While Stumbling Where Our Hearts Beat Regular Time [2/2]
part one
Upstate, Kevin’s old pack consists of mainly family, but they’ve always been open and welcoming to strangers. In the years since Kevin first started changing, their pack had grown to over a dozen, with only the core eight actual blood relations. They don’t hunt humans, either, like where Kevin is now, but the difference - the difference is that they’re very isolated, and it’s easy to avoid any human interaction at all on the full moon. There are fields and forests that stretch on for miles. So for some of them, maybe, it’d been more a lack of accessibility than any moral code. Kevin has never really thought about it that way before.
Now, though, with Zac grinning this big, friendly, all-teeth grin at Kevin, leaning back against his kitchen sink - Kevin feels dread settle in his stomach. They won’t let Zac get away with it, if he’s responsible.
Kevin doesn’t want to be mixed up in the middle of this, but he still has a sense of pack, something in him still considers Zac his own, so it’s hard to keep a clear head about it all. Zac has always been a little bit more than Kevin could handle. Always bigger and meaner, too, like some switch flips in his head with his change - a personality split that makes his affable human form that much more disturbing.
Kevin says, “You can’t stay, Zac.”
Zac keeps his grin and says, “Sure I can,” and rings an arm around Kevin’s shoulders, tugging him into his side.
*
There’s word of another attack, this one closer to a residential area, and Bryar pulls Kevin aside to make sure he’s all right.
“I’m fine,” Kevin says.
Bryar eyes him steadily. He says, slow, “Right.”
“I am,” Kevin insists, even though he isn’t, exactly. He doesn’t know how to make Zac leave, and he doesn’t know how to keep everyone else from blaming Zac for the killings.
Bryar’s gaze drifts past his shoulder, and then Kevin feels a warm, calloused hand wrap over his nape, and Kevin melts a little, like his body already knows it’s Mike, even though he can’t see him.
This is new. Mike hasn’t even looked at him in weeks, and now he’s silently pressing up all along his back, and Bryar’s nodding at him, short and decisive, and Kevin thinks maybe they’ve decided something about him.
Mike’s chin is on his shoulder, and then Mike’s voice is in his ear, soft and low. “Who is it?” he says.
“Uh.”
Bryar crosses his arms over his chest and widens his stance, like he’s settling in for a long wait.
“Kevin,” Mike says, and his other hand settles at his waist, fingers brushing his hipbone.
This, this right here, Kevin thinks, is not fair at all. “I don’t know.”
Mike’s nails dig shallow grooves in Kevin’s nape. “That’s a lie,” he says.
“It’s not-”
“Greta says you knew him,” Bryar says, and Kevin hates this. Hates that he feels like he can’t tell them the truth. That Zac, right then, is probably eating all his food, sprawled out on his couch.
“I don’t-”
Mike’s blunt teeth graze the side of his throat, Kevin shivers, then Mike clamps down harder, more pressure than sting, and Kevin’s mind whites out - when he blinks clear again he thinks only seconds have passed, and he feels Mike’s forehead heavy on his shoulder blade, and Bryar’s saying, “Think very carefully about lying to us again,” and Kevin feels like crying and he feels like curling up inside of Mike’s arms and he feels like running away.
He swallows it all back and says thickly, “He’s staying on my couch.”
*
Brendon swings down from his fire escape, landing like a cat in front of Kevin as he passes by. He flips his hat off his head with a flourish, tucks it under his arm. “Interesting company you’re keeping,” he says.
Kevin stares at him. “What?”
Brendon grins, wide and horrible. “You should warn him about strangers in the big bad city, he almost let me inside.”
“What?”
“Oh, seriously, you worry too much.” Brendon waves a hand. “He caught on before it got that far.” He leans his face close to Kevin’s, grin never dropping. “We’re not so bad, you know,” he says.
Kevin can’t blink. He can feel the tip of Brendon’s nose touch his, but he can’t move away. And then Brendon’s jerking back, laughing, and Mike’s shoving at Brendon’s shoulder and calling him a dickwad, and then there’s only Mike, breathing hard, standing on the sidewalk in a thin jacket and jeans with holes in the knees.
Mike growls a little under his breath, then says, “I’m coming up,” and Kevin correctly guesses that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.
*
Mike and Zac very obviously hate each other on sight.
Zac shows it in wide smiles and hostile eyes, and Mike just scowls and looks like he’s two seconds away from punching Zac in the face.
Kevin would be amused if he wasn’t very close to having a panic attack.
He hides in the kitchen and dials Joe on his cell and hisses, “Help,” when Joe picks up on the third ring, because it’s the only thing he can think to do.
“What’s wrong?”
Kevin takes a deep breath. “Did you send Zac here?”
“What, did-no, are you kidding, Zac’s an obsessive freak, you know he loves you, right?”
“No, I-what?” Kevin shoves a hand through his hair. “Joe, Zac’s here. He’s been here for two days.”
“And you’re just telling me now?”
“Do not tell Nick,” Kevin says. He’s regretting this whole call now. He really thought maybe-but that’s stupid. Nick and Joe trust him, even if they’d probably panic if he ever missed a check-in call.
Joe says, “I might have to.”
“I’m handling it,” Kevin says. He’s not, but it’s better than having his brothers show up. Then it’ll be a party.
“Kev-”
“No, it’s fine, I’m just, you know, trying to avoid Mike killing him.”
Joe snickers, slyly amused. “Oh.”
Kevin’s cheeks heat up. “It’s not like that.” He doesn’t think it’s like that, but he’s really not so sure.
“Yeah, I’m having a hard time believing that,” Joe says, and Kevin hangs up on him.
*
Kevin has trouble sleeping that night. He strains to hear any noises from the outer room and he tosses and turns, body strung tight with nerves. He’s not even sure why Mike’s still there - the full moon isn’t for another three weeks, and Kevin’s known Zac for five years, he really doesn’t think he’d hurt him.
But Kevin isn’t going to throw Mike out, and Mike seems determined to camp out in his single armchair, so. So now Kevin’s just waiting for some sort of brawl to break out in the middle of his living room.
He sighs heavily, eyes wide on the ceiling. Light from a streetlamp throws patterns in the shape of his windows, and with each blink, the room seems to grow brighter and brighter. He rests an arm over his face, tries to will his muscles to relax, one by one, cataloging all his parts until he gets to his head, his mouth, his nose. And then he feels the bed dip and he jerks tense again, heart pounding.
“What-”
“They can hear your bed creaking in Canada, kid, just fucking go to sleep.”
Kevin inhales sharply. Mike’s shifting on the other side of his bed, he’s lying down, and Kevin is having trouble breathing. “What are you-”
Mike curls an arm over Kevin’s waist, tugs him up against him, turning on his side, his weight warm and solid and-familiar, all along Kevin’s body. Mike spreads a hand on his stomach and says, “Sleep, Jonas.”
Kevin wriggles a little in his grip, he’s at an awkward angle, and he finally settles with Mike spooning up against his back, Mike’s damp breath on his nape. Mike tips his head forward ‘til they’re touching, forehead to the top of Kevin’s spine. Kevin’s pretty sure Mike’s not only still wearing all his clothes, but that he’s not even under the blankets. And Kevin always sleeps in full flannel pajamas in the winter, but this still feels like the most intimate Kevin’s ever been with anybody ever, and Kevin’s had sex. Once. And he was going to marry her, except it turns out she’d had a real problem with, uh, his kind.
“Christ, kid,” Mike’s voice is muffled, “shut your brain off or I’ll shut it off for you.” He mouths the knob of Kevin’s spine; Kevin feels the light scrape of teeth, and he lets out a long breath, feels the release of air all the way down to his fingertips, his toes.
He doesn’t even remember closing his eyes.
*
“You know the story about the man and the lion?” Ross says without looking up from where he’s hunched over the front counter.
“Huh?”
Ross flips his magazine closed, pins Kevin with a look, like maybe he’s judging Kevin’s ability to read. “The man that pulls a thorn from the lion’s paw. That story.”
Kevin bites his lower lip, not sure where this is going. “I guess?”
“Right.” Ross straightens up on his stool and pushes his hair back off his forehead. “The man helps the lion, and the lion decides to let the man live instead of eating him. Later, the man’s condemned to death in the arena, only the lion who’s supposed to kill him is the same one he’d helped earlier. So the lion recognizes him, remembers his kindness, and chooses to greet him as a friend instead. Now,” he taps his fingers on the cover of his magazine, “imagine that the man, under certain conditions, could probably tear the lion apart, and that the lion is actually a sick fuck who’s partial to psycho mind fuckery. Imagine that, and you have Mike and Bill.”
“So,” Kevin says, trying to remember what that fable was about, “they’re friends.” Although that part’s kind of always been obvious.
“Yeah.” Ross snorts. “Yeah,” he says again, “only the problem is, there’s another way that story ends.” He arches his eyebrow pointedly, waits a beat, then goes back to his reading.
“Um.” Kevin gets what’s implied here, but- “What’s the other ending?”
“The lion’s hungry. So he eats him anyway.”
*
Zac hangs out at the bookstore exactly once, but Ross keeps glaring at him and Zac spends a half hour spread out on the floor in the travel section, whining about how bored he is, so after that Kevin isn’t sure what Zac does with his days.
At night, he’s still on Kevin’s couch.
Mike, after that one showdown, is essentially pretending Zac doesn’t exist at all. The only good thing about that is that Mike can apparently only ignore one person at a time, so Kevin’s somehow back on his radar. At least, Kevin thinks this is a good thing. He really, really likes it when Mike isn’t ignoring him.
Mike isn’t being totally friendly with him, but he sits with him at lunch, sometimes, and leaves half open bags of skittles for him when he’s at the register, and he-well, they don’t talk, and Kevin’s pretty sure Mike’s avoiding touching him, but other than that it’s pretty awesome.
Four days before the full moon, Walker swings into the shop, frustration tensing all the lines of his body.
“No one knows anything. That’s the official word,” Walker says. He leans a hip against the counter. “Everyone’s twitchy, Siska and Butcher are holed up with Greta, Frank’s disappeared. You don’t think-?”
Ross frowns. “I don’t think Frank even kills bunnies, Jon.”
Kevin would like to be able to say he doesn’t kill bunnies either, but bunnies are delicious. He can’t help himself.
“Frank’s running an errand for me,” Bryar says gruffly from inside his office. He steps into the doorway, hand braced on the jamb.
Kevin doesn’t like the way he’s looking at him. He scratches the back of his neck and shifts a little and ducks his head.
“What kind of errand?” Walker asks.
Bryar arches an eyebrow. “An important one.”
It sounds ominous to Kevin, but Walker just grins.
*
Kevin jumps a little when Brendon materializes out of the darkness and flings an arm across Kevin’s shoulders. There’s someone hovering behind him, someone in a black suit, dark blonde hair messy under a bowler hat. He’s got his hands in his pockets, grinning just enough to show his fangs, and he somehow creeps Kevin out more than even Brendon.
“I’ve figured something out, Jonas,” Brendon says. He nuzzles into Kevin’s neck, cold and clammy. “Well, I’ve figured two things out, but one of them you’re not getting without a kiss.”
“Nice, Urie,” the other vampire says, and Kevin’s sort of frozen with steadily building horror, but he’s pretty sure he has an accent.
“Maybe a nibble instead,” Brendon amends.
Kevin feels a slight sting at his neck and he automatically jabs out an elbow - it won’t do him much good, really, if Brendon decides he wants a taste.
Brendon just laughs, though, and keeps clinging to Kevin like a monkey. “We need to make a deal, you and I,” he says between giggles.
“Uh, no,” Kevin says.
“Fine, fine,” Brendon says. He doesn’t sound all that upset about it. “I’ll just tell you one, then. Without the snack.” Palming Kevin’s face, he turns his head so Kevin’s looking him in the eyes. “You know, of course, that that was the good one. The juicy one.” He sucks his lower lip under his teeth in a close-mouthed grin; blood wells thickly from where he’s sliced it open, and his tongue darts out, slicking over it. Kevin feels nausea rising from the pit of his stomach.
The other vampire says, “Carden’s probably lurking,” like it’s a reminder, and Brendon leans in close to Kevin, brushes his nose along the side of Kevin’s.
Even without Nick’s strong sense of smell, Kevin has to swallow bile back at the metallic tang of a recent feed.
“I like you,” Brendon says.
Kevin blinks. He’s pretty sure Brendon’s said that to him before.
“I like you, Jonas, because, unlike Bill, I don’t particularly like Mike. He’s an overgrown mongrel who’s worn out his welcome.” Brendon stares at Kevin, eerily amused. “I could take you from him,” he says in a whisper; it echoes strangely in Kevin’s head. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“N-no,” Kevin says, stammering a little. Brendon’s eyes are almost all black, almost all pupil.
“It’ll be fun,” Brendon says. “We’ve done it before.”
Kevin says, faintly, “What?” because what does that mean? Done what before?
“Think about it.” Brendon shrugs a little. “Or don’t, of course, I’m not planning on giving you much of a choice.” He tilts his head, licks the length of Kevin’s cheek, and then he’s gone.
*
Mike practically pounces on Kevin when Kevin arrives at the bookstore for his evening shift. He shoves him into the storeroom and says, “You’ve got blood on your face.”
Kevin rubs at his cheek with the end of his sleeve. “Thanks.”
Mike has really intense eyes. They’re kind of staring into Kevin’s soul. “Something you want to tell me, Jonas?”
Kevin leaves his hand fisted up against his face, cotton sleeve tucked under his fingers. “Um. Brendon?”
Mike looks at him expectantly.
“I just,” Kevin shrugs, arm falling, “got the impression that he, uh, might want to eat me.”
“I see.” Mike’s mouth gets tight and his eyes get scary, but Kevin’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s not mad at him.
“There was some licking,” Kevin says.
“Licking,” Mike echoes, deadpan.
Kevin nods. “Apparently, he doesn’t like you very much.”
Kevin isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but the sudden slow grin and wicked amusement takes him completely by surprise. And then Mike’s got one arm around Kevin’s waist, pulling him close, and Mike tucks his head onto Kevin’s shoulder. Kevin can feel his warm smile against his skin; Mike nips the side of his neck. With his other hand, he smoothes back Kevin’s hair, moves down to firmly grip his nape.
“You were mine before Conrad’s, you know,” he says. He pulls back a little, mouth still quirked up.
“I-” Kevin opens and closes his mouth. He doesn’t really know what to do with that. “I’m not. Conrad’s?”
Mike leans his face closer to Kevin’s, lowers his voice. “Pack, kid. I claimed you first. And Conrad knows it.”
“Oh.” Kevin remembers everything from before, remembers the space Mike had never given him, and feels a hot flush start up from his chest, heartbeat heavy, knocking against his ribs. “What does that-you were pack.”
Mike nods slowly. His fingers slip around, press into Kevin’s lower lip, calluses catching at the corners. “It’ll be fine,” he says. “We’ll work it out.”
*
The morning of the next full moon, Kevin opens his door to find his brothers.
“Crap,” he says.
Joe looks like he’s about to crack up, but Nick’s frowning.
A short guy bundled up in a red parka says, “Hey, I’m Frank.” He waves a hand. “I brought you things. People things, who have some kind of hang-up about personal space, I dunno.” Frank shrugs.
“You jumped on my back, I think I have permanent damage,” Nick says.
Frank punches his shoulder. “Don’t be such a baby.” He pushes past Kevin and drops down onto his sofa. “Doritos, sweet.”
Kevin looks from Nick and Joe to Frank and back again. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
Nick narrows his eyes. “Where’s Zac?”
Kevin scowls at Joe, and Joe holds up his hands and says, “I didn’t tell him,” and Nick says, “Frank told me,” and, “I don’t really appreciate you two keeping all these secrets from me,” with a really pissy and kind of hilarious expression on his face.
Joe rolls his eyes. “Get over it, geez, there’s no way I’m telling you everything, you’re like a giant fun-killer.”
“Joe-”
“A killer of fun,” Joe says.
“He’s right, dude,” Frank says, mouth full of chips. “You strangle the fuck out of fun.”
Nick stomps his foot and waves his arms around a little and Joe covers his mouth with the back of his hand, but his eyes are dancing.
Kevin bites his lip around a smile, because, okay, he doesn’t really want them there, but he has missed them.
And then the bathroom door slams open and Zac steps out with an undersized towel slung around his waist. He shakes excess water from his hair, spots Nick and Joe and says, “Guys! Awesome.”
*
Kevin likes feeling the hard-packed, frozen dirt under his paws. He likes how the cold makes everything smell cleaner, he likes how he can see his breath puff out after a long, satisfying run.
He hangs his head, muscles rippling under his fur, tingling with pleasant warmth in the frigid air. His nose twitches, searching for his brothers. He pauses, though; something’s off.
Zac? he thinks, hearing the muffled noises of something-stumbling, it sounds like, not too far off, and then he smells it. Smells it wrong, like Mike almost, but worse. He growls, a low warning, and whoever it is growls back menacingly under heavy panting - not Mike, Kevin thinks, but it’s so familiar in that moment, he’s not entirely sure.
Dead things. Vampires. Not of vampires, but just vampire and wolf, and it’s confusing, and Kevin starts backing away, wonders if he should just spin around and make a run for it.
Several things happen at once.
A familiar black wolf rips out of the bushes, and Kevin huffs a relieved breath as it skids to halt in front of him, legs splayed in a protective stance. But then William’s there with several others, melting in from the shadows, his lethally sharp blade brandished, and a strong hand comes down to clutch into Kevin’s ruff. He twists his head to see a huge vampire standing over him, definitely not one of William’s gang, in ripped clothes and a killer gold smile. Kevin thinks maybe he could snap his neck with a squeeze of his fingers.
No one else is paying any attention to Kevin, though. They’re staring at the dazed, long-legged wolf on the opposite side of the path - lips pulled back in a snarl, saliva dripping off his canines. Over the scent of death, Kevin can smell sickness.
“Well,” William says, “I think we’ve found our problem.” He steps towards the sick wolf, knife lifted. The wolf snaps out, but doesn’t move to attack yet, and Mike lunges forward and grabs William’s sleeve with surprisingly gentle teeth.
William tries to shake him off, arches an eyebrow at Mike. “He’s a mistake. We all know it. Except for possibly Brendon and Michael Guy, who will be properly punished, you needn’t worry.”
Mike growls, and then another wolf joins in, stepping out of the trees, stockier than Mike, but almost as dark. Conrad.
He knocks Mike with his shoulder as he passes, but Mike doesn’t flinch.
Kevin thinks this is all really bad. Especially since Conrad and Mike and William are all busy staring at each other, and who knows what the other vampires are doing, but no one except Kevin seems to notice when the vicious, sick werewolf moves. When his growls get throatier, and his glazed eyes get wild, and Kevin figures that he’s someone they know, someone in the pack, but he really looks like he’s about to tear someone into tiny, bloody shreds.
Kevin arches around again, mouth snapping, and the vampire holding him loosens his grip in surprise - Kevin doesn’t hesitate, just squirms and lunges and he barrels into the sick werewolf before he can attempt to rip anyone’s throat open.
It’s admittedly not the best plan, but it’s the only one he has.
*
Kevin does not feel good. Kevin feels like crap, there’s a hunter leaning over him, frowning, and Kevin’s - here’s the really scary part - still a wolf.
It’s past sunrise, the window above him framing Patrick’s head with mellow gold. Which means Kevin’s pretty bad off. There’s only one reason anyone ever gets stuck in a change. He tenses, a fresh wave of pain rolling over him. His entire body hurts.
“Stay still,” Patrick says calmly, even though Kevin has no intention of moving. Distantly, he can hear Nick yelling about massive, gaping wounds, and Patrick’s mouth quirks up on one side. “It’s not that bad. You’ll be fine.”
Kevin snorts, then thinks ow, ow, ow, he barely feels Patrick’s hands petting down his side, and Patrick says, “Okay, I’m knocking you out again.”
*
Kevin has very few visitors other than his brothers and Zac. When it gets dark outside again, Greta shuffles into the room with her hand wrapped around the wrist of a pale and shaken Siska.
Kevin has met Siska once, months ago, and he looks how Kevin feels. Dark circles under his eyes, stick-thin, gray.
Greta kneels by Kevin’s side and says, “Oh, baby,” and cards her fingers gently through Kevin’s fur, and Siska hovers behind her, fidgeting.
Greta gives him a sharp glance over her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Adam,” she says.
Siska shrugs stiffly, and Greta clucks her tongue and leans over Kevin again.
Kevin whimpers, and he thumps his tail along the floor. He likes Greta. She smells nice.
“It’s fine, baby,” she says soothingly. “Adam’s so sorry, he isn’t himself anymore. He couldn’t help it.”
“Greta, don’t.” Siska sounds kind of broken. It makes Kevin squirm inside - he doesn’t blame Siska for this, the scent of wrongness still clings all over him, Kevin can taste it in the back of his mouth.
“Oh, it’s true and you know it, Adam T. Siska,” Greta says sternly.
Siska just sniffs wetly and rubs the backs of two fingers under his nose.
*
As far as Kevin can glean from the snatches of conversation going on around him, a vampire tried to turn Siska, and he ended up turning him wrong. Or maybe werewolves can’t turn properly, Kevin doesn’t know.
It’s almost like rabies, when he changes, or as close to being rabies without actually being rabies.
Nick’s been throwing around the word rabies a lot; it’s kind of stuck in Kevin’s head.
Joe settles next to Kevin on the floor and stretches out his feet, leaning back on his palms. He says, “You almost made Nick cry.”
Kevin shifts so he’s resting his head on Joe’s thigh, and he’s delighted when the slight movement doesn’t cause him to black out in pain. Either he’s getting better - werewolves heal relatively quickly, which is a blessing - or Patrick’s still giving him the good drugs.
Joe sits up, scratches Kevin between his ears. “His eyes got all watery and everything, I thought maybe he was having a seizure.”
Kevin sweeps his tail up and down once, twice.
Joe sighs. “Any day now, Kev,” he says. “Feel free to become a real boy.”
*
Mike sneaks in when he’s sleeping. Kevin knows this, because his blankets always smell like him when he wakes up. He has no idea how Mike does it, and he’d much rather just see him, but it’s kind of comforting anyway.
*
It takes nearly two weeks before Kevin wakes up human again. Two weeks, and he’s got red, angry wounds all down his throat and chest and it still hurts to move, but they let him go home.
Patrick gives him a goody bag of painkillers and antibiotics and Trohman slips him some marijuana, geez, and Bob gives him stoic, mothering looks as he gently eases him into his car.
Kevin wants his bed. He wants his ruined couch and his thirteen inch TV and his stove that has only one working burner. He wants his bathroom with the cracked toilet bowl and his precisely-five-minutes-of-hot-water shower.
Now that he thinks about it, he kind of reeks.
He’s too tired from moving, though, to do much of anything when they finally get him into his apartment building and up the stairs, and he tunes out Nick’s rambling as he wears a path in the rug, pacing back and forth in front of the TV. He only snaps to attention when he hears Nick say, “We’ll give it a week, you should be able to travel by then,” and Kevin goes, “What?”
Nick stops by him, hands on his hips. “Home, Kev,” he says.
Kevin shakes his head slightly - he kind of just makes one abortive movement and a grimace. “I’m not-Nick, I am home.” It’s not the greatest home or anything, he could do with an adult-sized refrigerator and less bugs, but it’s his, and he loves his brothers, but they tend to drive him crazy.
Nick stares at him, mouth tight, until Joe bumps Nick’s shoulder and says, “We’re totally sending Frankie down, then, he’s gonna be thirteen soon, Kev. I’m thinking we might end up with an angry mob, kill-the-beast scenario. He’s been following Trace around for weeks.”
“Joe,” Nick says, frowning.
“Y’all don’t have to worry,” Zac says, coming out of the kitchen, one hand deep into a box of Kevin’s Captain Crunch. “I’m not going anywhere. Kevin’ll be awesome at all times under my watch.”
Kevin doesn’t really know what to say to that. He mutters, “Perfect,” and all sarcasm is lost on Zac, so he only beams at him and gives him a thumbs-up.
*
A big aspect about the city that Kevin’s probably never going to get used to is all the vampires. One of them steps out of a building’s shadow on soft, silent feet as Kevin walks by, twirling a silver-tipped cane. Kevin tenses, then relaxes when he recognizes him.
William cocks his head curiously. “Jonas. I’m afraid you’re being far too indulgent of my nature.”
“Um. What?”
“You should never trust me,” William says, eyes gleaming. “I’ll turn on you at the nearest opportunity.”
Kevin swallows hard. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Fair warning, puppy.” He tips his hat back off his forehead with his thumb. “I’m doing you a good turn. I do appreciate you leaping into harm’s way for us, you know. It’s rather adorable, really.”
“No problem?” Kevin really hadn’t done it for William, but he’s not going to point that out now.
“Oh, and Brendon wants to eat you,” William says flippantly. “He wanted to turn you, but I’ve laid down more stringent rules against that now, after the whole Siska fiasco. Nobody needs that kind of mess.”
Kevin blanches. Because of the Brendon thing, and also because of the Siska thing - Bob says he’s going to be fine, just different, and that they’ll all have to get used to it. It’s still scary.
“What about Mike?” Kevin asks, Ross’s words echoing in his head: lions get hungry. William’s basically saying that.
William shrugs. “Mike’s useful.” He runs a gloved finger over Kevin’s jaw, and Kevin shivers involuntarily. William notices and grins, thin and malicious, fangs pressed into his stretched lower lip. “Don’t worry about him, though. Mike knows enough not to trust me either.”
*
Conrad knows it, Kevin thinks, standing next to Mike, watching him fiddle with the register. Conrad had known it, when he’d accepted Kevin into the pack, but what does that mean?
He asks Mike and Mike arches an eyebrow at him. “It’s his passive-aggressive way of telling me to fuck off,” he says. The words are harsh, but his eyes are kind of smiling. “And also to come home again.”
Kevin rubs a palm over his chest, easing the ache that’s lodged along the healing gashes from leaning against the counter too long. “Home,” Kevin says.
“You’re a lure, kid,” Mike says, hooking two fingers into the top of Kevin’s shirt, stretching the collar, the worn material easily giving to expose the hollow of his throat. “He misses me. He’s just too much of a dick to actually say that to my face.”
Kevin’s cheeks heat. “I’m a-only that?”
Mike rolls his eyes. “Stop fishing, Jonas, Christ. Bob thinks you invented Ford cars, it’s like he’s adopted you.”
“Right,” Kevin says, not entirely reassured.
Mike absently fiddles with Kevin’s frayed hem, thumb brushing bare skin. “Ross-well, Ross doesn’t think you’re a complete idiot, and Greta stops by at least twice a day to make sure you’re okay. Hell, even Trohman and Stump like having you around, Trohman gave you his fucking stash.” Mike frowns. “Which reminds me, the next time you see Brendon, kick him in the balls and run for it.”
Kevin blinks. “Okay?” He doesn’t have a lot of confidence in his kicking ability, though. Maybe he should just carry mace.
Mike smirks, tugs on Kevin’s shirt, says, “C’mere,” even though it’s not like Kevin’s resisting.
Mike’s gotta know Kevin would pretty much do anything for him. It’s embarrassing, but Kevin’s always been that way about the people he loves.
Mike’s thumb settles more firmly against his throat, bumping up against his adam’s apple, and he gazes at Kevin’s lips, this seriously intent gleam in his eyes. Every drop of moisture evaporates from Kevin’s mouth, because Mike has never kissed him before. Mike’s touched and bit, hands and mouth and teeth in strangely intimate places - neck, hips, belly, back - but that happens, sometimes, with their kind. Werewolves are close-knit and affectionate, usually in both forms.
Kevin clears his throat, manages, “What about you?”
“I like you just fine,” Mike says. “I thought we already established that.”
Kevin nods, smile blooming. He brings a hand up, grasps Mike’s forearm with light fingers, presses down so the inside of Mike’s wrist rests flat along Kevin’s sternum.
Mike leans in, warm breath ghosting Kevin’s lips. He says softly, “If Efron ever touches you, I’ll break all his fingers. You might want to consider telling him to get his own place.”
*
Mike kisses how he touches, intent and forceful, without any hesitation. He kisses how he bites, too, and Kevin feels the scrape of teeth along his lower lip and lets Mike’s tongue slip inside, licking over lips, teeth, feels a shivery tingle down his spine when it touches his own. Mike’s mouth is a total distraction, because otherwise Kevin would’ve been upset about the Zac thing, he’s sure of it. Maybe. Kevin’s never found overprotection very comforting, but he supposes there’d be a difference between his brothers and Mike.
And then Ross says, “We all use that counter, you know,” and, “Noises! You’re making gross noises, seriously,” and, “Oh, fuck it,” and then Kevin hears Walker say, “Well, it’s kind of hot, right?” and Kevin is probably going to be mortified when he thinks about this later, but right now Mike’s got a hand down his pants and Kevin’s thinking about sliding his mouth down Mike’s throat and maybe doing some biting of his own.
*
Joe doesn’t get sentimental very often. Kevin’s the one who’s always saying I love you, and Joe makes impatient sounds, because Kevin’s just saying stuff that he already knows.
Joe leaves him a voicemail. He says, “I’m glad, you know. You seem happy,” and his voice is small and secretive, and Kevin can see him in his mind, cheeks topped with red, embarrassed by his words. He says, “You needed this,” and, “Nick understands,” but then he ends with, “We’re still sending you Frankie, I wasn’t joking,” and Kevin grins while he listens, and maybe he saves it and replays it a few times, but it’s not like anyone’ll know.
Upstate, Kevin’s old pack consists of mainly family, but they’ve always been open and welcoming to strangers. In the years since Kevin first started changing, their pack had grown to over a dozen, with only the core eight actual blood relations. They don’t hunt humans, either, like where Kevin is now, but the difference - the difference is that they’re very isolated, and it’s easy to avoid any human interaction at all on the full moon. There are fields and forests that stretch on for miles. So for some of them, maybe, it’d been more a lack of accessibility than any moral code. Kevin has never really thought about it that way before.
Now, though, with Zac grinning this big, friendly, all-teeth grin at Kevin, leaning back against his kitchen sink - Kevin feels dread settle in his stomach. They won’t let Zac get away with it, if he’s responsible.
Kevin doesn’t want to be mixed up in the middle of this, but he still has a sense of pack, something in him still considers Zac his own, so it’s hard to keep a clear head about it all. Zac has always been a little bit more than Kevin could handle. Always bigger and meaner, too, like some switch flips in his head with his change - a personality split that makes his affable human form that much more disturbing.
Kevin says, “You can’t stay, Zac.”
Zac keeps his grin and says, “Sure I can,” and rings an arm around Kevin’s shoulders, tugging him into his side.
*
There’s word of another attack, this one closer to a residential area, and Bryar pulls Kevin aside to make sure he’s all right.
“I’m fine,” Kevin says.
Bryar eyes him steadily. He says, slow, “Right.”
“I am,” Kevin insists, even though he isn’t, exactly. He doesn’t know how to make Zac leave, and he doesn’t know how to keep everyone else from blaming Zac for the killings.
Bryar’s gaze drifts past his shoulder, and then Kevin feels a warm, calloused hand wrap over his nape, and Kevin melts a little, like his body already knows it’s Mike, even though he can’t see him.
This is new. Mike hasn’t even looked at him in weeks, and now he’s silently pressing up all along his back, and Bryar’s nodding at him, short and decisive, and Kevin thinks maybe they’ve decided something about him.
Mike’s chin is on his shoulder, and then Mike’s voice is in his ear, soft and low. “Who is it?” he says.
“Uh.”
Bryar crosses his arms over his chest and widens his stance, like he’s settling in for a long wait.
“Kevin,” Mike says, and his other hand settles at his waist, fingers brushing his hipbone.
This, this right here, Kevin thinks, is not fair at all. “I don’t know.”
Mike’s nails dig shallow grooves in Kevin’s nape. “That’s a lie,” he says.
“It’s not-”
“Greta says you knew him,” Bryar says, and Kevin hates this. Hates that he feels like he can’t tell them the truth. That Zac, right then, is probably eating all his food, sprawled out on his couch.
“I don’t-”
Mike’s blunt teeth graze the side of his throat, Kevin shivers, then Mike clamps down harder, more pressure than sting, and Kevin’s mind whites out - when he blinks clear again he thinks only seconds have passed, and he feels Mike’s forehead heavy on his shoulder blade, and Bryar’s saying, “Think very carefully about lying to us again,” and Kevin feels like crying and he feels like curling up inside of Mike’s arms and he feels like running away.
He swallows it all back and says thickly, “He’s staying on my couch.”
*
Brendon swings down from his fire escape, landing like a cat in front of Kevin as he passes by. He flips his hat off his head with a flourish, tucks it under his arm. “Interesting company you’re keeping,” he says.
Kevin stares at him. “What?”
Brendon grins, wide and horrible. “You should warn him about strangers in the big bad city, he almost let me inside.”
“What?”
“Oh, seriously, you worry too much.” Brendon waves a hand. “He caught on before it got that far.” He leans his face close to Kevin’s, grin never dropping. “We’re not so bad, you know,” he says.
Kevin can’t blink. He can feel the tip of Brendon’s nose touch his, but he can’t move away. And then Brendon’s jerking back, laughing, and Mike’s shoving at Brendon’s shoulder and calling him a dickwad, and then there’s only Mike, breathing hard, standing on the sidewalk in a thin jacket and jeans with holes in the knees.
Mike growls a little under his breath, then says, “I’m coming up,” and Kevin correctly guesses that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.
*
Mike and Zac very obviously hate each other on sight.
Zac shows it in wide smiles and hostile eyes, and Mike just scowls and looks like he’s two seconds away from punching Zac in the face.
Kevin would be amused if he wasn’t very close to having a panic attack.
He hides in the kitchen and dials Joe on his cell and hisses, “Help,” when Joe picks up on the third ring, because it’s the only thing he can think to do.
“What’s wrong?”
Kevin takes a deep breath. “Did you send Zac here?”
“What, did-no, are you kidding, Zac’s an obsessive freak, you know he loves you, right?”
“No, I-what?” Kevin shoves a hand through his hair. “Joe, Zac’s here. He’s been here for two days.”
“And you’re just telling me now?”
“Do not tell Nick,” Kevin says. He’s regretting this whole call now. He really thought maybe-but that’s stupid. Nick and Joe trust him, even if they’d probably panic if he ever missed a check-in call.
Joe says, “I might have to.”
“I’m handling it,” Kevin says. He’s not, but it’s better than having his brothers show up. Then it’ll be a party.
“Kev-”
“No, it’s fine, I’m just, you know, trying to avoid Mike killing him.”
Joe snickers, slyly amused. “Oh.”
Kevin’s cheeks heat up. “It’s not like that.” He doesn’t think it’s like that, but he’s really not so sure.
“Yeah, I’m having a hard time believing that,” Joe says, and Kevin hangs up on him.
*
Kevin has trouble sleeping that night. He strains to hear any noises from the outer room and he tosses and turns, body strung tight with nerves. He’s not even sure why Mike’s still there - the full moon isn’t for another three weeks, and Kevin’s known Zac for five years, he really doesn’t think he’d hurt him.
But Kevin isn’t going to throw Mike out, and Mike seems determined to camp out in his single armchair, so. So now Kevin’s just waiting for some sort of brawl to break out in the middle of his living room.
He sighs heavily, eyes wide on the ceiling. Light from a streetlamp throws patterns in the shape of his windows, and with each blink, the room seems to grow brighter and brighter. He rests an arm over his face, tries to will his muscles to relax, one by one, cataloging all his parts until he gets to his head, his mouth, his nose. And then he feels the bed dip and he jerks tense again, heart pounding.
“What-”
“They can hear your bed creaking in Canada, kid, just fucking go to sleep.”
Kevin inhales sharply. Mike’s shifting on the other side of his bed, he’s lying down, and Kevin is having trouble breathing. “What are you-”
Mike curls an arm over Kevin’s waist, tugs him up against him, turning on his side, his weight warm and solid and-familiar, all along Kevin’s body. Mike spreads a hand on his stomach and says, “Sleep, Jonas.”
Kevin wriggles a little in his grip, he’s at an awkward angle, and he finally settles with Mike spooning up against his back, Mike’s damp breath on his nape. Mike tips his head forward ‘til they’re touching, forehead to the top of Kevin’s spine. Kevin’s pretty sure Mike’s not only still wearing all his clothes, but that he’s not even under the blankets. And Kevin always sleeps in full flannel pajamas in the winter, but this still feels like the most intimate Kevin’s ever been with anybody ever, and Kevin’s had sex. Once. And he was going to marry her, except it turns out she’d had a real problem with, uh, his kind.
“Christ, kid,” Mike’s voice is muffled, “shut your brain off or I’ll shut it off for you.” He mouths the knob of Kevin’s spine; Kevin feels the light scrape of teeth, and he lets out a long breath, feels the release of air all the way down to his fingertips, his toes.
He doesn’t even remember closing his eyes.
*
“You know the story about the man and the lion?” Ross says without looking up from where he’s hunched over the front counter.
“Huh?”
Ross flips his magazine closed, pins Kevin with a look, like maybe he’s judging Kevin’s ability to read. “The man that pulls a thorn from the lion’s paw. That story.”
Kevin bites his lower lip, not sure where this is going. “I guess?”
“Right.” Ross straightens up on his stool and pushes his hair back off his forehead. “The man helps the lion, and the lion decides to let the man live instead of eating him. Later, the man’s condemned to death in the arena, only the lion who’s supposed to kill him is the same one he’d helped earlier. So the lion recognizes him, remembers his kindness, and chooses to greet him as a friend instead. Now,” he taps his fingers on the cover of his magazine, “imagine that the man, under certain conditions, could probably tear the lion apart, and that the lion is actually a sick fuck who’s partial to psycho mind fuckery. Imagine that, and you have Mike and Bill.”
“So,” Kevin says, trying to remember what that fable was about, “they’re friends.” Although that part’s kind of always been obvious.
“Yeah.” Ross snorts. “Yeah,” he says again, “only the problem is, there’s another way that story ends.” He arches his eyebrow pointedly, waits a beat, then goes back to his reading.
“Um.” Kevin gets what’s implied here, but- “What’s the other ending?”
“The lion’s hungry. So he eats him anyway.”
*
Zac hangs out at the bookstore exactly once, but Ross keeps glaring at him and Zac spends a half hour spread out on the floor in the travel section, whining about how bored he is, so after that Kevin isn’t sure what Zac does with his days.
At night, he’s still on Kevin’s couch.
Mike, after that one showdown, is essentially pretending Zac doesn’t exist at all. The only good thing about that is that Mike can apparently only ignore one person at a time, so Kevin’s somehow back on his radar. At least, Kevin thinks this is a good thing. He really, really likes it when Mike isn’t ignoring him.
Mike isn’t being totally friendly with him, but he sits with him at lunch, sometimes, and leaves half open bags of skittles for him when he’s at the register, and he-well, they don’t talk, and Kevin’s pretty sure Mike’s avoiding touching him, but other than that it’s pretty awesome.
Four days before the full moon, Walker swings into the shop, frustration tensing all the lines of his body.
“No one knows anything. That’s the official word,” Walker says. He leans a hip against the counter. “Everyone’s twitchy, Siska and Butcher are holed up with Greta, Frank’s disappeared. You don’t think-?”
Ross frowns. “I don’t think Frank even kills bunnies, Jon.”
Kevin would like to be able to say he doesn’t kill bunnies either, but bunnies are delicious. He can’t help himself.
“Frank’s running an errand for me,” Bryar says gruffly from inside his office. He steps into the doorway, hand braced on the jamb.
Kevin doesn’t like the way he’s looking at him. He scratches the back of his neck and shifts a little and ducks his head.
“What kind of errand?” Walker asks.
Bryar arches an eyebrow. “An important one.”
It sounds ominous to Kevin, but Walker just grins.
*
Kevin jumps a little when Brendon materializes out of the darkness and flings an arm across Kevin’s shoulders. There’s someone hovering behind him, someone in a black suit, dark blonde hair messy under a bowler hat. He’s got his hands in his pockets, grinning just enough to show his fangs, and he somehow creeps Kevin out more than even Brendon.
“I’ve figured something out, Jonas,” Brendon says. He nuzzles into Kevin’s neck, cold and clammy. “Well, I’ve figured two things out, but one of them you’re not getting without a kiss.”
“Nice, Urie,” the other vampire says, and Kevin’s sort of frozen with steadily building horror, but he’s pretty sure he has an accent.
“Maybe a nibble instead,” Brendon amends.
Kevin feels a slight sting at his neck and he automatically jabs out an elbow - it won’t do him much good, really, if Brendon decides he wants a taste.
Brendon just laughs, though, and keeps clinging to Kevin like a monkey. “We need to make a deal, you and I,” he says between giggles.
“Uh, no,” Kevin says.
“Fine, fine,” Brendon says. He doesn’t sound all that upset about it. “I’ll just tell you one, then. Without the snack.” Palming Kevin’s face, he turns his head so Kevin’s looking him in the eyes. “You know, of course, that that was the good one. The juicy one.” He sucks his lower lip under his teeth in a close-mouthed grin; blood wells thickly from where he’s sliced it open, and his tongue darts out, slicking over it. Kevin feels nausea rising from the pit of his stomach.
The other vampire says, “Carden’s probably lurking,” like it’s a reminder, and Brendon leans in close to Kevin, brushes his nose along the side of Kevin’s.
Even without Nick’s strong sense of smell, Kevin has to swallow bile back at the metallic tang of a recent feed.
“I like you,” Brendon says.
Kevin blinks. He’s pretty sure Brendon’s said that to him before.
“I like you, Jonas, because, unlike Bill, I don’t particularly like Mike. He’s an overgrown mongrel who’s worn out his welcome.” Brendon stares at Kevin, eerily amused. “I could take you from him,” he says in a whisper; it echoes strangely in Kevin’s head. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“N-no,” Kevin says, stammering a little. Brendon’s eyes are almost all black, almost all pupil.
“It’ll be fun,” Brendon says. “We’ve done it before.”
Kevin says, faintly, “What?” because what does that mean? Done what before?
“Think about it.” Brendon shrugs a little. “Or don’t, of course, I’m not planning on giving you much of a choice.” He tilts his head, licks the length of Kevin’s cheek, and then he’s gone.
*
Mike practically pounces on Kevin when Kevin arrives at the bookstore for his evening shift. He shoves him into the storeroom and says, “You’ve got blood on your face.”
Kevin rubs at his cheek with the end of his sleeve. “Thanks.”
Mike has really intense eyes. They’re kind of staring into Kevin’s soul. “Something you want to tell me, Jonas?”
Kevin leaves his hand fisted up against his face, cotton sleeve tucked under his fingers. “Um. Brendon?”
Mike looks at him expectantly.
“I just,” Kevin shrugs, arm falling, “got the impression that he, uh, might want to eat me.”
“I see.” Mike’s mouth gets tight and his eyes get scary, but Kevin’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s not mad at him.
“There was some licking,” Kevin says.
“Licking,” Mike echoes, deadpan.
Kevin nods. “Apparently, he doesn’t like you very much.”
Kevin isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but the sudden slow grin and wicked amusement takes him completely by surprise. And then Mike’s got one arm around Kevin’s waist, pulling him close, and Mike tucks his head onto Kevin’s shoulder. Kevin can feel his warm smile against his skin; Mike nips the side of his neck. With his other hand, he smoothes back Kevin’s hair, moves down to firmly grip his nape.
“You were mine before Conrad’s, you know,” he says. He pulls back a little, mouth still quirked up.
“I-” Kevin opens and closes his mouth. He doesn’t really know what to do with that. “I’m not. Conrad’s?”
Mike leans his face closer to Kevin’s, lowers his voice. “Pack, kid. I claimed you first. And Conrad knows it.”
“Oh.” Kevin remembers everything from before, remembers the space Mike had never given him, and feels a hot flush start up from his chest, heartbeat heavy, knocking against his ribs. “What does that-you were pack.”
Mike nods slowly. His fingers slip around, press into Kevin’s lower lip, calluses catching at the corners. “It’ll be fine,” he says. “We’ll work it out.”
*
The morning of the next full moon, Kevin opens his door to find his brothers.
“Crap,” he says.
Joe looks like he’s about to crack up, but Nick’s frowning.
A short guy bundled up in a red parka says, “Hey, I’m Frank.” He waves a hand. “I brought you things. People things, who have some kind of hang-up about personal space, I dunno.” Frank shrugs.
“You jumped on my back, I think I have permanent damage,” Nick says.
Frank punches his shoulder. “Don’t be such a baby.” He pushes past Kevin and drops down onto his sofa. “Doritos, sweet.”
Kevin looks from Nick and Joe to Frank and back again. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
Nick narrows his eyes. “Where’s Zac?”
Kevin scowls at Joe, and Joe holds up his hands and says, “I didn’t tell him,” and Nick says, “Frank told me,” and, “I don’t really appreciate you two keeping all these secrets from me,” with a really pissy and kind of hilarious expression on his face.
Joe rolls his eyes. “Get over it, geez, there’s no way I’m telling you everything, you’re like a giant fun-killer.”
“Joe-”
“A killer of fun,” Joe says.
“He’s right, dude,” Frank says, mouth full of chips. “You strangle the fuck out of fun.”
Nick stomps his foot and waves his arms around a little and Joe covers his mouth with the back of his hand, but his eyes are dancing.
Kevin bites his lip around a smile, because, okay, he doesn’t really want them there, but he has missed them.
And then the bathroom door slams open and Zac steps out with an undersized towel slung around his waist. He shakes excess water from his hair, spots Nick and Joe and says, “Guys! Awesome.”
*
Kevin likes feeling the hard-packed, frozen dirt under his paws. He likes how the cold makes everything smell cleaner, he likes how he can see his breath puff out after a long, satisfying run.
He hangs his head, muscles rippling under his fur, tingling with pleasant warmth in the frigid air. His nose twitches, searching for his brothers. He pauses, though; something’s off.
Zac? he thinks, hearing the muffled noises of something-stumbling, it sounds like, not too far off, and then he smells it. Smells it wrong, like Mike almost, but worse. He growls, a low warning, and whoever it is growls back menacingly under heavy panting - not Mike, Kevin thinks, but it’s so familiar in that moment, he’s not entirely sure.
Dead things. Vampires. Not of vampires, but just vampire and wolf, and it’s confusing, and Kevin starts backing away, wonders if he should just spin around and make a run for it.
Several things happen at once.
A familiar black wolf rips out of the bushes, and Kevin huffs a relieved breath as it skids to halt in front of him, legs splayed in a protective stance. But then William’s there with several others, melting in from the shadows, his lethally sharp blade brandished, and a strong hand comes down to clutch into Kevin’s ruff. He twists his head to see a huge vampire standing over him, definitely not one of William’s gang, in ripped clothes and a killer gold smile. Kevin thinks maybe he could snap his neck with a squeeze of his fingers.
No one else is paying any attention to Kevin, though. They’re staring at the dazed, long-legged wolf on the opposite side of the path - lips pulled back in a snarl, saliva dripping off his canines. Over the scent of death, Kevin can smell sickness.
“Well,” William says, “I think we’ve found our problem.” He steps towards the sick wolf, knife lifted. The wolf snaps out, but doesn’t move to attack yet, and Mike lunges forward and grabs William’s sleeve with surprisingly gentle teeth.
William tries to shake him off, arches an eyebrow at Mike. “He’s a mistake. We all know it. Except for possibly Brendon and Michael Guy, who will be properly punished, you needn’t worry.”
Mike growls, and then another wolf joins in, stepping out of the trees, stockier than Mike, but almost as dark. Conrad.
He knocks Mike with his shoulder as he passes, but Mike doesn’t flinch.
Kevin thinks this is all really bad. Especially since Conrad and Mike and William are all busy staring at each other, and who knows what the other vampires are doing, but no one except Kevin seems to notice when the vicious, sick werewolf moves. When his growls get throatier, and his glazed eyes get wild, and Kevin figures that he’s someone they know, someone in the pack, but he really looks like he’s about to tear someone into tiny, bloody shreds.
Kevin arches around again, mouth snapping, and the vampire holding him loosens his grip in surprise - Kevin doesn’t hesitate, just squirms and lunges and he barrels into the sick werewolf before he can attempt to rip anyone’s throat open.
It’s admittedly not the best plan, but it’s the only one he has.
*
Kevin does not feel good. Kevin feels like crap, there’s a hunter leaning over him, frowning, and Kevin’s - here’s the really scary part - still a wolf.
It’s past sunrise, the window above him framing Patrick’s head with mellow gold. Which means Kevin’s pretty bad off. There’s only one reason anyone ever gets stuck in a change. He tenses, a fresh wave of pain rolling over him. His entire body hurts.
“Stay still,” Patrick says calmly, even though Kevin has no intention of moving. Distantly, he can hear Nick yelling about massive, gaping wounds, and Patrick’s mouth quirks up on one side. “It’s not that bad. You’ll be fine.”
Kevin snorts, then thinks ow, ow, ow, he barely feels Patrick’s hands petting down his side, and Patrick says, “Okay, I’m knocking you out again.”
*
Kevin has very few visitors other than his brothers and Zac. When it gets dark outside again, Greta shuffles into the room with her hand wrapped around the wrist of a pale and shaken Siska.
Kevin has met Siska once, months ago, and he looks how Kevin feels. Dark circles under his eyes, stick-thin, gray.
Greta kneels by Kevin’s side and says, “Oh, baby,” and cards her fingers gently through Kevin’s fur, and Siska hovers behind her, fidgeting.
Greta gives him a sharp glance over her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Adam,” she says.
Siska shrugs stiffly, and Greta clucks her tongue and leans over Kevin again.
Kevin whimpers, and he thumps his tail along the floor. He likes Greta. She smells nice.
“It’s fine, baby,” she says soothingly. “Adam’s so sorry, he isn’t himself anymore. He couldn’t help it.”
“Greta, don’t.” Siska sounds kind of broken. It makes Kevin squirm inside - he doesn’t blame Siska for this, the scent of wrongness still clings all over him, Kevin can taste it in the back of his mouth.
“Oh, it’s true and you know it, Adam T. Siska,” Greta says sternly.
Siska just sniffs wetly and rubs the backs of two fingers under his nose.
*
As far as Kevin can glean from the snatches of conversation going on around him, a vampire tried to turn Siska, and he ended up turning him wrong. Or maybe werewolves can’t turn properly, Kevin doesn’t know.
It’s almost like rabies, when he changes, or as close to being rabies without actually being rabies.
Nick’s been throwing around the word rabies a lot; it’s kind of stuck in Kevin’s head.
Joe settles next to Kevin on the floor and stretches out his feet, leaning back on his palms. He says, “You almost made Nick cry.”
Kevin shifts so he’s resting his head on Joe’s thigh, and he’s delighted when the slight movement doesn’t cause him to black out in pain. Either he’s getting better - werewolves heal relatively quickly, which is a blessing - or Patrick’s still giving him the good drugs.
Joe sits up, scratches Kevin between his ears. “His eyes got all watery and everything, I thought maybe he was having a seizure.”
Kevin sweeps his tail up and down once, twice.
Joe sighs. “Any day now, Kev,” he says. “Feel free to become a real boy.”
*
Mike sneaks in when he’s sleeping. Kevin knows this, because his blankets always smell like him when he wakes up. He has no idea how Mike does it, and he’d much rather just see him, but it’s kind of comforting anyway.
*
It takes nearly two weeks before Kevin wakes up human again. Two weeks, and he’s got red, angry wounds all down his throat and chest and it still hurts to move, but they let him go home.
Patrick gives him a goody bag of painkillers and antibiotics and Trohman slips him some marijuana, geez, and Bob gives him stoic, mothering looks as he gently eases him into his car.
Kevin wants his bed. He wants his ruined couch and his thirteen inch TV and his stove that has only one working burner. He wants his bathroom with the cracked toilet bowl and his precisely-five-minutes-of-hot-water shower.
Now that he thinks about it, he kind of reeks.
He’s too tired from moving, though, to do much of anything when they finally get him into his apartment building and up the stairs, and he tunes out Nick’s rambling as he wears a path in the rug, pacing back and forth in front of the TV. He only snaps to attention when he hears Nick say, “We’ll give it a week, you should be able to travel by then,” and Kevin goes, “What?”
Nick stops by him, hands on his hips. “Home, Kev,” he says.
Kevin shakes his head slightly - he kind of just makes one abortive movement and a grimace. “I’m not-Nick, I am home.” It’s not the greatest home or anything, he could do with an adult-sized refrigerator and less bugs, but it’s his, and he loves his brothers, but they tend to drive him crazy.
Nick stares at him, mouth tight, until Joe bumps Nick’s shoulder and says, “We’re totally sending Frankie down, then, he’s gonna be thirteen soon, Kev. I’m thinking we might end up with an angry mob, kill-the-beast scenario. He’s been following Trace around for weeks.”
“Joe,” Nick says, frowning.
“Y’all don’t have to worry,” Zac says, coming out of the kitchen, one hand deep into a box of Kevin’s Captain Crunch. “I’m not going anywhere. Kevin’ll be awesome at all times under my watch.”
Kevin doesn’t really know what to say to that. He mutters, “Perfect,” and all sarcasm is lost on Zac, so he only beams at him and gives him a thumbs-up.
*
A big aspect about the city that Kevin’s probably never going to get used to is all the vampires. One of them steps out of a building’s shadow on soft, silent feet as Kevin walks by, twirling a silver-tipped cane. Kevin tenses, then relaxes when he recognizes him.
William cocks his head curiously. “Jonas. I’m afraid you’re being far too indulgent of my nature.”
“Um. What?”
“You should never trust me,” William says, eyes gleaming. “I’ll turn on you at the nearest opportunity.”
Kevin swallows hard. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Fair warning, puppy.” He tips his hat back off his forehead with his thumb. “I’m doing you a good turn. I do appreciate you leaping into harm’s way for us, you know. It’s rather adorable, really.”
“No problem?” Kevin really hadn’t done it for William, but he’s not going to point that out now.
“Oh, and Brendon wants to eat you,” William says flippantly. “He wanted to turn you, but I’ve laid down more stringent rules against that now, after the whole Siska fiasco. Nobody needs that kind of mess.”
Kevin blanches. Because of the Brendon thing, and also because of the Siska thing - Bob says he’s going to be fine, just different, and that they’ll all have to get used to it. It’s still scary.
“What about Mike?” Kevin asks, Ross’s words echoing in his head: lions get hungry. William’s basically saying that.
William shrugs. “Mike’s useful.” He runs a gloved finger over Kevin’s jaw, and Kevin shivers involuntarily. William notices and grins, thin and malicious, fangs pressed into his stretched lower lip. “Don’t worry about him, though. Mike knows enough not to trust me either.”
*
Conrad knows it, Kevin thinks, standing next to Mike, watching him fiddle with the register. Conrad had known it, when he’d accepted Kevin into the pack, but what does that mean?
He asks Mike and Mike arches an eyebrow at him. “It’s his passive-aggressive way of telling me to fuck off,” he says. The words are harsh, but his eyes are kind of smiling. “And also to come home again.”
Kevin rubs a palm over his chest, easing the ache that’s lodged along the healing gashes from leaning against the counter too long. “Home,” Kevin says.
“You’re a lure, kid,” Mike says, hooking two fingers into the top of Kevin’s shirt, stretching the collar, the worn material easily giving to expose the hollow of his throat. “He misses me. He’s just too much of a dick to actually say that to my face.”
Kevin’s cheeks heat. “I’m a-only that?”
Mike rolls his eyes. “Stop fishing, Jonas, Christ. Bob thinks you invented Ford cars, it’s like he’s adopted you.”
“Right,” Kevin says, not entirely reassured.
Mike absently fiddles with Kevin’s frayed hem, thumb brushing bare skin. “Ross-well, Ross doesn’t think you’re a complete idiot, and Greta stops by at least twice a day to make sure you’re okay. Hell, even Trohman and Stump like having you around, Trohman gave you his fucking stash.” Mike frowns. “Which reminds me, the next time you see Brendon, kick him in the balls and run for it.”
Kevin blinks. “Okay?” He doesn’t have a lot of confidence in his kicking ability, though. Maybe he should just carry mace.
Mike smirks, tugs on Kevin’s shirt, says, “C’mere,” even though it’s not like Kevin’s resisting.
Mike’s gotta know Kevin would pretty much do anything for him. It’s embarrassing, but Kevin’s always been that way about the people he loves.
Mike’s thumb settles more firmly against his throat, bumping up against his adam’s apple, and he gazes at Kevin’s lips, this seriously intent gleam in his eyes. Every drop of moisture evaporates from Kevin’s mouth, because Mike has never kissed him before. Mike’s touched and bit, hands and mouth and teeth in strangely intimate places - neck, hips, belly, back - but that happens, sometimes, with their kind. Werewolves are close-knit and affectionate, usually in both forms.
Kevin clears his throat, manages, “What about you?”
“I like you just fine,” Mike says. “I thought we already established that.”
Kevin nods, smile blooming. He brings a hand up, grasps Mike’s forearm with light fingers, presses down so the inside of Mike’s wrist rests flat along Kevin’s sternum.
Mike leans in, warm breath ghosting Kevin’s lips. He says softly, “If Efron ever touches you, I’ll break all his fingers. You might want to consider telling him to get his own place.”
*
Mike kisses how he touches, intent and forceful, without any hesitation. He kisses how he bites, too, and Kevin feels the scrape of teeth along his lower lip and lets Mike’s tongue slip inside, licking over lips, teeth, feels a shivery tingle down his spine when it touches his own. Mike’s mouth is a total distraction, because otherwise Kevin would’ve been upset about the Zac thing, he’s sure of it. Maybe. Kevin’s never found overprotection very comforting, but he supposes there’d be a difference between his brothers and Mike.
And then Ross says, “We all use that counter, you know,” and, “Noises! You’re making gross noises, seriously,” and, “Oh, fuck it,” and then Kevin hears Walker say, “Well, it’s kind of hot, right?” and Kevin is probably going to be mortified when he thinks about this later, but right now Mike’s got a hand down his pants and Kevin’s thinking about sliding his mouth down Mike’s throat and maybe doing some biting of his own.
*
Joe doesn’t get sentimental very often. Kevin’s the one who’s always saying I love you, and Joe makes impatient sounds, because Kevin’s just saying stuff that he already knows.
Joe leaves him a voicemail. He says, “I’m glad, you know. You seem happy,” and his voice is small and secretive, and Kevin can see him in his mind, cheeks topped with red, embarrassed by his words. He says, “You needed this,” and, “Nick understands,” but then he ends with, “We’re still sending you Frankie, I wasn’t joking,” and Kevin grins while he listens, and maybe he saves it and replays it a few times, but it’s not like anyone’ll know.