin there as soon as he could. It was dangerous, he had insisted, among other choice words.

Gavin always knew his stubbornness and blind loyalty was likely going to get him hurt or killed, but didn’t realize how literal that was going to be. Now, as he stared at the ceiling of the closet in order to try not to cry, he kind of wanted to throw himself off the roof to stop the guilt. If something did happen and Michael came back and realized…

It was funny, how the mind fixated on the lesser of two problems in a bad situation. Here he was, about to die at the hands of a creature from a fucking fairy tale or a bad dream, and he was worried about how Michael was going to take it.

The first night at the cabin had been fine. Michael seemed tense, but they had set up safeguards around the front and back of the home. They made dinner, just pasta over a hot plate, and watched the stars. The moon was almost but not completely full. Gavin had learned that Michael knew a great deal about the night sky. Maybe he even fell a bit more in love. There wasn’t any electricity for video games. Turned out they didn’t need any.

There were times when they were sitting and chatting that Michael would go quiet and stiff. A breeze would come by and distract him, or he would shift and grunt like he was uncomfortable. It was the beginning of the shift, Gavin theorized, but Michael wouldn’t talk about it and Gavin knew better than to press him. He was lucky to even be allowed to be here, to share this with him. He wouldn’t ruin it by getting in the way.

He would share more than the experience with Michael now. The creature — the thing — was nearing the second floor now. The bedroom wasn’t even a bedroom, really. More like a walled-off loft. And he was sitting in the back, trapped. Like a rat in a cage. Ready for the cat.

When the howl came, Gavin almost wets himself, cowering even farther back. It sounded close, but it also sounded anguished. Like he could hear the pain of the creature, the rage and frustration by being able to smell its prey, but not chase it.

Michael had been nearly certain that when transformed, he would leave the cabin and get distracted by deer and bear and whatever the hell else was out here at night. But he couldn’t be certain, so as the day started turning dusky, he had taken the truck out into the woods. No argument could be made here. Michael was adamant that this was as far as Gavin would go. And as much as Gavin wanted to see the beast with his own two eyes, he had agreed to keep the peace.

They hadn’t counted on the senses of the Creature to be able to smell Gavin’s scent from miles away. Michael had only been gone a couple hours before Gavin started hearing the sounds of something heavy in the woods. The moonlight was like liquid silver as it washed across the clearing. Something was out there.

Gavin had at first wanted to see it. Maybe Michael had changed his mind, maybe he had come back to share this part of himself entirely with Gavin. But as the Wolf, in all its glory, smashed out of the clearing, Gavin’s bowels nearly failed as he stared down at the animal.

Michael’s werewolf form was eight feet long and at least five feet tall. It was thick and furry, with sharp teeth and yellow eyes. When it snarled, all razor rows of teeth were shown. This thing was a predator, plain and simple. There was nothing of Michael left.

Now, sitting in the closet and waiting to be torn to shreds by the man he loved, Gavin considers his options. They were slim to none. He could try to stab the eye of the beast when it broke in, but that would potentially hurt Michael as well. Maybe even blind him. Could he live with that? It would certainly be better than the alternative — death — but what if it didn’t even stop the Wolf?

He could try to run, but the idea of that thing chasing him when it was faster, could see better, and was stronger than him was less than appealing. He shivers from fear and shrinks down even deeper into a ball.

Why the fuck had he decided to go? Why had Michael let him?

Because, a stupid voice in his head had whispered, becuase he wanted to be loved and accepted for all of him as much as you wanted to know all of him. You’re both idiots.

Love made you do stupid things, but this had to be among the stupidest.

But he didn’t have time to think anymore as the door to the room was shoved inwards with a harsh slam that shook the house. The Wolf roars and Gavin bites through the skin of his finger to keep himself from crying out, blood hot and iron and red against his lips.

That was his last mistake. Like an arrow loosed from the bow, the Wolf whips around and hyperfocuses on the hot scent of fresh blood in the closet. And without another moment of hesitation, the door rips open and there the Wolf is.

Gavin forgets to breathe. For a moment they sit there, staring, the giant Wolf’s breast heaving with every garbled breath, saliva dripping out of his mouth. And Gavin, small, human, and breakable, staring back with wide eyes.

Then Michael roars, a loud agonizing sound that reveals rows and rows of sharp teeth, and Gavin knows this was where he dies.

A paw whips out faster than can be seen and clobbers Gavin in the shoulder. His arm supernovas into pain before immediately going numb, causing him to shriek and fly forward into the room and out of his shelter. Claws rake across the skin of his back in the process, blood immediately wetting his t-shirt. If anything, it was like a shark, enraging the beast further, who snarls and paces as it surrounds him.

Panic driving him to lengths he never would have considered, Gavin tries to stab with the coat hanger and all he manages to do is glance the flimsy piece of metal off of Michael’s iron hide. This refocuses the beast, which Gavin notices seems to be… pacing?

It stalks around him, snarling and spitting, but … not attacking. Like some invisible forcefield was keeping the beast away. Gavin risks trying to move.

Bad idea. The Wolf lunges, capturing Gavin’s ankle in his jaws. He yanks and Gavin slams unceremoniously down on the ground, dragged a few feet away from the closet until he’s exposed in the middle of the room. Blood drips from the teeth marks in his legs, but Gavin almost doesn’t notice as the Wolf hovers over him and teeth, saliva, and bright yellow eyes become all he can see.

His breath is ragged. What do you do when you see your death? Gavin’s lower lip starts quivering and he tries to bite it as tears well in his eyes. “M-Michael,” he gasps. “P-please don’t.”

And the Wolf… doesn’t.

A beat of silence between them, the heaving hulking form pinning Gavin to the ground, blood pooling under the man from the cuts and scratches along his back, one arm limp and obviously dislocated. He could rip his throat out, but he… doesn’t.

Michael.

Michael is inside the Wolf. With a gasp, Gavin realizes. Somewhere inside this beast is his boyfriend, his fiancé, and despite claiming he had no control, something is stopping the beast from killing him. Gavin can almost laugh with relief, but — the Wolf isn’t moving. And sooner or later, Michael is going to lose to the Will of the Beast.

“Michael,” Gavin whispers. “Michael, if you’re in there, please. It’s me. It’s Gavin, your boyfriend. I love you, please….”

The Wolf actually whines. It’s a terrifying sound, but its the sound of confusion and not rage. Progress. He just needed to keep talking. “Michael, baby, please. You’re in control. Just… get it to go. Turn around and go catch deer. P-please, god, no…” The Wolf lowers his head and takes a big sniff of Gavin’s face, the teeth agonizingly close, the saliva smearing across his cheek. Gavin doesn’t dare to move, as if the slightest extra sound or movement would break this spell that they are weaving together over this rabid animal.

Then, every millisecond drawn out to the longest amount of time possible, the Wolf rears back and steps off of Gavin. It looks at him and roars again furiously, shaking the house, and Gavin screws his eyes shut. He fucked up, this is it…

But then he hears the sound of claws on wood and the large form of a Wolf shoving its way through the cabin and then blissful, complete silence.

Laying on the floor, bleeding and in pain, Gavin finally allows himself to weep. Not in fear, but in relief. In love — Michael knew him. Michael wouldn’t allow that demon to kill him, no matter how little control he claimed to have. Tomorrow they would talk, tomorrow they would atone for their many many sins that came about that night, but tonight…

Tonight he would lay here and cry until the sun warms the trees and his fiancé comes back to him.

Some things are better left a mystery, after all.

[juju-on-that-yeet]

There Are Worse Things I Could Do, Chapter 8/10

Summary: After days of loneliness and frustration and sad, circular thoughts, Yancy finally hits rock bottom and does something he can’t take back. Warnings: Strangulation, murder, blood Characters: Yancy

Read on AO3

Enjoy - or not, this one’s rough ;w;

~

It’s on a totally normal night – normal at this point, anyway – that everything falls apart.

Yancy is, once again, woken by a cop when he tries to sleep on a park bench. Yancy is, once again, grumbling internally as he looks for somewhere secluded to sleep.

“The hell are they talkin’ about, tellin’ me I can’t sleep there. What if I was homeless, huh? Then what? Assholes.”

“True, but you aren’t homeless. You’re just being a stubborn idiot.”

“I’m not going back! I can’t fucking go back, don’t you get it!?”

Yancy is so frustrated he kicks a pebble in front of him on the sidewalk. It soars into the road and lands in a puddle, so small it hardly splashes. He’s not sure who he’s talking to. He’s never sure when he has conversations like this in his mind. He only ever talks to himself like this when he’s stressed, and he’s been stressed for days.

“This sucks. This can’t suck any worse than going home.”

“Can it, though? I still can’t stop thinking about Lio. The only good thing about this stupid fucking city outside Ego Inc. is that I don’t have to avoid Lio in the hall anymore.”

“You’re being selfish. There are other people at Ego Inc. who miss you. There are people looking for you. Don’t they matter to you?”

“Of course they do, but I just…I can’t.”

Yancy is a coward, that much is not news. He shrinks away from authority, pushes away parental figures. He gets angry and tries to swallow the problems his anger causes. For a man so hellbent on being safe, on staying enclosed and crowded and away from the world, he spends a lot of his time in captivity running from different parts of himself. Not all of them; he would never run from the part of him that sings, that dances, that listens to showtunes and taps his feet. He would never run from the goofy side, the fun-loving side, the side that loves his friends. But the anger, the equal hatred and fear of those above him, the depression and drama? He’d prefer to be free of those.

But there’s nowhere in LA he can run to get away from his own shitty personality.

Yancy keeps walking, actively shutting down the racing thoughts trying to admonish him further. But if he can’t yell at himself for the situation he’s gotten himself into, all he can think about is Lio.

Why the hell does he still love him?

He doesn’t know how long he’s been on the run, the days have blurred together. But it’s been many, in addition to the week after his confession he spent tiptoeing around Lio. Why doesn’t he hate Lio for everything? Why can’t he just get mad at Lio for ignoring and avoiding him, why can’t he curse Lio for breaking his heart? Why is Lio so impossible to get over? But it’s not like Yancy doesn’t know the answers. Lio never meant to hurt him. Lio is probably confused and uncertain, probably really worried about him right now. Lio’s not a bad person, he just didn’t know what to do. Yancy hid his love so well, too well, and Lio didn’t know how to respond to it. Yancy can’t blame him for that.

It means that everything Yancy fell in love with is still there, unmarred. Lio is still achingly handsome, unhindered by any secret cruelty. Lio is still supportive, still caring, still brave and adventurous, still too cool for school in the most endearing way, still secretly a huge dork who loves his friends and only ever makes enemies by being too flirtatious, too affectionate. It’s always genuine, nothing that Yancy can hate him for. There’s nothing sour in Lio, nothing bitter, nothing mean. It’s only Yancy’s own baggage, his own stupid crush, that makes the good in Lio hurt.

Yancy’s so lost in his sad, circular thoughts that it takes him a while to realize he’s being followed.

Once Yancy notices the man matching his speed about ten paces behind him, a rush of anger fills him.

“How the hell did I not notice this guy? What does he want with me, anyway??”

“He probably wants to mug you.”

“It’s not like I have any money!”

“But he doesn’t know that.”

“I’ve been wearing the same clothes for days, and I haven’t showered since I snuck into that twenty-four hour gym the other night. What about me makes me look like I have money!?”

“Maybe he’s just an idiot. But he’s an idiot who’s following you. What are you gonna do about it?”

Yancy’s more angry than worried. He can take a few punches, and he’s gotten less pathetic at fighting ever since Yandere took him under his wing. But what if this guy has a weapon? Yancy figures he will if he has any sense; it’s much harder to threaten people with your bare hands. It’s so late at night there’s no place busy enough to escape to, no crowds to get lost in. The man continues to follow Yancy down the street as he wonders to nowhere.

As Yancy presses forward, contemplating his shit luck, he decides to get this over with and ducks into an alley. He hears the footsteps behind him break into a run, and whirls around to meet them.

“I ain’t got any money, fuck off!!” Yancy yells at the man.

He doesn’t even pause as he runs at Yancy, with a look on his face like he doesn’t believe him.

The guy’s a bit bigger than Yancy, so he can’t avoid being tackled to the ground. He struggles, though, flailing out punches and trying to remember the training Yandere gave him. He must be doing something right, because the man is unable to hold Yancy down and pull out the weapon – a knife, it looks like – in a sheath at his side at the same time.

Yancy hasn’t been in a fight like this in a long time. Even when he went out with Yandere and Chrome he avoided the worst of the action, mostly due to Yandere protecting him. In prison he’d start fights with every newbie, and he did much of the same when he first joined Ego Inc. But he hasn’t had any reason to fight since, and his blood is boiling with it. Facing off against the mugger, punching, getting punched, watching the mugger’s hands as keenly as he positions his own, looking for the best moment to buck him off – all are sensations that Yancy’s body remembers and falls into as easy as breathing, fueled by anger.

Even when he finally gets the guy off him the guy doesn’t let up, and Yancy has to block the knife to keep from getting his face sliced open. The knife opens a line in his arm and Yancy’s vision goes red. The mugger must’ve expected him to stop and cower, but instead, Yancy tackles him twice as hard as the mugger tackled Yancy before, sending the knife sailing out of his hands, away from the fight. But Yancy doesn’t need it.

He’s beyond angry now, the gash in his arm doesn’t bleed rage, it bleeds inhibitions. Yancy’s frustration at everything boils over: His confession to Lio, the rejection, the heartache and tears, his journey away from Ego Inc., his bad night with Danielle, every night after, every night a cop woke him up and make him sleep elsewhere, the stupid squirrel that tried to get him to go home, the voice of reason in Yancy’s mind that keeps telling him the same, the thoughts of Lio that chase it away, evading the other egos, missing his friends, missing Lio, still wanting him, still loving him, still being too stupid to get over him.

Yancy doesn’t feel human. He feels like a devil, like something red-hot and full of hatred, rage, awful angry adrenaline meant to kill.

Wait, kill?

Yancy comes back to himself to find he’s straddling the mugger. His hands are so tight around the mugger’s neck that they ache from exertion. The mugger is motionless. He’s quiet. His eyes are open. There’s no pulse against Yancy’s hands.

Yancy throws himself back with a cry, scrambling away from the mugger.

“No no no no no, not again, not again, not again, not again–”

He curls into a ball and he’s a teenager again, he’s barely eighteen facing his mother in the worst fight they’ve ever had, she’s screaming at him to get a grip, he’s screaming at her to shut up, she’s suddenly not angry anymore, just scared, but Yancy stays angry, stays angry, and soon she isn’t screaming anymore, and Yancy’s hands hurt, they hurt, they shake, just like now, now he’s done it again, he’s still that horrible person who killed someone, he’s still a murderer, all that time in Happy Trails and he’s still the same awful person he always was.

Yancy is sobbing when he lifts his head to see someone near the mouth of the alley. A young woman, phone in hand, eyes wide and skin pale. She’s calling the police, or she’s done it already.

“Kill her. Quick. The knife’s over there. No witnesses.”

Yancy curls up again and wails, wails over the voice in the back of his head that’s no longer the voice of reason. He screams with terror at himself that the thought would even cross his mind, especially after it did once before, when his father came into the kitchen and Yancy couldn’t explain, but the knife on the counter made an explanation unnecessary, and it was so much messier than Yancy’s mother and the blood never came out, it never came out of Yancy’s hands, it’s still there now, it always will be.

Yancy will always be a killer.

When the police come, he doesn’t bother running. He doesn’t bother resisting. He puts his hands up when they ask, he stays still when they put on handcuffs, he allows himself to be pushed into the police car, he remains quiet on the drive to the station.

The anger leaving his system has left him cold, numb, leaking tears. He barely looks up the entire time he’s being processed, except for when they take his mugshot. The whole series of events is familiar, and though the initial shock is wearing off, a part of Yancy is still back at that time, still a frightened boy who just killed his parents. The EMT who wraps up his injured arm doesn’t meet his eyes. The holding cell they put him in is empty, lonely, as lonely as he’s been since he left Ego Inc.

“Fuck, what are the others gonna say? What are they gonna think? What’s gonna happen now?”

All Yancy knows is that he’s a long way from Happy Trails, and wherever he ends up next won’t be nearly so lenient.

Left alone, he spirals, he goes back to loud, ugly sobs and begging wails. How did it get so bad? How did he go so far? How did he end up here?

Yancy, for the first time in days, completely and unequivocally wants to go home.

Eventually, so late at night it’s better called morning, a guard tells him he’s allowed a phone call. By then, the crashing grief has only tapered a little, leaving Yancy shaky and scared and weepy. He jumps at the chance for a call, not even caring that he’s being observed. When they lead him to the phone, he doesn’t hesitate.

He can’t call Lio, like hell he’d call Lio about this. He can’t call Magnum either, the man doesn’t have a phone at all.

But Yandere has a phone. Yandere will know what to do.

After he dials the number and the phone begins to ring, it occurs to him that Yandere won’t recognize the jail’s number. He might not answer it. The thought sends him into such panic that his heart cracks with relief when Yandere picks up.

“Who are you and how did you get this number?” Yandere asks, voice hard and cautious.

“Y-Yan…” Yancy sobs, and for a long moment he can’t say anymore, only continue to cry. It’s been so long since he heard the voice of someone he knows.

“Yan-kun!?” Yandere cries, loud enough to hurt Yancy’s ears. “Yan-kun, where are you, are you okay, what–”

“I…” Yancy sobs again, trying to force out the words. “I d-did something a-awful. Yan, I-I killed him, I didn’t m-mean to–”

“Oh, Yancy,” Yandere gasps, voice colored with sympathy that Yancy knows he doesn’t deserve, “You’re calling me from jail, aren’t you?”

Yancy whimpers in response.

“Okay, don’t worry, just �� just tell me where you are. What station are you in?”

Yancy didn’t pay enough attention as he was being processed to get the name, but he answers Yandere’s other questions about the place as best as he can, through tears.

“Yan-Yan, shhh, it’ll be okay,” Yandere murmurs, clearly wishing he could offer physical comfort. “I’ll tell Yami what’s going on, and the Googles will figure out where you are, and then Yami or Wil will come get you. Just hang in there, Yan-Yan, we’ll fix this. You’ll be home soon.”

He says it like it’s that easy. He says it like Dark expunging Yancy’s arrest and taking him home will solve this. But Yandere’s not like Yancy; there’s something in his mind that lets him kill without remorse, something that lets him kill for fun. Yancy can’t understand it, the same way Yandere, as caring to Yancy as he is, could never understand how murder weighs on Yancy’s heart.

Still, the thought of going home gives him strength. He’s a little surprised at himself for wanting to leave jail so soon after going back. Maybe he’s changed, grown a little since he left Happy Trails. Maybe he trusts himself to do better next time. And besides, going home and seeing Lio is preferable to staying in a newer, rougher prison, one where Yancy would have no friends and no hope of getting any. He can’t fool himself: He’d be eaten alive in any prison but Happy Trails.

“Is Ego Inc. just the default place to go, then? Is it the lesser of two evils now? I still deserve to pay for this.”

“Oh, you will. Dark’s going to be PISSED.”

Oh, right. Yancy hadn’t thought of that.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Yancy sits in holding until sunlight breaks. He does not sleep, and his hands do not stop shaking.