(no subject)
Title: House of Wolves
Author: dyedcities
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, sexual themes
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan, Pete/Patrick, Frank/Gerard, Pete/Brendon, various minor pairings
POV: 3rd
Summary: "What--bear attacks?" Patrick splutters. "Aren't those made by bears?"
"Ah, yes, well!" Gerard continues, clearly excited to have deduced this. "The authorities only think those were bear attacks. They were actually werewolf attacks!"
(That one werewolf AU where select werewolves are having trouble with finding and keeping their mates.)
Disclaimer: This is an entirely fictional story and all of the characters own themselves. None of this is mine except the order the words are in. Title belongs to M
Author Notes: In progress! I'm a little scared about being able to finish, but it's coming along well and I have a fabulous beta, dragonmists753 , to keep me in line so it will be fine. Thanks to her for the hand-holding and occasional pinch. Thanks also to heyhokelso for letting me IM her most of the first several chapters of this fic for *five hours* one night. I love you guys. <3
When they get to the store, they find that Mikey has managed to talk the customers into buying a hideous lamp that Gerard had on more than one occasion considered burning just to get rid of it. Arriving just in time to wave the customers out the door, Gerard and Patrick hang their coats and keys on the employee stand behind the counter.
Patrick finds himself shooed off to man the counter as the brothers retreat to a corner of the shop to Have A Conversation. Gerard shows his brother his sketches and jabbers excitedly about the wolf encounter. Patrick counts the money in the register and takes the "BURN IF NECESSARY" and "IT MUST DIIIIIE" notes off the lampshade's inventory line. He saves Gerard's doodle of their favorite chair in the corner in a cape and mask, fighting the hideous lampshade in six rough panels. He looks up.
Mikey and Gerard are still talking. Gerard is using hand gestures. Mikey is using hand gestures. Patrick passes a hand over his face. This cannot be good.
Gerard nods excitedly at something Mikey is saying and runs off to the Rare Books and Manuscripts section. Mikey sidles up to Patrick and starts grilling him about his wolf encounters.
Patrick answers to the best of his ability and hopes they'll drop the subject. After Mikey makes him recite the order of events about eight times, the younger Way sidles off to look things up on the internet. Mikey has this amazing talent for being able to find things out from a quick IM conversation or a little chat on the phone. Patrick would be totally in awe, except he has to do things like rearrange the entire light fixture section of the store because their most recent customers apparently felt it their duty to mess with every lamp in the store.
He hears Mikey show something exciting to Gerard. He makes a bet with himself that the Way brothers will come to the conclusion that the wolves are werewolves. He knows how the Ways think.
-----------------------
During their morning break at 10:30, he wins his bet. He owes himself new tire chains. You know, assuming he can get to his car to put them on.
"So!" Gerard sits next to Patrick with an armful of library books and photocopies (he snuck out to the library an hour earlier. It's his store, he can do whatever he likes!).
"We think they're werewolves," Mikey adds, sliding in to bracket Patrick between the Way brothers. Patrick mentally chides himself to be thankful that it's not unicorns this time.
"There's all sorts of lore and I found some things in our books," Gerard continues, fanning highlighted and color-coded pages. "There's evidence."
"And I looked up some stuff online." Mikey waves his Sidekick in demonstration.
"So are these werewolves local or something?" Patrick asks. It is taking a lot of willpower not to roll his eyes. Ryan would be so proud.
"Yes," Gerard says. "Sort of. They've been in the area for a little while now. Remember the one unsolved homicide over the fall? And the bear attacks?"
"What--bear attacks?" Patrick splutters. "Aren't those made by bears?"
"Ah, yes, well!" Gerard continues, clearly excited to have deduced this. "The authorities only think these were bear attacks. They were actually werewolf attacks!"
"Frank down at the diner told me they were bear attacks," Patrick protests. Gerard's face takes on a pink tinge; Patrick isn't sure why. "Guys, Frank has seen bears. There are definitely bears around here. The attacks could have been bears, right?"
"No, not really," Mikey interjects. "It's the werewolves. Trust us." He hands Patrick some of the papers. They're heavy with highlighter and the Way brothers allow Patrick a few minutes to look them over. With each page, Patrick's eyes widen.
"We think they're the ones who killed the McKinleys last month. And the Johnsons. And the Greenherts and the Cohens and the Androvskis," Mikey tells him when he's finished reading.
"They may have killed the Chungs as well, but their bodies weren't found, so it's possibly they were actually killed in a hiking accident," Gerard adds.
"Oh, god." Patrick puts his head in his hands.
"What?" Gerard says, rifling through the papers.
"Nothing," Patrick groans. "Nothing. So, why are werewolves sitting on my lawn?"
"We think that the one that was acting strangely--um, strangest--"
"You mean the one that keeps licking me and jumping around like a labrador?" Patrick says. Just to, you know, clarify, because there are murderous werewolves in his town. Patrick doesn't know what's normal for murderous werewolves. The Ways, he is sure, do.
"Yeah. That one. All of the literature we've found suggests that you're its--or, rather, his mate." Gerard looks terribly pleased with himself and his dramatic conclusion. Mikey looks smug. The bell rings, signaling that a customer has entered the shop.
"Mikey, would you, please?" Gerard jerks his head in the direction of the front door. Mikey goes, leaving a spluttering Patrick with a beaming, oblivious Gerard.
"But I'm not--he can't--I'm not even gay!" Patrick protests.
"Doesn't matter," Gerard tells him, patting his arm awkwardly. "You will be for him."
"But I--That's not--"
"I'm afraid you don't have much choice in the matter," Gerard goes on as if Patrick hasn't said anything. "He's going to be in love with you no matter how you feel about him. It's quite well-documented. The sort of attention a werewolf lavishes on his or her mate can have a very powerful effect on the mate, often bringing the mate around from indifferent or even hostile feelings."
Gerard rifles through the papers again. "I can show you the literature. It's...hang on. I highlighted it in purple. No, light purple. I think?"
"He's right," declares an unfamiliar voice from the doorway to the back room. "Uh, about the mate thing, I mean. I have no idea what color his highlighter was."
"I'm sorry, sir, but customers are not supposed...to...be..." Patrick trails off as he sees the man leaning against the door frame. He isn't tall, but there is a definite strength in the heavy muscles of the man's arms. His tanned, bare arms are dappled with tattoos and faint scars, and the thin t-shirt does nothing to hide his sculpted torso. He's wearing a trashy pair of torn jeans, and he has on flip-flops.
"--or was it light green?" Gerard mutters, still sifting through the papers.
"Hi! I'm Pete," the tanned stranger quips, stepping forward and extending his hand.
Patrick shakes it out of shock. The man--Pete--breaks into a wide grin, exposing a mouth full of large, white teeth. Pete's eyes glitter as he changes his grip so he is holding Patrick's hand more than shaking it.
"And your name...?" he murmurs, leaning into Patrick's space.
"Found it!" Gerard exclaims in triumph, holding aloft a sheet of paper largely highlighted in pink, totally breaking the moment. Pete blinks, thrown off.
"What?"
"The werewolf passage, the one I was looking for," Gerard explains, flapping the paper in Patrick's direction. "Here. Read this, and--" It registers then with Gerard that a Customer is in the Staff Area. He puts on his store-owner demeanor. "I'm very sorry, sir, but would you mind following us out of this area? I'm afraid only staff are allowed in here." Gerard stands smoothly and leads the way back into the main room. Pete and Patrick follow. Pete has still not let go of Patrick's hand.
Gerard and Patrick are taken aback at the sight of three men lounging around the store. There's one leaning up against the counter, altogether too close to Mikey for Gerard's liking. He has a beard of stubble but his hair is neat and he has a warm laugh. His broad shoulders, almost as broad as Pete's, stretch the fabric of his shirt in a way Mikey seems to like. This one is taller than Pete but still shorter than the one messing with the armoire and the one sprawled on the antique rug. On the rug, the second interloper has his eyes closed and is banging out a simple rhythm with his palms. The man by the armoire is tapping it inquisitively with his nails. Every so often he raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, just under the line of his dark hair. Though the one by the register and the one on the rug are a bit stocky, none of them are very bulky.
"That's Jon," Pete whispers to Patrick, pointing at the werewolf by the register. "That's Darren over by the cupboard thing and that's Bob on the rug."
"Armoire," Patrick corrects. He seems to be doing a lot of things automatically today. He puts it down to discovering that a homicidal animorph is in love with him and stalking his house. Gerard rushes over to stop Darren messing with the antiques. Pete takes the opportunity to nuzzle into Patrick's neck.
"Mmm," he sighs contentedly, wriggling closer to Patrick. But Patrick has had just about enough. This is insane! He pushes Pete off. Pete stumbles, startled, and Jon, Darren, and Bob instantly snap to attention. Bob shoots to his feet and Darren shifts so Gerard is no longer between him and Pete.
"What'd you do that for?" Pete asks Patrick, completely confused.
"Because," Patrick snarls. "You can't just waltz into my life, terrorize me and my family and friends, and expect me to be your mate." The way he spits out the word 'mate' makes it clear how ridiculous he thinks the whole thing is.
"I don't--I would never--" Pete is terribly confused. "But we didn't come near your family!" he protests. "These two, these two aren't related to you! They don't smell like you at all! When--What did I do to your family?" Pete whines, visibly distressed.
"My cousin is staying with me!" Patrick's voice is maybe a bit louder than it should be, but he's always been protective of Ryan. "He's sick, he comes to stay with me to be safe! There have been wolves stalking my house for the past few days! This does not make my house a safe place for him to be!"
Pete shrinks back, chagrined. Patrick can just imagine him as a wolf, ears drooping. It does not make him less angry.
"You don't have to worry," Pete offers in a small voice. "I left my brothers there to guard him--"
"You WHAT?" Patrick is shouting now, outraged.
"Brendon smelled someone in the house, and we just--"
"THEY'RE IN THE HOUSE?!"
"Well, I--"
Patrick shoves past everyone and grabs Gerard's keys off the hook.
"I'm borrowing your car, Gee. Family emergency." He speeds home and swings into the driveway, fishtailing a little on the poorly plowed road. He runs up to the house, barely registering that someone has shoveled both the footpath and the driveway, and tries the handle. The door is locked.
Panicked, he pounds on the wood with both hands. "Ryan! RYAN! Can you hear me? Ryan! Ryan, are you okay? Ryan!" The bolt is scraped back and Patrick throws open the door, actually shoving the werewolf that opened it out of the way.
"RYAN!" he bellows. No answer. He turns to the werewolf and grabs it by the shoulders, pinning it to the door. "If you've hurt Ryan, I swear--"
"Patrick?" Ryan says behind him.
"Would you mind putting my friend down, please?" the dark-haired werewolf whose arms are wrapped around Ryan asks politely. Patrick releases his grip slowly. The werewolf rubs at the spots on his arms where Patrick had gripped him.
"I found some bacon!" a female voice trills from the kitchen. "Ryan, honey, did you want yours cooked?" the female voice adds.
"What the hell is going on here?" Patrick demands through gritted teeth. The werewolf he'd pinned to the wall edges around him and heads into the kitchen, leaving Patrick alone with the dark-haired werewolf and Ryan.
"Um," the dark-haired one says. "I'm Brendon." He unwraps an arm from around Ryan long enough to shake hands with Patrick, then snakes his arm back round Ryan's waist. Ryan smiles softly.
"Brendon says I'm his mate," Ryan tells his cousin. Patrick pinches the bridge of his nose.
"On the couch," he orders. "You two in the kitchen!" he calls out, louder. "Get out here."
Brendon and Ryan move to the couch and sit down, still entwined. No one comes out from the kitchen.
"I said, you two in the kitchen had better come out here," Patrick repeats. Behind him, the door opens. Pete comes in, brushing snow off his hands, sweating and radiating heat. Mikey's car pulls into the driveway and he and Gerard and Frank from the diner tumble out and run up to Patrick's house, following Pete inside.
"Did we miss anything?" Frank asks excitedly.
Patrick screams.
--------
Earlier that morning:
The werewolves shifted into human form on the lawn. Pete was more solemn and morose than a naked man had any right to be. He sat in the snow, not caring about the cold, until Brendon came up to him about a minute later to timidly inquire as to whether or not they would be getting clothes soon, because his, Brendon's, ass was frozen.
"It's his territory," Pete snapped. "He hasn't invited me in. We're staying here until he gets back."
"Pete, all due respect, but you're going to freeze to death and then he *really* won't want you."
"Fine!" Pete snarled. Brendon ducked his head in submission and Pete settled down a little, taking a few deep breaths. "Okay," he said, standing up. "I'll go after him. You're right."
"I think we should put on clothes first," Chris called from the porch. Pete bounded up and slammed the door shut.
"NO. We stay out until he lets us in." Pete grabbed Chris by the arm and turned to lecture the pack on respecting his mate's boundaries, but then he saw Brendon. Brendon had followed him up to the porch, and was standing stock-still, pupils blown and mouth slack.
"Brendon," Pete barked. Brendon closed his mouth, but his pupils remained wide. He swallowed heavily.
"There's--there's someone inside," he rasped. Pete looked him over shrewdly. Werewolves only looked like that when they caught the scent of their mate. Well, that or when they smoked up. Pete came to the immediate conclusion that Brendon was after the same mate. A sick flash of jealousy coursed through Pete so violently it made him shudder. He bit back a possessive snarl. Brendon was going nowhere near Patrick, not if Pete could help it. Pete did not want to share.
"Fine. Fine, Brendon, guard the house and kill intruders. Greta, Chris, stay with him. Take nothing, break nothing. You know the rules. Jon, Darren, Bob. We're getting clothes from that house over there, and then we're going to find my mate." Pete glanced at Brendon while speaking the last few words, but Brendon was totally fixated on the curtained kitchen window. Pete shrugged and headed across the street with Jon, Darren, and Bob to look for jeans and shirts.
Chris opened the door again and Brendon slipped past him, making a beeline for the kitchen of the small house. Greta and Chris exchanged glances and followed.
Coming around the corner into the kitchen, they could see there was a human sitting at the table, wrapped in blankets and nursing a steaming cup of tea. The human looked up as they came into the kitchen, but Brendon was on his knees in front of it before it could react.
"I'm Brendon," Brendon told the human. "I know this sounds really crazy, but you're my one true love." Brendon had watched too many Disney movies as a human to think of "mate" as anything but.
The human took a sip of tea.
"Um," it said. "I'm Ryan?"
"Ryan," Brendon sighed, fisting his hands in the edge of Ryan's blanket cocoon and burying his face in the fabric, utterly content.
"Um, Brendon?"
"Yes, Ryan?"
"Why are you naked?"
--------
"And then he explained to me about the werewolf thing," Ryan finishes. "And then Greta made coffee and made Chris shovel the driveway because he kept getting in the way."
"And you just...accepted it?" Patrick cannot believe this. His younger cousin is not a moron. His younger cousin is very intelligent. So why is his younger cousin being so stupid about all of this?
"No, seriously, this guy--" Patrick gestures at Brendon. "--comes in, kneels on the fucking kitchen floor *naked*, tells you you are meant to be together, that he's a WEREWOLF, and you have no problem accepting any of this?!"
"No, not really." Ryan shrugs. Brendon grins and tucks his face into Ryan's neck. Ryan reaches a hand back to pet Brendon's hair. Pete is sitting on the coffee table, gazing longingly at Patrick, occasionally flashing jealous glances at Brendon and Ryan.
"Werewolves are usually very handsome," Gerard volunteers. "Mates don't tend to object being chosen." Pete's face falls further. He looks as though he's about to cry.
"Okay, look, can everyone clear out of here for a minute?" Patrick requests, glancing at Pete's expression. "I mean--oh, fuck it. Pete, come upstairs. We need to talk. Everyone else, stay downstairs. Please. Um, help yourself to whatever contents of my kitchen you haven't already helped yourselves to."
Pete follows Patrick upstairs.
Patrick is trying not to let his hands clench into fists. He's trying to play nice here, he really is. Pete's hunched in on himself in a way he couldn't be in front of his pack, but relaxes a little when Patrick leads him into his bedroom and closes the door. Pete's now the one clenching his hands into fists, doing his very best not to reach out and grab Patrick.
It's very hard on him. On the one hand, his instincts are screaming at him that he needs to be touching Patrick nownownowNOW! His newly developed Patrick-specific instincts make him cringe at the thought of causing Patrick discomfort.
"Look," Patrick says. "It's not personal."
"But it IS," Pete says. "Look, can you please tell me your name? I never got a chance to ask at the store, and it's kind of awkward calling you "My Mate" in my head the whole time."
"Patrick. I'm Patrick," Patrick says.
"Patrick," Pete repeats, savoring the feel of the name in his mouth.
"Hey. Focus," Patrick tells him.
"Sorry," Pete mumbles. "This is not turning out the way I expected."
"And how did you expect it to go? You camp outside my house for an entire weekend, you run around telling me we're meant to be together and that I have no choice in the matter, and on top of it all you tell me that you're a...a Halloween monster that eats people?"
Pete is doing that shrinking-in-on-himself thing again, but Patrick has seen Ryan do that too many times to feel sorry for him.
"I'm a monster?" Pete whispers, bringing his face up to look at Patrick, to search Patrick's face for some glimmer of acceptance.
"Well, yeah." Pete sits down on Patrick's bed, clutching the bedspread in one feeble, miserable fist. "I've been working with Gerard and Mikey for too long to not know about werewolves," Patrick continues. "They're obsessed with comic books and paranormal stuff. It's their hobby. I know this about werewolves: You can change any time you want, but you have to change into a wolf when the full moon hits you. When it does hit you, you go into a crazed bloodlust. You run around your territory, running down travelers and killing them, or force your way into houses and trick mothers into handing you their children. You mutilate and maim your victims with no restraint. Most importantly, I know I can kill you with silver or by cutting off your head and burning your body."
Pete's hugging his knees to his chest, looking utterly broken. Patrick isn't sorry in the least.
Well, there's a small part of him that wants to scoop Pete up and take back everything he's said. It's overridden quite firmly by the part that does not want these killers anywhere near himself or Ryan, and so Patrick folds his arms across his chest.
"I'm not going to have anything to do with you, mate or not," he concludes. "And I don't want you or your friends anywhere near me and my family or friends, ever again."
"I can't promise Brendon--" Pete begins, but his voice is so small that Patrick talks over him easily.
"I don't care. Ryan has no idea what he's getting into; he's just a kid who hasn't gotten all the love and attention he deserves for a very long time. The fact that Brendon could provide a little of that does in no way negate the fact that Brendon kills people once a month."
Pete bites his lips and stays silent.
"I want you to promise me you're going to stay away and that you're going to keep your friends away--especially Brendon. No compromises," Patrick concludes. "Can you do that?"
"Yes." Pete's whisper is jagged and broken. "I promise." Patrick relaxes a little.
"Thank you." Pete nods.
"Um. Do you mind leaving me for a minute? To collect myself?" Pete sees Patrick hesitate and plows on. "I promise we'll be gone, totally gone, in fifteen minutes. I promise. I just need a minute or two by myself."
"Please?" Pete begs.
"You come straight downstairs afterwards, get your friends, and get out. Are we clear?" Patrick asks.
"Yeah," Pete agrees. "Yeah."
"Good." Patrick turns and heads back downstairs where Frank is chatting animatedly with Darren, Ryan and Brendon are still snuggling on the couch, and Gerard and Mikey are with the others by the fireplace, listening raptly to Greta's story. The room falls silent as Patrick steps off the stairs.
"Well?" Brendon says. "What's up?" Patrick levels him with a glare. Brendon snuggles closer to Ryan. Patrick narrows his eyes.
"You werewolves have fifteen minutes to get out," Patrick tells the room. A cacophony erupts from every single mouth. Pete's arrival at the foot of the stairs silences them again.
"Patrick's decided," he growls. "Brothers, sister, we're leaving. Say goodbye. We leave in ten minutes."
Part 3 will be up next week. <3<3
xoxo
Author: dyedcities
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, sexual themes
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan, Pete/Patrick, Frank/Gerard, Pete/Brendon, various minor pairings
POV: 3rd
Summary: "What--bear attacks?" Patrick splutters. "Aren't those made by bears?"
"Ah, yes, well!" Gerard continues, clearly excited to have deduced this. "The authorities only think those were bear attacks. They were actually werewolf attacks!"
(That one werewolf AU where select werewolves are having trouble with finding and keeping their mates.)
Disclaimer: This is an entirely fictional story and all of the characters own themselves. None of this is mine except the order the words are in. Title belongs to M
Author Notes: In progress! I'm a little scared about being able to finish, but it's coming along well and I have a fabulous beta, dragonmists753 , to keep me in line so it will be fine. Thanks to her for the hand-holding and occasional pinch. Thanks also to heyhokelso for letting me IM her most of the first several chapters of this fic for *five hours* one night. I love you guys. <3
When they get to the store, they find that Mikey has managed to talk the customers into buying a hideous lamp that Gerard had on more than one occasion considered burning just to get rid of it. Arriving just in time to wave the customers out the door, Gerard and Patrick hang their coats and keys on the employee stand behind the counter.
Patrick finds himself shooed off to man the counter as the brothers retreat to a corner of the shop to Have A Conversation. Gerard shows his brother his sketches and jabbers excitedly about the wolf encounter. Patrick counts the money in the register and takes the "BURN IF NECESSARY" and "IT MUST DIIIIIE" notes off the lampshade's inventory line. He saves Gerard's doodle of their favorite chair in the corner in a cape and mask, fighting the hideous lampshade in six rough panels. He looks up.
Mikey and Gerard are still talking. Gerard is using hand gestures. Mikey is using hand gestures. Patrick passes a hand over his face. This cannot be good.
Gerard nods excitedly at something Mikey is saying and runs off to the Rare Books and Manuscripts section. Mikey sidles up to Patrick and starts grilling him about his wolf encounters.
Patrick answers to the best of his ability and hopes they'll drop the subject. After Mikey makes him recite the order of events about eight times, the younger Way sidles off to look things up on the internet. Mikey has this amazing talent for being able to find things out from a quick IM conversation or a little chat on the phone. Patrick would be totally in awe, except he has to do things like rearrange the entire light fixture section of the store because their most recent customers apparently felt it their duty to mess with every lamp in the store.
He hears Mikey show something exciting to Gerard. He makes a bet with himself that the Way brothers will come to the conclusion that the wolves are werewolves. He knows how the Ways think.
-----------------------
During their morning break at 10:30, he wins his bet. He owes himself new tire chains. You know, assuming he can get to his car to put them on.
"So!" Gerard sits next to Patrick with an armful of library books and photocopies (he snuck out to the library an hour earlier. It's his store, he can do whatever he likes!).
"We think they're werewolves," Mikey adds, sliding in to bracket Patrick between the Way brothers. Patrick mentally chides himself to be thankful that it's not unicorns this time.
"There's all sorts of lore and I found some things in our books," Gerard continues, fanning highlighted and color-coded pages. "There's evidence."
"And I looked up some stuff online." Mikey waves his Sidekick in demonstration.
"So are these werewolves local or something?" Patrick asks. It is taking a lot of willpower not to roll his eyes. Ryan would be so proud.
"Yes," Gerard says. "Sort of. They've been in the area for a little while now. Remember the one unsolved homicide over the fall? And the bear attacks?"
"What--bear attacks?" Patrick splutters. "Aren't those made by bears?"
"Ah, yes, well!" Gerard continues, clearly excited to have deduced this. "The authorities only think these were bear attacks. They were actually werewolf attacks!"
"Frank down at the diner told me they were bear attacks," Patrick protests. Gerard's face takes on a pink tinge; Patrick isn't sure why. "Guys, Frank has seen bears. There are definitely bears around here. The attacks could have been bears, right?"
"No, not really," Mikey interjects. "It's the werewolves. Trust us." He hands Patrick some of the papers. They're heavy with highlighter and the Way brothers allow Patrick a few minutes to look them over. With each page, Patrick's eyes widen.
"We think they're the ones who killed the McKinleys last month. And the Johnsons. And the Greenherts and the Cohens and the Androvskis," Mikey tells him when he's finished reading.
"They may have killed the Chungs as well, but their bodies weren't found, so it's possibly they were actually killed in a hiking accident," Gerard adds.
"Oh, god." Patrick puts his head in his hands.
"What?" Gerard says, rifling through the papers.
"Nothing," Patrick groans. "Nothing. So, why are werewolves sitting on my lawn?"
"We think that the one that was acting strangely--um, strangest--"
"You mean the one that keeps licking me and jumping around like a labrador?" Patrick says. Just to, you know, clarify, because there are murderous werewolves in his town. Patrick doesn't know what's normal for murderous werewolves. The Ways, he is sure, do.
"Yeah. That one. All of the literature we've found suggests that you're its--or, rather, his mate." Gerard looks terribly pleased with himself and his dramatic conclusion. Mikey looks smug. The bell rings, signaling that a customer has entered the shop.
"Mikey, would you, please?" Gerard jerks his head in the direction of the front door. Mikey goes, leaving a spluttering Patrick with a beaming, oblivious Gerard.
"But I'm not--he can't--I'm not even gay!" Patrick protests.
"Doesn't matter," Gerard tells him, patting his arm awkwardly. "You will be for him."
"But I--That's not--"
"I'm afraid you don't have much choice in the matter," Gerard goes on as if Patrick hasn't said anything. "He's going to be in love with you no matter how you feel about him. It's quite well-documented. The sort of attention a werewolf lavishes on his or her mate can have a very powerful effect on the mate, often bringing the mate around from indifferent or even hostile feelings."
Gerard rifles through the papers again. "I can show you the literature. It's...hang on. I highlighted it in purple. No, light purple. I think?"
"He's right," declares an unfamiliar voice from the doorway to the back room. "Uh, about the mate thing, I mean. I have no idea what color his highlighter was."
"I'm sorry, sir, but customers are not supposed...to...be..." Patrick trails off as he sees the man leaning against the door frame. He isn't tall, but there is a definite strength in the heavy muscles of the man's arms. His tanned, bare arms are dappled with tattoos and faint scars, and the thin t-shirt does nothing to hide his sculpted torso. He's wearing a trashy pair of torn jeans, and he has on flip-flops.
"--or was it light green?" Gerard mutters, still sifting through the papers.
"Hi! I'm Pete," the tanned stranger quips, stepping forward and extending his hand.
Patrick shakes it out of shock. The man--Pete--breaks into a wide grin, exposing a mouth full of large, white teeth. Pete's eyes glitter as he changes his grip so he is holding Patrick's hand more than shaking it.
"And your name...?" he murmurs, leaning into Patrick's space.
"Found it!" Gerard exclaims in triumph, holding aloft a sheet of paper largely highlighted in pink, totally breaking the moment. Pete blinks, thrown off.
"What?"
"The werewolf passage, the one I was looking for," Gerard explains, flapping the paper in Patrick's direction. "Here. Read this, and--" It registers then with Gerard that a Customer is in the Staff Area. He puts on his store-owner demeanor. "I'm very sorry, sir, but would you mind following us out of this area? I'm afraid only staff are allowed in here." Gerard stands smoothly and leads the way back into the main room. Pete and Patrick follow. Pete has still not let go of Patrick's hand.
Gerard and Patrick are taken aback at the sight of three men lounging around the store. There's one leaning up against the counter, altogether too close to Mikey for Gerard's liking. He has a beard of stubble but his hair is neat and he has a warm laugh. His broad shoulders, almost as broad as Pete's, stretch the fabric of his shirt in a way Mikey seems to like. This one is taller than Pete but still shorter than the one messing with the armoire and the one sprawled on the antique rug. On the rug, the second interloper has his eyes closed and is banging out a simple rhythm with his palms. The man by the armoire is tapping it inquisitively with his nails. Every so often he raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, just under the line of his dark hair. Though the one by the register and the one on the rug are a bit stocky, none of them are very bulky.
"That's Jon," Pete whispers to Patrick, pointing at the werewolf by the register. "That's Darren over by the cupboard thing and that's Bob on the rug."
"Armoire," Patrick corrects. He seems to be doing a lot of things automatically today. He puts it down to discovering that a homicidal animorph is in love with him and stalking his house. Gerard rushes over to stop Darren messing with the antiques. Pete takes the opportunity to nuzzle into Patrick's neck.
"Mmm," he sighs contentedly, wriggling closer to Patrick. But Patrick has had just about enough. This is insane! He pushes Pete off. Pete stumbles, startled, and Jon, Darren, and Bob instantly snap to attention. Bob shoots to his feet and Darren shifts so Gerard is no longer between him and Pete.
"What'd you do that for?" Pete asks Patrick, completely confused.
"Because," Patrick snarls. "You can't just waltz into my life, terrorize me and my family and friends, and expect me to be your mate." The way he spits out the word 'mate' makes it clear how ridiculous he thinks the whole thing is.
"I don't--I would never--" Pete is terribly confused. "But we didn't come near your family!" he protests. "These two, these two aren't related to you! They don't smell like you at all! When--What did I do to your family?" Pete whines, visibly distressed.
"My cousin is staying with me!" Patrick's voice is maybe a bit louder than it should be, but he's always been protective of Ryan. "He's sick, he comes to stay with me to be safe! There have been wolves stalking my house for the past few days! This does not make my house a safe place for him to be!"
Pete shrinks back, chagrined. Patrick can just imagine him as a wolf, ears drooping. It does not make him less angry.
"You don't have to worry," Pete offers in a small voice. "I left my brothers there to guard him--"
"You WHAT?" Patrick is shouting now, outraged.
"Brendon smelled someone in the house, and we just--"
"THEY'RE IN THE HOUSE?!"
"Well, I--"
Patrick shoves past everyone and grabs Gerard's keys off the hook.
"I'm borrowing your car, Gee. Family emergency." He speeds home and swings into the driveway, fishtailing a little on the poorly plowed road. He runs up to the house, barely registering that someone has shoveled both the footpath and the driveway, and tries the handle. The door is locked.
Panicked, he pounds on the wood with both hands. "Ryan! RYAN! Can you hear me? Ryan! Ryan, are you okay? Ryan!" The bolt is scraped back and Patrick throws open the door, actually shoving the werewolf that opened it out of the way.
"RYAN!" he bellows. No answer. He turns to the werewolf and grabs it by the shoulders, pinning it to the door. "If you've hurt Ryan, I swear--"
"Patrick?" Ryan says behind him.
"Would you mind putting my friend down, please?" the dark-haired werewolf whose arms are wrapped around Ryan asks politely. Patrick releases his grip slowly. The werewolf rubs at the spots on his arms where Patrick had gripped him.
"I found some bacon!" a female voice trills from the kitchen. "Ryan, honey, did you want yours cooked?" the female voice adds.
"What the hell is going on here?" Patrick demands through gritted teeth. The werewolf he'd pinned to the wall edges around him and heads into the kitchen, leaving Patrick alone with the dark-haired werewolf and Ryan.
"Um," the dark-haired one says. "I'm Brendon." He unwraps an arm from around Ryan long enough to shake hands with Patrick, then snakes his arm back round Ryan's waist. Ryan smiles softly.
"Brendon says I'm his mate," Ryan tells his cousin. Patrick pinches the bridge of his nose.
"On the couch," he orders. "You two in the kitchen!" he calls out, louder. "Get out here."
Brendon and Ryan move to the couch and sit down, still entwined. No one comes out from the kitchen.
"I said, you two in the kitchen had better come out here," Patrick repeats. Behind him, the door opens. Pete comes in, brushing snow off his hands, sweating and radiating heat. Mikey's car pulls into the driveway and he and Gerard and Frank from the diner tumble out and run up to Patrick's house, following Pete inside.
"Did we miss anything?" Frank asks excitedly.
Patrick screams.
--------
Earlier that morning:
The werewolves shifted into human form on the lawn. Pete was more solemn and morose than a naked man had any right to be. He sat in the snow, not caring about the cold, until Brendon came up to him about a minute later to timidly inquire as to whether or not they would be getting clothes soon, because his, Brendon's, ass was frozen.
"It's his territory," Pete snapped. "He hasn't invited me in. We're staying here until he gets back."
"Pete, all due respect, but you're going to freeze to death and then he *really* won't want you."
"Fine!" Pete snarled. Brendon ducked his head in submission and Pete settled down a little, taking a few deep breaths. "Okay," he said, standing up. "I'll go after him. You're right."
"I think we should put on clothes first," Chris called from the porch. Pete bounded up and slammed the door shut.
"NO. We stay out until he lets us in." Pete grabbed Chris by the arm and turned to lecture the pack on respecting his mate's boundaries, but then he saw Brendon. Brendon had followed him up to the porch, and was standing stock-still, pupils blown and mouth slack.
"Brendon," Pete barked. Brendon closed his mouth, but his pupils remained wide. He swallowed heavily.
"There's--there's someone inside," he rasped. Pete looked him over shrewdly. Werewolves only looked like that when they caught the scent of their mate. Well, that or when they smoked up. Pete came to the immediate conclusion that Brendon was after the same mate. A sick flash of jealousy coursed through Pete so violently it made him shudder. He bit back a possessive snarl. Brendon was going nowhere near Patrick, not if Pete could help it. Pete did not want to share.
"Fine. Fine, Brendon, guard the house and kill intruders. Greta, Chris, stay with him. Take nothing, break nothing. You know the rules. Jon, Darren, Bob. We're getting clothes from that house over there, and then we're going to find my mate." Pete glanced at Brendon while speaking the last few words, but Brendon was totally fixated on the curtained kitchen window. Pete shrugged and headed across the street with Jon, Darren, and Bob to look for jeans and shirts.
Chris opened the door again and Brendon slipped past him, making a beeline for the kitchen of the small house. Greta and Chris exchanged glances and followed.
Coming around the corner into the kitchen, they could see there was a human sitting at the table, wrapped in blankets and nursing a steaming cup of tea. The human looked up as they came into the kitchen, but Brendon was on his knees in front of it before it could react.
"I'm Brendon," Brendon told the human. "I know this sounds really crazy, but you're my one true love." Brendon had watched too many Disney movies as a human to think of "mate" as anything but.
The human took a sip of tea.
"Um," it said. "I'm Ryan?"
"Ryan," Brendon sighed, fisting his hands in the edge of Ryan's blanket cocoon and burying his face in the fabric, utterly content.
"Um, Brendon?"
"Yes, Ryan?"
"Why are you naked?"
--------
"And then he explained to me about the werewolf thing," Ryan finishes. "And then Greta made coffee and made Chris shovel the driveway because he kept getting in the way."
"And you just...accepted it?" Patrick cannot believe this. His younger cousin is not a moron. His younger cousin is very intelligent. So why is his younger cousin being so stupid about all of this?
"No, seriously, this guy--" Patrick gestures at Brendon. "--comes in, kneels on the fucking kitchen floor *naked*, tells you you are meant to be together, that he's a WEREWOLF, and you have no problem accepting any of this?!"
"No, not really." Ryan shrugs. Brendon grins and tucks his face into Ryan's neck. Ryan reaches a hand back to pet Brendon's hair. Pete is sitting on the coffee table, gazing longingly at Patrick, occasionally flashing jealous glances at Brendon and Ryan.
"Werewolves are usually very handsome," Gerard volunteers. "Mates don't tend to object being chosen." Pete's face falls further. He looks as though he's about to cry.
"Okay, look, can everyone clear out of here for a minute?" Patrick requests, glancing at Pete's expression. "I mean--oh, fuck it. Pete, come upstairs. We need to talk. Everyone else, stay downstairs. Please. Um, help yourself to whatever contents of my kitchen you haven't already helped yourselves to."
Pete follows Patrick upstairs.
Patrick is trying not to let his hands clench into fists. He's trying to play nice here, he really is. Pete's hunched in on himself in a way he couldn't be in front of his pack, but relaxes a little when Patrick leads him into his bedroom and closes the door. Pete's now the one clenching his hands into fists, doing his very best not to reach out and grab Patrick.
It's very hard on him. On the one hand, his instincts are screaming at him that he needs to be touching Patrick nownownowNOW! His newly developed Patrick-specific instincts make him cringe at the thought of causing Patrick discomfort.
"Look," Patrick says. "It's not personal."
"But it IS," Pete says. "Look, can you please tell me your name? I never got a chance to ask at the store, and it's kind of awkward calling you "My Mate" in my head the whole time."
"Patrick. I'm Patrick," Patrick says.
"Patrick," Pete repeats, savoring the feel of the name in his mouth.
"Hey. Focus," Patrick tells him.
"Sorry," Pete mumbles. "This is not turning out the way I expected."
"And how did you expect it to go? You camp outside my house for an entire weekend, you run around telling me we're meant to be together and that I have no choice in the matter, and on top of it all you tell me that you're a...a Halloween monster that eats people?"
Pete is doing that shrinking-in-on-himself thing again, but Patrick has seen Ryan do that too many times to feel sorry for him.
"I'm a monster?" Pete whispers, bringing his face up to look at Patrick, to search Patrick's face for some glimmer of acceptance.
"Well, yeah." Pete sits down on Patrick's bed, clutching the bedspread in one feeble, miserable fist. "I've been working with Gerard and Mikey for too long to not know about werewolves," Patrick continues. "They're obsessed with comic books and paranormal stuff. It's their hobby. I know this about werewolves: You can change any time you want, but you have to change into a wolf when the full moon hits you. When it does hit you, you go into a crazed bloodlust. You run around your territory, running down travelers and killing them, or force your way into houses and trick mothers into handing you their children. You mutilate and maim your victims with no restraint. Most importantly, I know I can kill you with silver or by cutting off your head and burning your body."
Pete's hugging his knees to his chest, looking utterly broken. Patrick isn't sorry in the least.
Well, there's a small part of him that wants to scoop Pete up and take back everything he's said. It's overridden quite firmly by the part that does not want these killers anywhere near himself or Ryan, and so Patrick folds his arms across his chest.
"I'm not going to have anything to do with you, mate or not," he concludes. "And I don't want you or your friends anywhere near me and my family or friends, ever again."
"I can't promise Brendon--" Pete begins, but his voice is so small that Patrick talks over him easily.
"I don't care. Ryan has no idea what he's getting into; he's just a kid who hasn't gotten all the love and attention he deserves for a very long time. The fact that Brendon could provide a little of that does in no way negate the fact that Brendon kills people once a month."
Pete bites his lips and stays silent.
"I want you to promise me you're going to stay away and that you're going to keep your friends away--especially Brendon. No compromises," Patrick concludes. "Can you do that?"
"Yes." Pete's whisper is jagged and broken. "I promise." Patrick relaxes a little.
"Thank you." Pete nods.
"Um. Do you mind leaving me for a minute? To collect myself?" Pete sees Patrick hesitate and plows on. "I promise we'll be gone, totally gone, in fifteen minutes. I promise. I just need a minute or two by myself."
"Please?" Pete begs.
"You come straight downstairs afterwards, get your friends, and get out. Are we clear?" Patrick asks.
"Yeah," Pete agrees. "Yeah."
"Good." Patrick turns and heads back downstairs where Frank is chatting animatedly with Darren, Ryan and Brendon are still snuggling on the couch, and Gerard and Mikey are with the others by the fireplace, listening raptly to Greta's story. The room falls silent as Patrick steps off the stairs.
"Well?" Brendon says. "What's up?" Patrick levels him with a glare. Brendon snuggles closer to Ryan. Patrick narrows his eyes.
"You werewolves have fifteen minutes to get out," Patrick tells the room. A cacophony erupts from every single mouth. Pete's arrival at the foot of the stairs silences them again.
"Patrick's decided," he growls. "Brothers, sister, we're leaving. Say goodbye. We leave in ten minutes."
Part 3 will be up next week. <3<3
xoxo