Bandslash fic: While Stumbling Where Our Hearts Beat Regular Time
While Stumbling Where Our Hearts Beat Regular Time | PG-13 | ~11,000
Kevin Jonas/Mike Carden | Werewolf AU, also featuring vampires
Kevin had been born this way; he’s been changing since he was thirteen. There’s pain, but it doesn’t hurt. It just *is.* It’s just his bones doing what they’re supposed to do, and he licks blood off his knees and paws before padding over to his half open window and jumping down onto the fire escape.
Important A/N: Firstly, this is NOT an A little Less Sixteen Candles… AU, however, just to confuse and astound you, I’ve used some characters from that verse. Secondly, I did research! But did I do werewolf research? Of course not. I spent an inordinate amount of time researching the fable that Ryan tells Kevin, one single scene (but it’s totally integral!) - the rest, well. I’m a bullshitter, not a fact-checker. I bullshit with confidence; it’s what got me through 4 years of college. This isn’t beta’d, but only because I wanted to get it up in time for Halloween. I at least had starflowers (who is lovely and helpful!) check it for plot-holes :) Title is from Kissing the Beehive by Wolf Parade. Happy Halloween!
While Stumbling Where Our Hearts Beat Regular Time
Kevin does not feel comfortable around Mike Carden. He gets hot and itchy, has to fight the urge to slink away and hide from him, so it’s kind of hard working with him - Kevin does his best to make sure they’re not scheduled in the bookstore at the same time, but with a grand total of four employees, it’s not all that easy to do. And Kevin’s not even sure why he’s so uncomfortable, because it’s not like Mike’s mean or anything. He’ll give Kevin nods and semi-pleasant greetings. There’s just-something. Something in the way he holds himself, the way he looks Kevin in the eyes, that makes Kevin want to, like, roll over and bare his tummy. It’s kind of embarrassing.
And then, one evening, Mike’s friend William shows up. He says, “Hello,” and doesn’t blink and nudges the cold, round tip of his cane under Kevin’s chin and Kevin realizes, duh, he’s a vampire.
*
It takes Kevin two hours. Two hours, after William leaves, tossing a cat-smile over his shoulder at Kevin, letting Mike steer him out the front door of the bookstore. Two tense, verge of panic hours before Kevin realizes he’s had five day shifts with Mike over the past two weeks, and Mike hasn’t burned to a fiery crisp yet.
So. Friends with a vampire. Maybe more than one; vampires are almost as bad as werewolves when it comes to packs and covens.
It’s really not all that comforting.
*
Mike grins at him now. Sharp, knowing grins, but William doesn’t stop by the shop at night again, so that’s something.
Kevin avoids Mike’s eyes as much as possible. He talks to his hands, fingers twisting together, knuckles white from thinning skin, and Mike doesn’t call him on it. If anything, he seems amused. Like he pushes into Kevin’s space just to see him duck his head, just to see him curl into himself, press back against the stacks, the wall, the counter, anything to keep from touching him.
It’s not funny. There’s an almost-permanent ache in his chest, and Kevin has to swallow down small noises, trying to will away the flush he’s sure is blotching all over his pale skin.
*
“Puppy,” William says, and Kevin freezes, a garbage bag in each hand.
In a fair fight, Kevin’s pretty sure he could hold his own against any vampire. The problem, of course, is that vampires don’t fight fair.
William just looks at him, though, a speculative gleam in his reflective eyes. There’s a yellow-orange streetlight at the end of the alleyway, making William look knife thin and imposingly tall, his shadow stretching.
Kevin feels a touch on his mind, brushing against it, feather light, but then William’s shaking his head, grinning wryly, and he says, “Sorry, force of habit.”
He steps closer, and Kevin takes a step back.
Someone moves into the mouth of the alley, and William stops him with a wave of his hand, and Kevin realizes he’s trapped, because he’s never been as fast as his brothers, and he’s certainly not as fast as a vampire. In the time it’d take him to turn and grope for the back door to the shop, William would have his throat ripped open.
“Now, now,” William says, “no need for gruesome thoughts like those. We’re all civilized here.” His teeth flash. “Well, I am. I’ve never been so sure about strays, you see. Properly collared pets are one thing, but other-beasts tend to turn on you when cornered, I’ve found.” He presses a long finger to his chin, tilts his head. “Tell me, puppy, how sharp are your claws?”
The figure behind William shifts on his feet. “Bill.”
William’s mouth falls into a pout. “You’re ruining my fun.”
“Bill,” he says again, a short, irritated growl in his voice.
“Fine.” William huffs, shakes of his intensity like a cloak. “No one understands loyalty, anymore. No one appreciates the love behind a proper threatening, it breaks my tender heart.”
“You’re full of shit,” the guy says, and Kevin’s ninety-five percent certain it’s Mike, back there, and that does not make Kevin feel any better about this situation at all.
William makes a dismissive sound, then taps Kevin on the chest with his cane. “Watch yourself, puppy,” he says, “or I’ll be forced to have you neutered, and, honestly, that won’t be any fun for anyone.”
*
He could quit. He could go home, but his dad’s death is too fresh, and he doesn’t want to fight with his brothers. He’s never seriously wanted to fight anyone, so he calls Joe once a day and Nick twice a week and tells them he’s fine, even though he’d spent his first full moon alone, pacing his apartment.
He’d torn his couch apart with restless energy, but it was better than going outside. He’d heard them, someone, some pack, but he has no idea how to approach them. His only pack has ever been his family.
He doesn’t tell Nick that, though, because Nick would tell him to come home, and he doesn’t tell Joe, because Joe would just call him a pussy.
Kevin won’t go home. Nick and Joe can squabble about his birthright, because Kevin doesn’t want to lead them, but he doesn’t want to grovel at their feet, either - he might be the oldest, but they can be overbearing and overprotective - and this has got to be better. At least for right now.
*
Besides Mike, Kevin works with Ross - a thin, tall guy with bony wrists and shag hair and too much eye makeup - and their boss, Bryar.
It’s weird, because Kevin gets the impression that Mike and Bryar don’t really like each other. Bryar will smile at Kevin and give him friendly shoulder-pats. He’ll laugh and ruffle his hair and make sure he takes his fifteen minute breaks and that he eats his lunch. But Bryar doesn’t smile at Mike, and Mike acts almost hostile towards Bryar, and Kevin always feels like he’s somehow caught in the middle.
“Are they always like this?” Kevin asks Ross, and Ross shrugs.
Ross is usually pretty quiet, but sometimes he’s just the right kind of gossipy.
“Bob’s okay with Mike,” Ross says. He cuts his teeth into his lower lip, darts his gaze to the side, a little wary. “You never stop being family, you know? It’s all the vampires he has a problem with.”
Kevin nods, even though he’s not sure what that means. He thinks the vampire thing is kind of a given, really, and Bryar and Mike look nothing alike at all.
*
Walker comes in at least once a week. Mostly to see Ross, Kevin thinks, but sometimes just to buy a magazine or drop off a cup of coffee for Bryar. Walker’s never there when Mike is. Kevin doesn’t find this strange until Mike is there, and Walker’s affable grin melts from his mouth and Mike’s fists clench.
Walker says, quiet, “Mike,” and Mike spins on his heel and stalks away.
Walker shrugs at Kevin, hands in his pockets, self-depreciating.
Ross snorts. He says, “It’s not going to be that easy, Jon,” and Walker says, “It could be,” with a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Kevin ducks his head, pretends he isn’t listening.
“He’s never going to go near Tom again,” Ross says.
“I don’t want him to,” Walker says, but his voice is sad.
There’s a long stretch of silence. Kevin keeps his eyes locked on the pile of books he’s sorting, listens to their steady, even breaths.
Finally, Walker says, “He’s still here, though, right?”
And, apparently, that means something.
*
Vampires unnerve Kevin. For weeks, he doesn’t see William, and then he stumbles on a dapperly dressed guy just outside his walk-up apartment. Pale-faced and smirking, lips an unnatural shade of red. He bows, just slightly, and says, “I’ve got strict orders to escort you to work.” He waggles his eyebrows, and on anyone else it would’ve looked ridiculously seductive. On him, it just makes him look kind of hungry.
“Uh, that’s okay,” Kevin says. He backs up a step, but the vampire is whip-quick and grabs hold of his arm.
“I’m Brendon,” he says. “William sent me. Don’t worry, everything’s on the up and up.”
Kevin doesn’t know what to do. Brendon seems earnest enough, but Kevin knows you should never trust a vampire, so he just backs up again, tries to twist his arm out of Brendon’s grip.
Surprisingly, though, Brendon lets him loose instead of gripping him tighter. He grins, flashing sharp fangs. “Oh, I like you,” Brendon says. He jerks his head towards the sidewalk. “Come on, I promise not to snack along the way.”
Kevin could flee back inside, but he’s already going to be late to the store, and he doesn’t want to call Bryar, doesn’t want to explain how he’s being stalked by eerily polite vampires.
Brendon arches his eyebrows expectantly, rocking back on his boot heels.
Kevin sighs and falls into step beside him.
*
Whenever Mike rolls up his sleeves, Kevin finds himself looking. There are no marks, though, at least none where Kevin can see. No stamp of ownership on the inside of a wrist, higher on his forearm, but he knows that doesn’t mean it’s not there.
Mike slants him odd looks, but doesn’t say anything.
And then the odd looks morph into smirks, and Kevin gets majorly flustered, because it almost could be, kind of, misconstrued as, like, Kevin staring at Mike. Mike already tries to invade Kevin’s personal space as much and as innocuously as possible, like he wants to see how many shades of red he can make Kevin turn in a single shift - he steps it up, eyes laughing, and Kevin’s throat goes bone dry.
*
Kevin had been born this way; he’s been changing since he was thirteen. There’s pain, but it doesn’t hurt. It just is. It’s just his bones doing what they’re supposed to do, and he licks blood off his knees and paws before padding over to his half open window and jumping down onto the fire escape.
The city smells worse now than it ever did before. Kevin misses the open farmland of his home, the strong scent of hay, of cut grass, moss and mud, bugs and horses and rabbits. He pauses on the bottom rung of the metal stairs and smells only death.
Too close, he thinks, and growls deep and low in his chest before recognizing William, leaning nonchalantly against dirty brick.
“Oh ho,” William says. “What’s this? Distemper, perhaps. No good, lone puppies get that surprisingly often around us. I thought maybe you were different.” William straightens up. He hefts his cane, idly runs his fingers along the rounded tip. “This saddens me, puppy, it truly does.”
Kevin’s hackles rise. There are several of them, Kevin notices, besides William. He thinks this is some kind of ambush, like they were waiting for him, but he doesn’t know why.
William twists his cane and slips a long, slim blade out of the end, and Kevin finds he can’t move. Can’t do anything but shrink back when William ambles closer, but Kevin’s not helpless. He’s never, ever been helpless, not like this, so he lashes out before the lethally sharp tip even touches him.
As soon as he sinks his teeth into William’s hand, unearthly white, paper-thin flesh breaking open almost too easily, a blur of black barrels into his side, snapping, tearing at Kevin’s shoulder, and Kevin yelps. He yelps and jumps back and knocks his open mouth into the other wolf’s face, pushing, and then there are howls in the distance, loud enough to freeze them both.
Kevin pants into the dark fur, nose full of musk and dead things and it isn’t until the huge gray wolf is practically over top of them, stance wide, head high, that Kevin realizes the black wolf still has his teeth clamped into Kevin’s shoulder.
He gingerly lets go, slinking back, and Kevin whimpers and twists to lick at the wound, the sting that’s traveling up and down his foreleg. When a nose nudges his own, pushing his head away, Kevin notices that the black wolf is gone, as are all the vampires, and he has no actual idea what just happened here.
The gray wolf takes his neck softly between his jaws, urging Kevin to his feet. A smaller, lighter-colored wolf paces behind him, yipping anxiously, and Kevin just wants to go back to his apartment. He just wants to slump down on his ruined couch, but the two herd him in the opposite direction, slipping down shadowed streets, and Kevin struggles through pain to keep up.
*
Mike doesn’t show up to work for three days, and Bryar watches Kevin like a hawk when he finally does. Mike doesn’t look at Kevin at all.
Contrary to whatever Nick says, Kevin is not stupid.
*
“You’re such a loser,” Joe says, but his tone’s pretty affectionate. “I can’t believe you got yourself into the middle of some kind of werewolf-vampire war.”
“I didn’t!” Kevin says. He still doesn’t understand what happened, why William approached him in the first place, why Mike attacked him, why Bryar scowls at Mike with his mouth while his blue eyes keep this soft, worried hue.
Kevin tugs his coat closer around him with one hand, ignores the twinge in his shoulder. His cell phone is cold against his face, but he feels better walking home in the dark with Joe’s voice in his ear.
“It’s not a war, Joe,” Kevin says. “It’s just. Weird.” It’s weird, because Mike attacked him. A werewolf attacked him because of a vampire, and it seems like no one, on either side, is happy about it. Kevin can say that with confidence, given that William’s suddenly appeared in front of him, frowning, rhythmically slapping a dove-gray glove into his palm. “Uh.”
“I don’t like you,” William says.
Kevin blinks. He curls his fingers tight around his cell, but doesn’t hang up. Joe calls his name, but Kevin just stares at William, watches him watching him with eyes narrowed.
“I don’t like you, puppy,” he repeats. “I don’t like you because Mike likes you, which means, sadly, that I must apologize for my behavior the other night.”
Kevin swallows hard. “Okay.”
Joe says, “Okay, what? What?” and Kevin just says, “Hang on, Joe.”
William licks the corner of his lips. “Is there something you’d like to say to me, as well?” he asks impatiently.
“I’m. I’m sorry, too?” Kevin says.
William nods. “Not too painful there, was it? I suggest we put this unpleasantness behind us. I apologized for baiting you, you apologized for nearly maiming me. For the record, puppy,” he says, “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was testing your mettle. It all went slightly pear-shaped.”
Kevin doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to believe anything that comes out of William’s mouth.
William says, “Ta, little one,” flicks the end of Kevin’s nose, and then Kevin blinks and he’s gone.
“Don’t tell Nick any of this,” he says to Joe.
“Duh,” Joe says. “Nick’d be on your doorstep by morning.”
*
Bryar is a man of few words. He keeps an eye on Kevin, though, and walks him home whenever they close the shop together, and Kevin’s not surprised to find him at his door on the next full moon. He’s a little surprised to see Ross and Walker with him, but he probably shouldn’t be.
They eat pizza and Walker shows him his scar, the jagged silver teeth marks on his belly, and Bryar’s the only one who doesn’t blink when Kevin explains how he never turned, how he was born into a family of weres - generation after generation of werewolves, a messed-up legacy, and Kevin gets the feeling that it’s kind of rare here. But it doesn’t matter in the end, because it’s not like any one of them, born or bitten, had a choice.
*
Kevin watches Walker, the little light wolf from before, and Ross tussle on his living room floor. He knows they’d rather be outside, chasing shadows down the narrow streets, stalking through the stands of young maples and oaks planted in the nearby park, but Kevin isn’t leaving the apartment this time, and they seem determined to keep him company.
The big gray, Bryar, is curled up on his couch, surveying them all with eyes at half-mast, indulgently fond.
It’s nice, Kevin thinks, not being all alone.
But then there’s a noise at his window, a scratching, and Bryar’s head jerks up with a throaty growl, the fur of his ruff rimming his head like a lion. They watch, ears pricked, as the pane glides open easily, even though Kevin had made sure it was properly locked before the change. And then Brendon’s grinning face is there, and Mike’s slipping soundlessly over the sill and into the room.
“Brought you a present, friends.” Brendon tips his hat. “Ross,” he says, and Ross snaps his teeth at him in a snarl. “Always a pleasure.”
He’s gone before Bryar even gets to his feet.
Mike is dark and sleek with a narrow snout and big paws. He noses Bryar’s chin, and Ross, long-legged and tawny, wriggles happily on his back and yips until Mike licks under his ear. Walker whines and low-crawls, tail thumping rhythmically on the threadbare rug, and Mike holds out for a full minute before huffing and gently biting the back of Walker’s neck, shaking him with a mock-growl.
Kevin shrinks into the shadow thrown by the wide arm of his couch, curls his tail over his paws. He stares down at the beige carpet and presses up against the shredded upholstery in an attempt to stem the stupid little tremors running through his body, because he’s not afraid of Mike. His shoulder, fully-healed, suddenly aches so hard he can feel it in his teeth.
Black paws nudge into his eye-line, and Kevin holds carefully still while Mike licks over his jaw, one of his ears, then flops down next to him, leaning his weight into Kevin’s side.
He still smells like too much death, like he’s been sleeping with vampires, but he smells like Walker now, too, like Ross, and Kevin’s silent when Mike rests his head along Kevin’s withers, letting out a low chuff of air.
*
The papers are always full of mysterious deaths, telltale punctures marring wrists and necks and thighs, but the pack, Ross tells him, avoids killing anything human. The morning after the last day of the full moon, though, a uniformed police officer is the first customer in the bookshop, a lopsided grin on his mouth, tired eyes full of wary concern.
Bryar’s arms tense around a stack of books. He drops them on the front counter and says, “Smith.”
Smith nods. He says, “Something came in last night, Bryar.” He shoots Kevin a look. “Can we talk alone?”
Bryar crosses his arms over his chest. “Here’s fine.”
“Okay.” Smith sighs. “Okay, right. Southside of the park, down by the runoff drain. Animal attack call came in around three.” He lets the statement hang, and Bryar stares at him, stone-faced, and Kevin thinks there is no way Smith, whoever he is, can outlast Bryar when he wants to be stoic and stubborn.
“Jesus Christ, Bryar,” Smith says finally, but he sounds half-amused. His sleeves are rolled up, he cocks a hip against the counter, one hand braced on the edge, and Kevin sees a scar on the inside of his wrist - a burned scar, like after a tattoo’s been removed, and Smith rubs it idly and grimaces when he catches Kevin looking.
“Um, sorry,” Kevin says.
“They can be very persuasive when they want something,” he says, more embarrassed than bitter.
Kevin’s more impressed, though. He’s never heard of anyone walking away.
“Look,” Smith says to Bryar, “I’m not accusing anyone of anything, but it’s pretty ugly. Something big did this. Something big and mean, so just think about it, let me know if you find out anything. There’s more than just your pack around here.”
“Wasn’t Carden, either,” Bryar says, and Smith says, resigned, “Didn’t say it was. Fuck, give me a mountain lion and I’ll be happy.”
They stare at each other some more, and Kevin wonders at the animosity rolling off of Bryar, because Smith seems mostly okay, aside from the whole misspent vampiric past thing.
Smith taps his fingers on the counter before straightening up, pushing off towards the door. Over his shoulder, he says, “Tell Conrad. And tell Ryan I was by, he’ll want to call and chew me out later.”
*
“Werewolf,” Walker says immediately, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck.
“One of ours?” Ross asks, fingers poised over the till.
“Can’t fucking tell. Siska was nervous about something, though.” Walker shakes his head, leans over the counter and drops his voice on, “Mike never showed up. That last night.”
Kevin’s fingers tighten around his pen, focusing so hard on the ledger the little rows of numbers start to blur. They’d spent all three days of the full moon with Kevin, except Mike hadn’t come around on the third, and Kevin had tried to tell himself he wasn’t disappointed about that. He’d always been really bad at lying.
*
Outside of the change, Kevin’s never really had any heightened senses. Nick could always differentiate scents, Joe can spot a tiny field mouse from over fifty feet away, but Kevin’s just Kevin; sturdy, oblivious, friendly. He wears glasses to read, and any kind of flower stops up his nose and makes him sneeze.
He never notices vampires until they’re right in front of him. He never notices hunters at all.
He’s darted and down before he can even make a sound.
*
Kevin swims blearily back into consciousness and realizes he’s tied to a chair.
“You’re new,” someone says.
Kevin blinks, sees a guy with a lot of hair and a really big gun. He’s pointing the really big gun at Kevin.
“You’re not pack,” he says, “or you’d reek of Conrad. Strays make me nervous. When I’m nervous, I tend to shoot things.”
“Um.” Kevin bites back a squeak when the guy starts waving the gun around.
“Stop scaring the kid, Joe.” A short guy, dark cap, red-blonde hair wisping out the sides, steps into view, clutching a huge book and frowning at him.
“I’m-” Kevin scrambles for words, doesn’t say I’m pack, because he’s not, obviously, he’s technically homeless without his brothers. Ever since William, he’s not fond of the word stray. “I work with Bryar. And Ross.”
“Oh, fuck,” Joe says. “Fuckity, fuck, Patrick, we stole him off Bryar.”
Patrick says, “That doesn’t mean anything,” but he sounds doubtful.
Long hair, blocky glasses, sword strapped to his back, too amused smirk on his mouth - another guy moves behind Joe, crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Bryar’s probably going to kill you, Joe. I can’t wait.”
“Fuck off, Hurley,” Joe says, then palms his face and groans. “I’m a dead man.”
“Nah, Bryar likes you.”
They keep coming, Kevin thinks, and he’s still tied uncomfortably to a chair, and with this new guy, dark circles under his eyes, vampire, Kevin finally begins to struggle.
He doesn’t have the preternatural strength, though, like his dad always had, so his wrists just end up raw from the rope, bleeding, his chest heaving in rapidly growing panic, and Hurley wrests the gun out of Joe’s hand and darts him again.
*
When Kevin wakes up, it’s to another unfamiliar face. He’s untied now, though, a heap on the floor, and he pushes onto his elbows.
“You’re Kevin.” He’s scruffy cheeked, sprawled low in a chair, knees wide, a cigarette hooked between curled fingers. His hair’s messy, like he just rolled out of bed, clad in a gray hoodie and worn jeans. “I’m Tom,” he says. “Tom Conrad.”
Kevin doesn’t know what the name means, but he knows it means something - he’s been brought up too often, by too many people. He nods slowly, and stays on the floor.
Conrad smiles. It’s a bland smile, but Kevin instantly relaxes, feels a little warmth spread through his chest. He thinks, alpha, and smiles back.
“You’re a good kid,” Conrad says. He shifts, flicks his cigarette off to the side, gets to his feet. He reaches out, briefly pushes his hand through Kevin’s hair. “I’m gonna let Bryar get you home.”
Bryar’s apparently there, too, since Kevin can hear the yelling as soon as Conrad opens the door to leave.
He hears, “-ucking kid, Trohman, and you darted him twice?”
“Hey, no, that was all Andy-”
“Joe.”
“The second time, the second time,” Joe says stridently. “And he’s a stray, dude, you can’t blame us after the shit that went down in the park.”
And then Conrad says, calmly, “He’s not a stray,” and Kevin’s smile stretches wider; he rubs the heel of a palm over his mouth to hide it, cheeks heating, and it’s never felt like this before, this belonging, this being accepted - he thinks it’s different than when you just are, when it’s all you’ve ever known. He didn’t choose his pack, before. But this one chose him.
*
He’s in the backroom with Ross, tucked into a corner on his break - Ross has a slim book of poetry balanced on his knees, Kevin has his head tipped back, staring up at the tiled ceiling.
Kevin says, “What happened-what happened with Mike?”
He can feel Ross shrug. “William’s really good at getting what he wants.”
“Smith-”
Ross stiffens. “Brendon,” he says darkly. “They can all fuck off and die, as far as I’m concerned, but Mike-” He pauses. “It’s complicated.”
Kevin’s already figured out that it’s complicated. And that it has to do with Conrad just as much as it has to do with William.
“Here’s the thing,” Ross says, slapping his book shut and getting to his feet. He stares down at Kevin. “You don’t give Mike ultimatums, or he’ll make the choices you don’t want him to make.”
*
Mike corners Kevin by the young adult books. He presses him up against the shelves and slips his mouth over Kevin’s pulse and then pulls away, sneering. His hands are fit tight on Kevin’s hips and Kevin’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest, and he wants-he wants-
“Conrad,” Mike says, and laughs like it isn’t funny at all.
*
Life isn’t fair, Kevin thinks. He’s gotten something he’s always wanted, but Mike turns away from him now, ignores him, and Kevin can’t help but feel like he’s lost something important that he’s never thought of wanting before.
*
“Joe says you’ve joined a pack,” Nick says, and Nick sounds pissed.
Kevin says, slightly confused, “Well, yeah. I thought-I mean, I was supposed to.”
Nick says, “You were supposed to come home,” and he doesn’t say you weren’t supposed to be able to survive without us, but Kevin can hear the words anyway.
“Nick,” Kevin says. “Nick, I. I need this.” He doesn’t say that he’s still scared, that he still doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, that he’s in love with a were leashed by vampires, and oh-oh, gosh darn it, he’s maybe in love, how pathetic is that?
Nick sighs. “You can always come back, though,” he says, and Kevin knows he means forever and ever and whenever he wants.
“Yeah,” Kevin says, and hopes he never has to.
*
It snows during the next full moon. Big, fat, sticky flakes, and Kevin’s outer coat of fur is already soaked and crystallized on the tips by the time they reach the park. There are howls echoing in and out of the trees and Kevin sees flashes of white, of gray, of bodies dark as shadows.
Walker chases Ross into the darkness, and Kevin trots slower after them, content to hang back. It isn’t until he loses sight of them that he realizes Bryar’s gone, too. He stops, cocks his head, ears alert, and listens to the hushed ping of falling snow, the bays and barks in the distance. He shakes, flinging tiny shards of ice off his fur, then flops down under a tree, close to the trunk where the layer of snow is thinnest, and waits.
*
At some point, a little white wolf finds him, tackles him, and Kevin spends an hour dodging through trees and shrubs, nipping playfully at her heels. They run and run and she circles behind a tree, sliding into a one-eighty turn, pouncing on him when his momentum makes him scramble for footing as he spots her game. It’s fun; it’s more fun than he’s had in a while, and he squirms below her, pushing at her jaw with his paws, tail sweeping away light piles of snow, down to the short tufts of tough, yellow-green grass underneath.
He rolls them over, laughs spilling out in rumbling growls, but she wriggles out of his hold and darts off again, Kevin pausing only a second before following behind.
The growls don’t even register at first, there’s so many of them out there, but then a rangy blue-gray wolf lunges out of the dark, legs splayed, back hunched, lips pulled back in a snarl, and the little white wolf backpedals into Kevin, yipping in surprise.
There’s blood on the wiry fur of the wolf’s jaw, Kevin can smell it, and his eyes gleam yellow and mean in the moonlight. Kevin’s seen those eyes before.
Kevin pushes the white wolf down and lowers his own body, waits until the tension in the blue unwinds; waits ‘til he spots a perceptible wag of his tail.
part two
Kevin Jonas/Mike Carden | Werewolf AU, also featuring vampires
Kevin had been born this way; he’s been changing since he was thirteen. There’s pain, but it doesn’t hurt. It just *is.* It’s just his bones doing what they’re supposed to do, and he licks blood off his knees and paws before padding over to his half open window and jumping down onto the fire escape.
Important A/N: Firstly, this is NOT an A little Less Sixteen Candles… AU, however, just to confuse and astound you, I’ve used some characters from that verse. Secondly, I did research! But did I do werewolf research? Of course not. I spent an inordinate amount of time researching the fable that Ryan tells Kevin, one single scene (but it’s totally integral!) - the rest, well. I’m a bullshitter, not a fact-checker. I bullshit with confidence; it’s what got me through 4 years of college. This isn’t beta’d, but only because I wanted to get it up in time for Halloween. I at least had starflowers (who is lovely and helpful!) check it for plot-holes :) Title is from Kissing the Beehive by Wolf Parade. Happy Halloween!
While Stumbling Where Our Hearts Beat Regular Time
Kevin does not feel comfortable around Mike Carden. He gets hot and itchy, has to fight the urge to slink away and hide from him, so it’s kind of hard working with him - Kevin does his best to make sure they’re not scheduled in the bookstore at the same time, but with a grand total of four employees, it’s not all that easy to do. And Kevin’s not even sure why he’s so uncomfortable, because it’s not like Mike’s mean or anything. He’ll give Kevin nods and semi-pleasant greetings. There’s just-something. Something in the way he holds himself, the way he looks Kevin in the eyes, that makes Kevin want to, like, roll over and bare his tummy. It’s kind of embarrassing.
And then, one evening, Mike’s friend William shows up. He says, “Hello,” and doesn’t blink and nudges the cold, round tip of his cane under Kevin’s chin and Kevin realizes, duh, he’s a vampire.
*
It takes Kevin two hours. Two hours, after William leaves, tossing a cat-smile over his shoulder at Kevin, letting Mike steer him out the front door of the bookstore. Two tense, verge of panic hours before Kevin realizes he’s had five day shifts with Mike over the past two weeks, and Mike hasn’t burned to a fiery crisp yet.
So. Friends with a vampire. Maybe more than one; vampires are almost as bad as werewolves when it comes to packs and covens.
It’s really not all that comforting.
*
Mike grins at him now. Sharp, knowing grins, but William doesn’t stop by the shop at night again, so that’s something.
Kevin avoids Mike’s eyes as much as possible. He talks to his hands, fingers twisting together, knuckles white from thinning skin, and Mike doesn’t call him on it. If anything, he seems amused. Like he pushes into Kevin’s space just to see him duck his head, just to see him curl into himself, press back against the stacks, the wall, the counter, anything to keep from touching him.
It’s not funny. There’s an almost-permanent ache in his chest, and Kevin has to swallow down small noises, trying to will away the flush he’s sure is blotching all over his pale skin.
*
“Puppy,” William says, and Kevin freezes, a garbage bag in each hand.
In a fair fight, Kevin’s pretty sure he could hold his own against any vampire. The problem, of course, is that vampires don’t fight fair.
William just looks at him, though, a speculative gleam in his reflective eyes. There’s a yellow-orange streetlight at the end of the alleyway, making William look knife thin and imposingly tall, his shadow stretching.
Kevin feels a touch on his mind, brushing against it, feather light, but then William’s shaking his head, grinning wryly, and he says, “Sorry, force of habit.”
He steps closer, and Kevin takes a step back.
Someone moves into the mouth of the alley, and William stops him with a wave of his hand, and Kevin realizes he’s trapped, because he’s never been as fast as his brothers, and he’s certainly not as fast as a vampire. In the time it’d take him to turn and grope for the back door to the shop, William would have his throat ripped open.
“Now, now,” William says, “no need for gruesome thoughts like those. We’re all civilized here.” His teeth flash. “Well, I am. I’ve never been so sure about strays, you see. Properly collared pets are one thing, but other-beasts tend to turn on you when cornered, I’ve found.” He presses a long finger to his chin, tilts his head. “Tell me, puppy, how sharp are your claws?”
The figure behind William shifts on his feet. “Bill.”
William’s mouth falls into a pout. “You’re ruining my fun.”
“Bill,” he says again, a short, irritated growl in his voice.
“Fine.” William huffs, shakes of his intensity like a cloak. “No one understands loyalty, anymore. No one appreciates the love behind a proper threatening, it breaks my tender heart.”
“You’re full of shit,” the guy says, and Kevin’s ninety-five percent certain it’s Mike, back there, and that does not make Kevin feel any better about this situation at all.
William makes a dismissive sound, then taps Kevin on the chest with his cane. “Watch yourself, puppy,” he says, “or I’ll be forced to have you neutered, and, honestly, that won’t be any fun for anyone.”
*
He could quit. He could go home, but his dad’s death is too fresh, and he doesn’t want to fight with his brothers. He’s never seriously wanted to fight anyone, so he calls Joe once a day and Nick twice a week and tells them he’s fine, even though he’d spent his first full moon alone, pacing his apartment.
He’d torn his couch apart with restless energy, but it was better than going outside. He’d heard them, someone, some pack, but he has no idea how to approach them. His only pack has ever been his family.
He doesn’t tell Nick that, though, because Nick would tell him to come home, and he doesn’t tell Joe, because Joe would just call him a pussy.
Kevin won’t go home. Nick and Joe can squabble about his birthright, because Kevin doesn’t want to lead them, but he doesn’t want to grovel at their feet, either - he might be the oldest, but they can be overbearing and overprotective - and this has got to be better. At least for right now.
*
Besides Mike, Kevin works with Ross - a thin, tall guy with bony wrists and shag hair and too much eye makeup - and their boss, Bryar.
It’s weird, because Kevin gets the impression that Mike and Bryar don’t really like each other. Bryar will smile at Kevin and give him friendly shoulder-pats. He’ll laugh and ruffle his hair and make sure he takes his fifteen minute breaks and that he eats his lunch. But Bryar doesn’t smile at Mike, and Mike acts almost hostile towards Bryar, and Kevin always feels like he’s somehow caught in the middle.
“Are they always like this?” Kevin asks Ross, and Ross shrugs.
Ross is usually pretty quiet, but sometimes he’s just the right kind of gossipy.
“Bob’s okay with Mike,” Ross says. He cuts his teeth into his lower lip, darts his gaze to the side, a little wary. “You never stop being family, you know? It’s all the vampires he has a problem with.”
Kevin nods, even though he’s not sure what that means. He thinks the vampire thing is kind of a given, really, and Bryar and Mike look nothing alike at all.
*
Walker comes in at least once a week. Mostly to see Ross, Kevin thinks, but sometimes just to buy a magazine or drop off a cup of coffee for Bryar. Walker’s never there when Mike is. Kevin doesn’t find this strange until Mike is there, and Walker’s affable grin melts from his mouth and Mike’s fists clench.
Walker says, quiet, “Mike,” and Mike spins on his heel and stalks away.
Walker shrugs at Kevin, hands in his pockets, self-depreciating.
Ross snorts. He says, “It’s not going to be that easy, Jon,” and Walker says, “It could be,” with a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Kevin ducks his head, pretends he isn’t listening.
“He’s never going to go near Tom again,” Ross says.
“I don’t want him to,” Walker says, but his voice is sad.
There’s a long stretch of silence. Kevin keeps his eyes locked on the pile of books he’s sorting, listens to their steady, even breaths.
Finally, Walker says, “He’s still here, though, right?”
And, apparently, that means something.
*
Vampires unnerve Kevin. For weeks, he doesn’t see William, and then he stumbles on a dapperly dressed guy just outside his walk-up apartment. Pale-faced and smirking, lips an unnatural shade of red. He bows, just slightly, and says, “I’ve got strict orders to escort you to work.” He waggles his eyebrows, and on anyone else it would’ve looked ridiculously seductive. On him, it just makes him look kind of hungry.
“Uh, that’s okay,” Kevin says. He backs up a step, but the vampire is whip-quick and grabs hold of his arm.
“I’m Brendon,” he says. “William sent me. Don’t worry, everything’s on the up and up.”
Kevin doesn’t know what to do. Brendon seems earnest enough, but Kevin knows you should never trust a vampire, so he just backs up again, tries to twist his arm out of Brendon’s grip.
Surprisingly, though, Brendon lets him loose instead of gripping him tighter. He grins, flashing sharp fangs. “Oh, I like you,” Brendon says. He jerks his head towards the sidewalk. “Come on, I promise not to snack along the way.”
Kevin could flee back inside, but he’s already going to be late to the store, and he doesn’t want to call Bryar, doesn’t want to explain how he’s being stalked by eerily polite vampires.
Brendon arches his eyebrows expectantly, rocking back on his boot heels.
Kevin sighs and falls into step beside him.
*
Whenever Mike rolls up his sleeves, Kevin finds himself looking. There are no marks, though, at least none where Kevin can see. No stamp of ownership on the inside of a wrist, higher on his forearm, but he knows that doesn’t mean it’s not there.
Mike slants him odd looks, but doesn’t say anything.
And then the odd looks morph into smirks, and Kevin gets majorly flustered, because it almost could be, kind of, misconstrued as, like, Kevin staring at Mike. Mike already tries to invade Kevin’s personal space as much and as innocuously as possible, like he wants to see how many shades of red he can make Kevin turn in a single shift - he steps it up, eyes laughing, and Kevin’s throat goes bone dry.
*
Kevin had been born this way; he’s been changing since he was thirteen. There’s pain, but it doesn’t hurt. It just is. It’s just his bones doing what they’re supposed to do, and he licks blood off his knees and paws before padding over to his half open window and jumping down onto the fire escape.
The city smells worse now than it ever did before. Kevin misses the open farmland of his home, the strong scent of hay, of cut grass, moss and mud, bugs and horses and rabbits. He pauses on the bottom rung of the metal stairs and smells only death.
Too close, he thinks, and growls deep and low in his chest before recognizing William, leaning nonchalantly against dirty brick.
“Oh ho,” William says. “What’s this? Distemper, perhaps. No good, lone puppies get that surprisingly often around us. I thought maybe you were different.” William straightens up. He hefts his cane, idly runs his fingers along the rounded tip. “This saddens me, puppy, it truly does.”
Kevin’s hackles rise. There are several of them, Kevin notices, besides William. He thinks this is some kind of ambush, like they were waiting for him, but he doesn’t know why.
William twists his cane and slips a long, slim blade out of the end, and Kevin finds he can’t move. Can’t do anything but shrink back when William ambles closer, but Kevin’s not helpless. He’s never, ever been helpless, not like this, so he lashes out before the lethally sharp tip even touches him.
As soon as he sinks his teeth into William’s hand, unearthly white, paper-thin flesh breaking open almost too easily, a blur of black barrels into his side, snapping, tearing at Kevin’s shoulder, and Kevin yelps. He yelps and jumps back and knocks his open mouth into the other wolf’s face, pushing, and then there are howls in the distance, loud enough to freeze them both.
Kevin pants into the dark fur, nose full of musk and dead things and it isn’t until the huge gray wolf is practically over top of them, stance wide, head high, that Kevin realizes the black wolf still has his teeth clamped into Kevin’s shoulder.
He gingerly lets go, slinking back, and Kevin whimpers and twists to lick at the wound, the sting that’s traveling up and down his foreleg. When a nose nudges his own, pushing his head away, Kevin notices that the black wolf is gone, as are all the vampires, and he has no actual idea what just happened here.
The gray wolf takes his neck softly between his jaws, urging Kevin to his feet. A smaller, lighter-colored wolf paces behind him, yipping anxiously, and Kevin just wants to go back to his apartment. He just wants to slump down on his ruined couch, but the two herd him in the opposite direction, slipping down shadowed streets, and Kevin struggles through pain to keep up.
*
Mike doesn’t show up to work for three days, and Bryar watches Kevin like a hawk when he finally does. Mike doesn’t look at Kevin at all.
Contrary to whatever Nick says, Kevin is not stupid.
*
“You’re such a loser,” Joe says, but his tone’s pretty affectionate. “I can’t believe you got yourself into the middle of some kind of werewolf-vampire war.”
“I didn’t!” Kevin says. He still doesn’t understand what happened, why William approached him in the first place, why Mike attacked him, why Bryar scowls at Mike with his mouth while his blue eyes keep this soft, worried hue.
Kevin tugs his coat closer around him with one hand, ignores the twinge in his shoulder. His cell phone is cold against his face, but he feels better walking home in the dark with Joe’s voice in his ear.
“It’s not a war, Joe,” Kevin says. “It’s just. Weird.” It’s weird, because Mike attacked him. A werewolf attacked him because of a vampire, and it seems like no one, on either side, is happy about it. Kevin can say that with confidence, given that William’s suddenly appeared in front of him, frowning, rhythmically slapping a dove-gray glove into his palm. “Uh.”
“I don’t like you,” William says.
Kevin blinks. He curls his fingers tight around his cell, but doesn’t hang up. Joe calls his name, but Kevin just stares at William, watches him watching him with eyes narrowed.
“I don’t like you, puppy,” he repeats. “I don’t like you because Mike likes you, which means, sadly, that I must apologize for my behavior the other night.”
Kevin swallows hard. “Okay.”
Joe says, “Okay, what? What?” and Kevin just says, “Hang on, Joe.”
William licks the corner of his lips. “Is there something you’d like to say to me, as well?” he asks impatiently.
“I’m. I’m sorry, too?” Kevin says.
William nods. “Not too painful there, was it? I suggest we put this unpleasantness behind us. I apologized for baiting you, you apologized for nearly maiming me. For the record, puppy,” he says, “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was testing your mettle. It all went slightly pear-shaped.”
Kevin doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to believe anything that comes out of William’s mouth.
William says, “Ta, little one,” flicks the end of Kevin’s nose, and then Kevin blinks and he’s gone.
“Don’t tell Nick any of this,” he says to Joe.
“Duh,” Joe says. “Nick’d be on your doorstep by morning.”
*
Bryar is a man of few words. He keeps an eye on Kevin, though, and walks him home whenever they close the shop together, and Kevin’s not surprised to find him at his door on the next full moon. He’s a little surprised to see Ross and Walker with him, but he probably shouldn’t be.
They eat pizza and Walker shows him his scar, the jagged silver teeth marks on his belly, and Bryar’s the only one who doesn’t blink when Kevin explains how he never turned, how he was born into a family of weres - generation after generation of werewolves, a messed-up legacy, and Kevin gets the feeling that it’s kind of rare here. But it doesn’t matter in the end, because it’s not like any one of them, born or bitten, had a choice.
*
Kevin watches Walker, the little light wolf from before, and Ross tussle on his living room floor. He knows they’d rather be outside, chasing shadows down the narrow streets, stalking through the stands of young maples and oaks planted in the nearby park, but Kevin isn’t leaving the apartment this time, and they seem determined to keep him company.
The big gray, Bryar, is curled up on his couch, surveying them all with eyes at half-mast, indulgently fond.
It’s nice, Kevin thinks, not being all alone.
But then there’s a noise at his window, a scratching, and Bryar’s head jerks up with a throaty growl, the fur of his ruff rimming his head like a lion. They watch, ears pricked, as the pane glides open easily, even though Kevin had made sure it was properly locked before the change. And then Brendon’s grinning face is there, and Mike’s slipping soundlessly over the sill and into the room.
“Brought you a present, friends.” Brendon tips his hat. “Ross,” he says, and Ross snaps his teeth at him in a snarl. “Always a pleasure.”
He’s gone before Bryar even gets to his feet.
Mike is dark and sleek with a narrow snout and big paws. He noses Bryar’s chin, and Ross, long-legged and tawny, wriggles happily on his back and yips until Mike licks under his ear. Walker whines and low-crawls, tail thumping rhythmically on the threadbare rug, and Mike holds out for a full minute before huffing and gently biting the back of Walker’s neck, shaking him with a mock-growl.
Kevin shrinks into the shadow thrown by the wide arm of his couch, curls his tail over his paws. He stares down at the beige carpet and presses up against the shredded upholstery in an attempt to stem the stupid little tremors running through his body, because he’s not afraid of Mike. His shoulder, fully-healed, suddenly aches so hard he can feel it in his teeth.
Black paws nudge into his eye-line, and Kevin holds carefully still while Mike licks over his jaw, one of his ears, then flops down next to him, leaning his weight into Kevin’s side.
He still smells like too much death, like he’s been sleeping with vampires, but he smells like Walker now, too, like Ross, and Kevin’s silent when Mike rests his head along Kevin’s withers, letting out a low chuff of air.
*
The papers are always full of mysterious deaths, telltale punctures marring wrists and necks and thighs, but the pack, Ross tells him, avoids killing anything human. The morning after the last day of the full moon, though, a uniformed police officer is the first customer in the bookshop, a lopsided grin on his mouth, tired eyes full of wary concern.
Bryar’s arms tense around a stack of books. He drops them on the front counter and says, “Smith.”
Smith nods. He says, “Something came in last night, Bryar.” He shoots Kevin a look. “Can we talk alone?”
Bryar crosses his arms over his chest. “Here’s fine.”
“Okay.” Smith sighs. “Okay, right. Southside of the park, down by the runoff drain. Animal attack call came in around three.” He lets the statement hang, and Bryar stares at him, stone-faced, and Kevin thinks there is no way Smith, whoever he is, can outlast Bryar when he wants to be stoic and stubborn.
“Jesus Christ, Bryar,” Smith says finally, but he sounds half-amused. His sleeves are rolled up, he cocks a hip against the counter, one hand braced on the edge, and Kevin sees a scar on the inside of his wrist - a burned scar, like after a tattoo’s been removed, and Smith rubs it idly and grimaces when he catches Kevin looking.
“Um, sorry,” Kevin says.
“They can be very persuasive when they want something,” he says, more embarrassed than bitter.
Kevin’s more impressed, though. He’s never heard of anyone walking away.
“Look,” Smith says to Bryar, “I’m not accusing anyone of anything, but it’s pretty ugly. Something big did this. Something big and mean, so just think about it, let me know if you find out anything. There’s more than just your pack around here.”
“Wasn’t Carden, either,” Bryar says, and Smith says, resigned, “Didn’t say it was. Fuck, give me a mountain lion and I’ll be happy.”
They stare at each other some more, and Kevin wonders at the animosity rolling off of Bryar, because Smith seems mostly okay, aside from the whole misspent vampiric past thing.
Smith taps his fingers on the counter before straightening up, pushing off towards the door. Over his shoulder, he says, “Tell Conrad. And tell Ryan I was by, he’ll want to call and chew me out later.”
*
“Werewolf,” Walker says immediately, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck.
“One of ours?” Ross asks, fingers poised over the till.
“Can’t fucking tell. Siska was nervous about something, though.” Walker shakes his head, leans over the counter and drops his voice on, “Mike never showed up. That last night.”
Kevin’s fingers tighten around his pen, focusing so hard on the ledger the little rows of numbers start to blur. They’d spent all three days of the full moon with Kevin, except Mike hadn’t come around on the third, and Kevin had tried to tell himself he wasn’t disappointed about that. He’d always been really bad at lying.
*
Outside of the change, Kevin’s never really had any heightened senses. Nick could always differentiate scents, Joe can spot a tiny field mouse from over fifty feet away, but Kevin’s just Kevin; sturdy, oblivious, friendly. He wears glasses to read, and any kind of flower stops up his nose and makes him sneeze.
He never notices vampires until they’re right in front of him. He never notices hunters at all.
He’s darted and down before he can even make a sound.
*
Kevin swims blearily back into consciousness and realizes he’s tied to a chair.
“You’re new,” someone says.
Kevin blinks, sees a guy with a lot of hair and a really big gun. He’s pointing the really big gun at Kevin.
“You’re not pack,” he says, “or you’d reek of Conrad. Strays make me nervous. When I’m nervous, I tend to shoot things.”
“Um.” Kevin bites back a squeak when the guy starts waving the gun around.
“Stop scaring the kid, Joe.” A short guy, dark cap, red-blonde hair wisping out the sides, steps into view, clutching a huge book and frowning at him.
“I’m-” Kevin scrambles for words, doesn’t say I’m pack, because he’s not, obviously, he’s technically homeless without his brothers. Ever since William, he’s not fond of the word stray. “I work with Bryar. And Ross.”
“Oh, fuck,” Joe says. “Fuckity, fuck, Patrick, we stole him off Bryar.”
Patrick says, “That doesn’t mean anything,” but he sounds doubtful.
Long hair, blocky glasses, sword strapped to his back, too amused smirk on his mouth - another guy moves behind Joe, crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Bryar’s probably going to kill you, Joe. I can’t wait.”
“Fuck off, Hurley,” Joe says, then palms his face and groans. “I’m a dead man.”
“Nah, Bryar likes you.”
They keep coming, Kevin thinks, and he’s still tied uncomfortably to a chair, and with this new guy, dark circles under his eyes, vampire, Kevin finally begins to struggle.
He doesn’t have the preternatural strength, though, like his dad always had, so his wrists just end up raw from the rope, bleeding, his chest heaving in rapidly growing panic, and Hurley wrests the gun out of Joe’s hand and darts him again.
*
When Kevin wakes up, it’s to another unfamiliar face. He’s untied now, though, a heap on the floor, and he pushes onto his elbows.
“You’re Kevin.” He’s scruffy cheeked, sprawled low in a chair, knees wide, a cigarette hooked between curled fingers. His hair’s messy, like he just rolled out of bed, clad in a gray hoodie and worn jeans. “I’m Tom,” he says. “Tom Conrad.”
Kevin doesn’t know what the name means, but he knows it means something - he’s been brought up too often, by too many people. He nods slowly, and stays on the floor.
Conrad smiles. It’s a bland smile, but Kevin instantly relaxes, feels a little warmth spread through his chest. He thinks, alpha, and smiles back.
“You’re a good kid,” Conrad says. He shifts, flicks his cigarette off to the side, gets to his feet. He reaches out, briefly pushes his hand through Kevin’s hair. “I’m gonna let Bryar get you home.”
Bryar’s apparently there, too, since Kevin can hear the yelling as soon as Conrad opens the door to leave.
He hears, “-ucking kid, Trohman, and you darted him twice?”
“Hey, no, that was all Andy-”
“Joe.”
“The second time, the second time,” Joe says stridently. “And he’s a stray, dude, you can’t blame us after the shit that went down in the park.”
And then Conrad says, calmly, “He’s not a stray,” and Kevin’s smile stretches wider; he rubs the heel of a palm over his mouth to hide it, cheeks heating, and it’s never felt like this before, this belonging, this being accepted - he thinks it’s different than when you just are, when it’s all you’ve ever known. He didn’t choose his pack, before. But this one chose him.
*
He’s in the backroom with Ross, tucked into a corner on his break - Ross has a slim book of poetry balanced on his knees, Kevin has his head tipped back, staring up at the tiled ceiling.
Kevin says, “What happened-what happened with Mike?”
He can feel Ross shrug. “William’s really good at getting what he wants.”
“Smith-”
Ross stiffens. “Brendon,” he says darkly. “They can all fuck off and die, as far as I’m concerned, but Mike-” He pauses. “It’s complicated.”
Kevin’s already figured out that it’s complicated. And that it has to do with Conrad just as much as it has to do with William.
“Here’s the thing,” Ross says, slapping his book shut and getting to his feet. He stares down at Kevin. “You don’t give Mike ultimatums, or he’ll make the choices you don’t want him to make.”
*
Mike corners Kevin by the young adult books. He presses him up against the shelves and slips his mouth over Kevin’s pulse and then pulls away, sneering. His hands are fit tight on Kevin’s hips and Kevin’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest, and he wants-he wants-
“Conrad,” Mike says, and laughs like it isn’t funny at all.
*
Life isn’t fair, Kevin thinks. He’s gotten something he’s always wanted, but Mike turns away from him now, ignores him, and Kevin can’t help but feel like he’s lost something important that he’s never thought of wanting before.
*
“Joe says you’ve joined a pack,” Nick says, and Nick sounds pissed.
Kevin says, slightly confused, “Well, yeah. I thought-I mean, I was supposed to.”
Nick says, “You were supposed to come home,” and he doesn’t say you weren’t supposed to be able to survive without us, but Kevin can hear the words anyway.
“Nick,” Kevin says. “Nick, I. I need this.” He doesn’t say that he’s still scared, that he still doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, that he’s in love with a were leashed by vampires, and oh-oh, gosh darn it, he’s maybe in love, how pathetic is that?
Nick sighs. “You can always come back, though,” he says, and Kevin knows he means forever and ever and whenever he wants.
“Yeah,” Kevin says, and hopes he never has to.
*
It snows during the next full moon. Big, fat, sticky flakes, and Kevin’s outer coat of fur is already soaked and crystallized on the tips by the time they reach the park. There are howls echoing in and out of the trees and Kevin sees flashes of white, of gray, of bodies dark as shadows.
Walker chases Ross into the darkness, and Kevin trots slower after them, content to hang back. It isn’t until he loses sight of them that he realizes Bryar’s gone, too. He stops, cocks his head, ears alert, and listens to the hushed ping of falling snow, the bays and barks in the distance. He shakes, flinging tiny shards of ice off his fur, then flops down under a tree, close to the trunk where the layer of snow is thinnest, and waits.
*
At some point, a little white wolf finds him, tackles him, and Kevin spends an hour dodging through trees and shrubs, nipping playfully at her heels. They run and run and she circles behind a tree, sliding into a one-eighty turn, pouncing on him when his momentum makes him scramble for footing as he spots her game. It’s fun; it’s more fun than he’s had in a while, and he squirms below her, pushing at her jaw with his paws, tail sweeping away light piles of snow, down to the short tufts of tough, yellow-green grass underneath.
He rolls them over, laughs spilling out in rumbling growls, but she wriggles out of his hold and darts off again, Kevin pausing only a second before following behind.
The growls don’t even register at first, there’s so many of them out there, but then a rangy blue-gray wolf lunges out of the dark, legs splayed, back hunched, lips pulled back in a snarl, and the little white wolf backpedals into Kevin, yipping in surprise.
There’s blood on the wiry fur of the wolf’s jaw, Kevin can smell it, and his eyes gleam yellow and mean in the moonlight. Kevin’s seen those eyes before.
Kevin pushes the white wolf down and lowers his own body, waits until the tension in the blue unwinds; waits ‘til he spots a perceptible wag of his tail.
part two