The Silver Sky is Turning Us to Stone for myaurasmiles

[jae_w]

Title: The Silver Sky is Turning Us to Stone
Author: quarterturn
Recipient: myaurasmiles
Band: MCR
Pairing: Ray/Gerard
Rating: light R
Word count: 8500
Summary: Getting turned into a werewolf is not quite as awesome as Gerard thought it would be.
Warnings: A little bit of violence, one scene that's pretty tame but might be considered the beginnings of dub-con.



When Gerard gets bitten, it's at the tail-end of a week that has all but killed him already. He lost his job, his car died in the middle of the busiest freeway, and he's got the flu. Which explains why he's out at ass o'clock at night in Mikey's car, picking up chicken soup and cold medicine with money Mikey loaned him, but it doesn't explain why he ends up behind the gas station instead of back in the car after making his purchases.

It's not that he feels compelled to wander around in the poorly-lit patch of woods, exactly. He's just...curious. Something itches at the corner of his mind, telling him there's something interesting back there if he'll just take the time to look, and he doesn't even consider the consequences before his feet are taking him around the side and into the shadowy back lot.

There's one dim light hanging off the side of the building, weakly trying to stave off the impending darkness that seems to creep forward from the woods, but Gerard wanders past its narrow safety net and doesn't stop until his toes are up against the brush that marks the boundaries of the woods. He squints into the blackness, trying to figure out what's out there, what could have been so interesting that he chose to pursue it even when his lungs feel thick and his throat burns and his eyes are watering and he could be at home in bed instead.

There's nothing but darkness, and finally the itchy feeling of needing to figure it out goes away. He's confused for a second, and irritated at himself, and then something comes lunging out of the trees, tackles him, and sinks its teeth into his shoulder.

-

He stumbles in the door, hand clutching the shredded part of his jacket, and realizes the bag with his chicken soup and Ny-Quil is still on the ground behind the gas station.

"Gee, that you?"

Gerard ducks into the kitchen before Mikey can see him, already trying to concoct a story that doesn't sound as lame as "I was wandering around behind the gas station for no good reason and got attacked by a dog or something." The best he comes up with by the time Mikey finds him is, "I was wandering around behind the gas station for a perfectly good reason and got attacked by a dog or something."

Mikey takes it in stride, already getting down the first aid kit from the cupboard. This would be lucky, but Ray had followed Mikey into the kitchen and he's looking very suspicious.

"What good reason could you have for wandering around behind the gas station?" He's gingerly pulling at the ruined shoulder of Gerard's jacket, trying to peel it away from the wound. Gerard hisses and Ray glances at him sympathetically.

"I thought I heard something."

Mikey sets the first aid kit down, lid open, and gestures helplessly at the single, sad-looking Band-Aid that it contains. "I think we used up everything else when I burned myself on the toaster that time."

Ray frowns. "And you didn't replace it?"

Gerard and Mikey both stare at him blankly, and Ray seems to remember who he's talking to. He shakes his head, getting back to the bloody mess of Gerard's shoulder. "What could you have heard that would make going back there seem like a good idea?"

Gerard's glad Ray's not looking at his face because he hadn't really thought that lie through and now he's stuck. Ray sighs and fortunately doesn't seem like he really needs an answer. "This is pretty bad, Gerard. We should probably take you to the hospital."

Visions of giant needles with very pointy ends being aimed at his person suddenly flood Gerard, and he quickly pulls away from Ray's gentle fingers. "It's not that bad. It barely even hurts anymore. I bet it's a flesh wound, just a graze, I'll be fine."

Ray stares at him. "It's an animal bite, not a bullet wound. What if whatever bit you had rabies?"

It would take a lot more than Ray's familiar worry-glare to make Gerard admit that he'd rather deal with having rabies than getting stuck with needles. "Seriously, I'm okay, I promise. I'll go clean it out, I think we have some gauze in the upstairs bathroom, and I bet it'll be barely noticeable by morning."

Ray looks like he wants to argue, but Mikey - most amazing brother in the world that he is - steps in. "If it's not better by morning, though, you'll go see a doctor?"

Gerard nods so hard his vision swims. "Definitely. Absolutely."

Neither of them look convinced of his honesty, but they let him leave, and Gerard counts himself lucky that he's only got a giant gaping hole in his shoulder and not a needle in his skin.

-

By three AM, Gerard's starting to regret his decision. He'd cleaned up the wound as best as he could, twisting and turning in front of the mirror, swabbing it with alcohol and packing it with antibiotic ointment and gauze, but the pain radiating from the bite is so intense he can't sleep. He has to keep sucking in huge breaths and letting them out between his teeth to keep from crying out, and on top of everything, his flu seems to be vying for attention by ratcheting up his fever until he's soaked in his own sweat. His head feels fuzzy, his mouth tastes like death, and for some reason he's got the scent of fresh meat stuck in his nose. He tries not to think about the fact that he might be smelling exactly what the dog smelled before it bit him.

He climbs out of bed on autopilot, shuffling forward until he hits the door and scrambling for the knob in the dark. His palms are sweaty, sliding off the knob when he tries to open the door, and for some reason his fingers feel deformed - longer than they're supposed to be, and curled. His thumbs seem to be non-existent.

It's the fever, Gerard thinks, finally getting the door open and stumbling up the basement stairs. I'm dehydrated, and I'm hallucinating. But by the time he gets to the kitchen, he feels even worse. Every single part of him itches, like he just got a haircut and all the tiny pieces are sticking to him under his clothes. He tries scratching, but his joints feel like they're locking up, one by one, and when he lets out a groan of frustration, it sounds more like a growl.

Gerard can't remember ever feeling as miserable as he does right now, and he's just made up his mind to get a bottle of water and go back to bed when he passes the mirror. In slow motion, he backs up a step, turning his head. Suddenly, he really, really hopes he's dreaming. The face in the mirror is his, but it's distorted somehow, the bones not sitting quite the way they should, the eyes sunk deeper and looking darker than should be humanly possible, and the teeth protruding down over the lower lip.

It's a hallucination, or a dream. It's got to be, because if it's not, then Gerard is losing his mind. He looks like a monster.

He spins away from the mirror and hip-checks the counter, a bright flare of pain shooting through him sharp enough to take his mind off the mirror. Between the pain and the fever, Gerard can't stay standing, and he slides to the floor like he's melting.

Everything's swimming - his head, his vision, his stomach - and Gerard can't help the small, weak noises he's making. The edges of his vision start to fade, the fever making his brain feel like it's boiling in skull, and he can't even muster up the energy to call out for help. He manages to curl up in the fetal position before he blacks out.

--

There's a light on somewhere just outside his periphery, and it's enough to seep through his eyelids and alert him to the fact that it's morning. Which is weird because sure, he's never been a morning person, but a dim light has never been enough to wake him up so fast he can hear the blood pounding in his ears.

It takes a second to orient himself, to figure out that the adrenaline pumping through his veins is a response to the fact that someone's nearby. No, not just someone, Ray. Gerard doesn't even have his eyes open yet and he can smell everything about Ray - the product he put in his hair is almost overpowering the rest, but there's toothpaste, and coffee, and deodorant and sweat and something else, something Gerard can't quite name. It's sort of earthy, an old smell, almost familiar except that Gerard can't remember ever smelling it before. It smells right, though, it smells comfortable and safe, like his bed or Mikey's tattered jacket.

Gerard's too wrapped up in the overwhelming scents for a minute to realize that he can hear Ray, too. Not just the muffled shifting as he sleeps, but the slight rasp of his breaths, the steady beat of his pulse. Gerard shouldn't be able to hear that, especially since he can tell that Ray's not even in the room. He's in the living room; he must have slept over. The weirdness of knowing that by scent alone finally makes him open his eyes and sit up, trying to figure out if he's dreaming or not.

He's in his bedroom, even though he vaguely remembers passing out in the kitchen. Warily, he heads upstairs, Ray's scent getting so much stronger Gerard can barely breathe for it. It stirs something in him, gives him the urge to find Ray just to be near him, but Gerard's never had much luck giving into his urges. He starts up the coffee maker and brews a pot twice as strong as usual, hoping the caffeine will finish waking him up.

He hears Ray stirring in the living room, so he has a chance to try and school his face into something resembling groggy confusion by the time Ray ambles in, sleepily trying to push his hair into place.

"You're up." Ray moves closer to him, concern etched deep in his face.

"Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

"You must be feeling better. It might take a while for the rabies to show up, though." Ray grins and heads for the coffee pot, yawning as he pours himself a cup. The smell that's been stuck in Gerard's nose since he woke up is infinitely stronger now that Ray's in the same room, and it's making it hard to think. But Ray's right; Gerard doesn't feel sick at all anymore, and even the pain in shoulder seems to be completely gone. Besides the weirdly fine-tuned senses, he can't feel anything wrong. But the senses themselves have got to indicate something's wrong, nobody just wakes up one morning with the ability to smell what their best friend had for dinner the night before. (The vague scent of pizza is almost lost when Ray takes his first sip of coffee.)

"I found you passed out in here last night," Ray says, making a face after he swallows the coffee. "Half under the table. Scared the shit out of me. I thought about calling an ambulance, but you weren't feverish or anything. Just sleeping pretty heavy."

Gerard can hear Ray talking, but the words are sort of muffled. The blood pounding in his ears drowns almost everything else out, and the less distractions there are, the more he focuses on the way Ray smells, the way he moves, and the overwhelming urge to get close to him.

There are a few seconds that Gerard can't remember later - he remembers sitting there, trying to reassert some logical part of his brain over the primal part that seemed to have taken over, but apparently he'd failed, because the next thing he knows, he has Ray pressed up against the wall, Gerard's knee between Ray's legs, his nose nuzzled up under Ray's jaw and his mouth against Ray's pulse point. He can feel the erratic skip of it, but he doesn't come back to his senses until Ray hesitantly says, "Gee?"

Pulling himself away from Ray may be the hardest thing he's ever had to do in his life, and he'd gone cold turkey to dry out. But he manages to take a few steps back, heel hitting a jagged piece of broken coffee cup and sending it skittering across the floor. He doesn't remember Ray dropping it, but he must have. Or maybe Gerard knocked it out of his hands, he has no idea. The fear that suddenly he has no control over himself is enough to overwhelm the desire to be near Ray, and he stumbles back even further.

Ray's staring at him blankly, and Gerard does the first thing that comes to mind to explain away the fact that he very aggressively just pinned his friend to a wall. He laughs. He doesn't even know why he does it, he just knows that he wants Ray to stop looking at him like that, and laughing it off has worked out pretty well in other awkward situations.

Ray doesn't laugh along. The blankness drains away, and now he looks confused and a little pissed. "Gerard, you feeling okay?"

There's a second or two where Gerard considers telling him the truth - about the weird, compelling smell, about being able to hear Ray's heartbeat, about not feeling okay in the slightest. But he knows exactly how it would sound, and he kind of wants to avoid Ray looking at him like he's crazy, or worse, like everyone used to look at him when he was falling-down drunk.

"Yeah, I'm good."

There's a heavy, awkward silence before Ray sets his jaw and leans down to pick up the biggest pieces of the broken coffee cup. "Glad you're feeling better."

Gerard shifts unhappily. "Hey, uh, I'm sorry. About that, I just-"

"Don't worry about it. Sorry about your mug." Ray dumps the pieces into the garbage and stiffly grabs his jacket. "Frank's coming over later in case you need anything. Tell Mikey I'll talk to him later." Belatedly, Gerard remembers that Mikey had work early today, which probably explains Ray spending the night in case Gerard needed something.

Ray leaves before Gerard can say anything else, although he's not sure what else he could have said. The urge to follow Ray creeps up on him, and he tries to sort out why exactly he wants to do that. To apologize again, sure, but there's something deeper, something that feels less like an urge and more like a innate need to be with Ray, to be near him, to touch him, to protect him.

Which is... a nice concept, Gerard supposes, but it's not something he's ever had the overwhelming desire to do before. Well, not the protecting part. The touching part has maybe come up a few times when he's alone in his room.

Everything feels upside down, and Gerard's not sure there's any point in trying to logic it out. He's probably still just sick, and he'll get over whatever this weirdness is eventually. Once he's feeling better, he'll call Ray and they'll talk about how much of a dumbass Gerard is for a while and then they'll be fine. Gerard has plenty of practice being the dumbass that has to call and apologize profusely for some dumbass thing he's done.

There was a pack of cigarettes in his back pocket when he went to the store last night, and Gerard winces when he realizes they're probably smashed beyond saving. He's already standing up and reaching back to check when he realizes there's no pull in his shoulder, no twinge of pain from the bite. Based on the agony he was going through last night, that seems weird.

Carefully, he peels his t-shirt off and picks at the bandages until they come off, wincing in expectation of a badly-infected wound that's gotten so bad the nerves in his arm are dead.

There's nothing there.

He blinks rapidly, so flabbergasted for a second that he just stares at the spot where the wound should have been. He checks the other shoulder, just in case he somehow managed to bandage a completely unmarked shoulder and left a bloody one untended. That shoulder's clear, too. Tentatively, he rotates his arms, expecting a pull in the muscles, but he feels fine. Better than fine, actually. Besides the intensity of smells and sounds leaving him off-balance, he feels like he could run five miles and not lose his breath. He feels like he could tear a carcass apart with his teeth.

He pauses, surprised by the aggression of the thought. He doesn't even particularly like meat. He eats it, but he's never been a bloody steak kind of guy. Right now, a bloody steak doesn't sound bloody enough. Pushing the hunger aside, he reaches over his shoulder to feel the skin where the wound was. It's unmarred, smooth as it's ever been, and his head spins. The smelling thing and the lack of control over his own impulses had freaked him out, but there was a logical - if extremely shaky - explanation for that. Being sick can make you do all kinds of weird things. It doesn't make bloody holes in your arm miraculously disappear. If it hadn't been for Ray confirming that the night before had in fact happened, Gerard would have written the whole thing - going out, getting bitten - off as a fever dream.

Gerard finds little things to keep him busy until Frank comes over. If he smokes enough, he can almost blot out the smell Ray left behind, and if he watches enough mindless TV, he can almost think past the urge to find Ray.

It doesn't occur to Gerard until Frank gets there that he might be carrying some weird scent, too. He barely avoids plugging his nose before he finds out, but it turns out he doesn't have to worry. Frank smells like Frank, like cigarettes and laundry detergent and a little like Jamia's perfume. But he also smells like friend, which is something Gerard doesn't think there's supposed to be a scent for. He smells like he belongs.

Gerard shrugs off the prickly feeling at the back of his neck, trying to ignore everything the weirder it gets.

Frank sets a bag of groceries on the table as he comes in. "I figured you guys needed some shit. Ray said you got attacked by a big dog or something last night?"

"Or something," Gerard mumbles, glancing through the groceries.

"What the hell, why didn't you call me?"

Gerard picks up a gallon of orange juice and takes a drink from the bottle. It tastes weird, and he runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. It tastes like preservatives. He doesn't even know what preservatives taste like, but he's sure that's what the orange juice tastes like. He sets it aside. "It wasn't that big a deal."

Frank crowds up near him and looks him over. "Well, let me see it."

The table behind him doesn't allow for an easy escape, but Gerard manages to slip sideways and avoid Frank's prodding. "It'll take forever to get bandaged again, I'll show you when it doesn't hurt as much to redo them."

Frank immediately looks contrite. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Here you are all ripped to pieces and I'm busy trying to see the carnage." Gerard feels a little guilty for manipulating Frank like that, but he still doesn't know what's going on and he feels better keeping things quiet for now. If he starts talking about how he can hear exactly how many beats per minute Frank's heart is pumping out, they're definitely going to think he's drinking again. At this point, he's almost hoping he managed to fall off the wagon without noticing. It beats the alternative, which is that he is hallucinating that he's got superpowers.

--

Spending the day with Frank makes things easier, if only because there's very little downtime with him around. Even during movies, Frank's throwing popcorn and talking to the characters onscreen, trying to direct their actions.

"Fucking stupid motherfuckers," Frank mutters, shaking his head. "Okay, look, if you're hunting demons, and you come across a super hot chick who seems into you? There's a problem. Don't they watch movies?"

Gerard shifts so he's leaning more against Frank. During the time Frank's been there, Gerard's senses have seemed to settle down a little and he can comfortably bask in the warm, comfortable scent Frank's exuding. It's almost enough to lull him to sleep, but for Frank's running commentary. Frank pats him on the arm distractedly and fishes around on the table next to him for his soda without taking his eyes off the TV.

There's a short, violent burst of buzzing, and Frank reaches for his phone. He flips it open and scans the screen, reporting to Gerard. "Ray wants to know if you're doing okay. You doing okay?"

Gerard frowns. He knows Ray has a right to be pissed that Gerard nearly non-consensually dry-humped him, but it doesn't make it easier to find out that Ray doesn't want to talk to him. Frank scowls at the screen as he tries to type a reply, and it just cements the fact that Ray's avoiding Gerard pretty hard. Everyone knows not to text Frank if not absolutely necessary.

"I don't...where's the button to- shit, I think I just sent him a picture of my dog. At least it wasn't the one of Jamia she told me to delete." He grins and slaps his phone shut.

Gerard doesn't bother trying to finish the movie. He should have made sure things were okay with Ray before he'd left, should've apologized more for being weird and pervy, or whatever it was he was being. He still doesn't know. Just thinking about Ray makes that smell return, though, and as weird as it sounds, he is absolutely positive that if he went outside and sniffed, he'd be able to figure out the direction Ray went and track him down by scent alone.

Mikey comes home at four-thirty, Bob trailing behind him. Mikey slides in between Frank and Gerard on the couch, and Gerard leans over and rests his head on Mikey's shoulder. There's two new scents to try and ignore, Mikey's stronger than Frank's but not quite as strong as Ray's, and Bob's the weakest of them all but mixed liberally with Mikey's. It's an uncomfortable realization that apparently his olfactory hallucinations include proof of his brother's sex life.

The scents are all similar, though; they makes him feel like they all belong together, like they're all part of the same-

Pack.

The word sticks in his mind, and suddenly he knows without a doubt that he isn't crazy. He might feel crazy, and some part of his brain is still rejecting the idea, but he can feel in his gut that he's right. That wasn't a dog that bit him.

"-ard?" He realizes Mikey's staring at him with something akin to alarm. They're all looking at him, actually, and he realizes he must have zoned out.

"Sorry. I'm... really tired."

"Hanging around watching movies all day takes a lot out of you," Bob deadpans, and Gerard finally musters up a laugh that feels genuine. He's still freaked out, but the situation doesn't seem so bad now that he knows what's up. It occurs to him that he may have just gone so crazy that he no longer recognizes that he's crazy, but then he thinks that if he's thinking about how he may be crazy but doesn't know it, that voids the idea that he wouldn't know. He gets into a vicious cycle with himself until Mikey tugs on his arm.

"Go to bed. You're still recovering. We'll keep it down."

Gerard really has no desire to sleep, but he wouldn't mind getting away from everyone for a while. He hugs Mikey and doesn't try to fight off the scent that overwhelms him now. By the time he gets to his bedroom, he's trying to keep from grinning. There are so many issues with this he'll have to deal with, but goddamn. He's a goddamned werewolf. He checks his computer for the next full moon. It's gonna be a long month.

--

Gerard goes two days without seeing Ray, and by the evening of the second day, he's smoked five packs of cigarettes and even Mikey is getting annoyed with him. The irritation could also be in part due to the fact that Bob's over again and Gerard keeps finding more things for them to do as a group when it's obvious they're sort of hoping for a little time alone.

Finally, Bob throws him a twenty and says, "Go find something to eat."

The urge to tear apart a carcass has decreased significantly over the past couple days, along with the heightened senses. He's not sure if it's because he's learning to control it or if they're just fading, but he actually doesn't mind not being able to smell or hear what his brother's doing behind locked doors. The desire to see Ray hasn't decreased much at all, though, but given Ray's radio silence, it doesn't seem like his desire not to see Gerard has changed.

Gerard grabs the twenty and heads out, walking aimlessly. Not for the first time, a small pang of guilt twists his stomach. Mikey knows something's up, but he never pries, just waits for Gerard to come to him. So far Gerard hasn't really come up with a good way to break the news without sounding like a lunatic. He assumes he'll turn into a wolf in a month, which would be pretty strong evidence, but until then, he's doing all right justifying putting off the talk.

He probably should have known better than to let his subconscious direct the walk while he worried about how his friends and family would take the news of him being a werewolf because he ends up in front of Ray's house.

There must be a window open somewhere because Gerard can smell Ray on the wind. He can smell him in the yard, too, just traces here and there in the grass, more strongly near the garage, and almost overwhelmingly when he gets close to the car in the driveway.

He feels a little like one of those cartoon characters that gets picked up and carried along the trail of a visible scent. He's moving his feet, but he can't really remember deciding to do that, and once he's moving, he can't really make himself stop until he's at Ray's back door, staring at the reflection of himself in the dark window.

There's a key in the planter next to the door, he knows. He also knows that that's a pretty fucking creepy thing for him to be thinking about when there's no good reason for him to need to get inside and Ray's obviously sleeping. Slowly, he backs up the way he came, breathing heavily through his mouth to avoid getting sucked in by the smell again. He could indulge in a little self-delusion and pretend that smell is the only reason he ended up here tonight, the only reason he was creeping around Ray's back yard and contemplating - even if just for a second - going in uninvited in the middle of the night. But he knows damn well that even if it weren't for the smell, he probably still would have found his way here and he probably still would have wanted to go in and wake Ray up and fix whatever it is that's wrong with them. He would've wanted to spend time with Ray regardless of wherever this shiny new obsession is coming from. He's liked Ray for a very long time, and being a werewolf is just making it harder to ignore. Unfortunately, Ray didn't seem all that interested when Gerard threw himself at him, and Gerard kind of doubts adding 'werewolf' to 'weird', 'pervy', and 'creepy' will make Ray much more likely to return the feelings.

When he comes back around to the front of the house, he's surprised to find Frank standing in the driveway. Mostly because he must have been pretty deep in thought to miss the familiar scent, and also because it's the middle of the night and he thought he was the only one creepy enough to be hanging around someone's yard.

Frank squints at him in the dark. "Gerard? What the hell?"

"Oh, because you have so much room to talk," Gerard scoffs.

Frank holds up a key. "Ray's renting some studio time, he said I could use the space tonight if I brought the key back when I was done. What's your excuse, creepy?"

"Ray's renting studio time?" Gerard doesn't even mind the insult, too surprised by the news. He knew Ray had been writing some stuff here and there lately, but he had no idea he was serious enough about it to lay down money for studio time. It makes his chest feel kind of hollow. Ray's always told him everything about his attempts to break into the music industry, and Gerard's always returned the favor by telling him only slightly-exaggerated stories about working at a grocery store and occasionally mentioning someday he'd like to draw professionally. It's been a long, long time since someone knew something about Ray that Gerard didn't know first.

Frank shifts awkwardly. "What's the deal with you guys? Everyone's being really fucking weird lately. You and Ray not hanging out, Mikey and Bob hanging out all the time, none of us hanging out all together anymore. Jamia's getting sick of me."

"You know Mikey and Bob are seeing each other, right?" No one had ever come right out and announced it, but Gerard thought it was pretty obvious. Apparently not.

"What? Like, they're sleeping together?" Frank starts laughing, too loudly for a quiet neighborhood this late at night, and quickly catches himself, sobering up. "Nobody tells me anything."

"I'm a werewolf," Gerard says, and Frank reacts exactly like Gerard thought he would, which is why he felt safe saying it in the first place.

"Okay. Want me to walk you home?"

Gerard nods and they fall into step next to each other. "Lame, by the way," Frank says.

"What?"

"Saying you're a werewolf. If you're gonna get turned into anything, it'll be a vampire. If anyone gets to be a werewolf, it's me."

Gerard laughs. Frank's nerdiness is almost as consistent as his own. "Okay then. What powers would you have, as a werewolf?"

They play the game until they get to Gerard's house, and then Frank takes off with a little salute. For once, Gerard's grateful for Frank's short attention span. He never insisted on an answer to why Gerard was lurking around Ray's house, and Gerard doubts he'll bring it up again unless Gerard specifically says something about it, which he really doesn't plan on doing.

Given that he was gone plenty long, Gerard steels himself for what the house will most likely smell like and heads in.

--

"You've gotten significantly creepier lately," Bob says, eyeing him over the rim of his coffee cup. It's actually Gerard's coffee cup, but Bob hijacks it every time he spends the night, which is a lot lately, so Gerard's grudgingly using the ugly Santa mug some aunt got him for Christmas three years ago.

Gerard feigns ignorance and tries to look suitably offended. He has gotten a lot creepier, but it's been pretty stealthy creepiness. Bob should have no valid reason to make the accusation.

"Frank said you've been stalking Ray."

This is also true. Over the past few weeks, Gerard's been taking a lot of nighttime walks that end up leading to Ray's back yard, despite the fact that his heightened senses have leveled out to almost normal again. But Frank only saw him that one time, which does not make him a stalker, and he says as much.

"Ray's seen you in his back yard three times."

There's not a huge chance that a hole will open up directly under his feet and swallow him up the way he wants it to, but Gerard gives it a few seconds just in case. The only upside to Bob's revelation is that Gerard has been in Ray's back yard way more than three times, so maybe he only thinks Gerard is a moderately creepy stalker. The thing is, Ray hadn't called, and the more Ray didn't call, the more Gerard knew he should call, and the longer he went without calling the harder it got to make himself do it. Maybe Ray hated him now, he didn't know. It was easier to believe Ray had just gotten really busy than confront him and be told to get the fuck out.

"I didn't mean to become a stalker," Gerard admits miserably.

"But stalker you are," Bob points out.

"How often does creepy stalking work out well for the parties involved?" Gerard asks miserably.

"I'm inclined to say never, but Pete exists. Apparently there's something to be said for obsessive persistence."

"You think I have a chance?" Gerard perks up a little.

"At getting a restraining order slapped on your ass? Absolutely. At winning Ray over the Wentz way, probably not."

Gerard deflates. Bob sighs, dumping the dregs of his coffee into the sink. "Just talk to him, Gerard."

"He hates me," Gerard mumbles. Maybe his super-hearing is back because he can practically hear Bob roll his eyes.

Bob rinses his cup out and sets it aside, grabbing his jacket. "If you act like this around him much, I wouldn't doubt it. Grow up and talk to him, or don't and see where stalking gets you."

Gerard kind of hates it that Bob refuses to sugarcoat things, because it means he doesn't get to wallow in self-pity for very long before Bob's telling him to knock it off and get his head out of his ass. Gerard can admit it's pretty far up there this time.

Bob squeezes Gerard's shoulder before he leaves. "Seriously, just go talk to him. What's the worst that can happen?"

Gerard has a pretty vivid imagination, so that question does a lot less good than he's sure Bob intended. By the time he's exhausted the options of Bad Things That Could Happen, Bob's gone and Ray laughing in Gerard's face is the best of all possible bad outcomes. Gerard turning into a wolf mid-conversation and mauling Ray to death is unlikely, but Gerard doesn't have this whole werewolf thing figured out yet. He considers the option viable until proven otherwise and uses it as an excuse to avoid calling Ray for yet another day.

--

There's a noticeable shift in the air about three days before the full moon. Gerard's been feeling... itchy for a few days already, antsy, like there's something he forgot to do. It's a little like the times he's tried to quit smoking - even if he could get his mind off it for a while, there was always a vague urge at the back of his mind, making it impossible to concentrate on anything fully.

His hearing and smell are getting stronger again, too. The day before the full moon he overhears Mikey telling Bob he's worried about Gerard, and Gerard realizes that it's been a whole month he's been putting this off now. The guilt presses down on him until he can't stand it, and the dull headache he's been nursing all day blooms into a stress-induced migraine. He pops some aspirin and even though he'd had vague plans to tell everyone the night of the full moon so there would be proof he wasn't crazy, he tells Mikey he needs to talk to everyone tonight. The look on Mikey's face makes him want to throw up; it's pretty obvious Mikey's dreading the talk, and Gerard knows he's hoping he won't but realistically expecting he'll be told Gerard's off the wagon.

It'll be easier, anyway, if they know a little in advance. He's already got the room next to his in the basement cleared out and secured so he can lock himself in, but it'll help knowing there are people around to keep an eye on him.

Everyone shows up around seven. Well, not everyone. Ray's absent, although Mikey promised Gerard he'd be there. Gerard would wait, but his skin is starting to feel tight and his head's pounding from the intensity of the light in the room. If he doesn't do it now, he'll chicken out. The rest of them are looking as hesitant and anxious as Gerard feels.

"Okay," Gerard starts. "So, I've been acting kind of weird lately."

"Lately," Frank snorts, but when Gerard glares at him, Frank grins fondly and Gerard realizes he was just kidding. It makes it easier to remember that even if they do think he's crazy, they're still his friends. They're still his family.

"You remember about a month ago I got that bite?" Everyone nods, and suddenly Gerard's headache goes from bad to worse. He tries to push it aside, rubbing his temples gingerly and continuing. "Well, and okay, I know how this is gonna sound, believe me, but I don't think it was a dog that bit me. I think it was a wolf."

No one says anything for a minute, and Gerard's headache intensifies with every passing second. It's spreading, too, the rest of his body starting to ache acutely. His skin keeps pulling tighter and tighter, like he's drying up, and he has to keep shifting awkwardly to keep it from becoming unbearable.

"Okay," Frank says slowly. "So you think you might have a disease or something, from the bite?"

"Not... really." Now that Gerard's on the spot, it's sounding more and more ridiculous to just blurt out "I'm a werewolf!", even if he knows it's true. Squinting past the light from the lamp next to him, he tries to find some delicate way of letting them get the idea themselves. "Sort of. I think... when it bit me, it passed something along."

"So a disease," Frank says impatiently. "Dude, if you're sick, it's okay. We're not gonna shun you."

"Speak for yourself," Bob says lightly, but Gerard can tell they're all worried. He can smell it.

"No, not... I mean, I guess it could be considered a disease, but more like. Like it changed some part of me."

He stares at them, willing them to get it, and then pain explodes in his skull, his vision whiting out. He can hear them all talking to him, but he can't answer, can't do anything except slide to the floor and writhe. He's never been in so much pain in his life, not even the night he was bitten. His body's pulling itself apart - bones snapping, muscles contorting, organs shifting around amidst the rest of the chaos. Everyone's yelling, someone's got him in their lap, holding him, and he catches a bit of coherence for long enough to hope they're holding him together if his body really is falling apart the way it feels like it is.

There's a particularly sharp jolt of pain in his hips, and he snarls. It doesn't sound like him to his own ears, doesn't even sound human, and there is suddenly complete and utter silence around him. Get away, get away, he thinks desperately. The pain is too much to let him think fully-formed thoughts, but somewhere deep down he knows what's going on, and he knows he fucked up somehow and now the people he loves are in danger.

His brain shorts out then, blissfully cutting the connection to the pain.

--

Gerard wakes up on a vaguely familiar couch in a living room that is not his own, and it takes him a minute to realize he's at Ray's house.

He feels out of it, groggy like he'd downed a bottle of sedatives and achy like he'd chased it with a few shots of vodka. There's a persistent buzzing in his head that's making it hard to think, and when he tries to sit up his stomach churns warningly and he has to lie back down until it passes.

When he's pretty sure he won't puke all over the floor, Gerard pushes himself up and swallows back the nausea rolling over him. He blinks blearily, trying to make the person sitting across from him come into focus. He knows it's Ray - he can still vaguely smell him despite whatever's going on with his body that's making his senses dull. Plus, he already recognized Ray's living room. It stands to reason that the person in Ray's living room would be Ray.

When Ray finally comes into focus, so does the tranquilizer gun sitting next to him, and gradually Gerard realizes Mikey and Bob and Frank are sitting nearby, shoulders hunched and tense. Suddenly he has a flash of blurry memories of the night before - sensations more than memories, impressions that he can't quite pin down to a specific moment but that hit him as hard as any visual memory. He remembers being afraid, not of someone, but afraid for someone. He remembers feeling like he had no control over his own body, and he shudders at the thought.

"So you're a werewolf," Mikey says.

His head feels fuzzy, like it's stuffed with cotton, and his tongue feels too big for his mouth. "I guess so." He really can't deny it anymore at this point, especially if what he thinks happened last night happened. He can't remember anything clearly, but he's pretty sure he changed into a wolf, and there's a good possibility he scared the shit out of his brother and his friends.

He drags his gaze back to the tranquilizer gun.

"There's a pretty good chance one of you had that tranquilizer gun specifically in case you needed to sedate a werewolf, isn't there?"

Frank looks at least slightly embarrassed. "Not a werewolf. There are bears and shit. Also," he says, working up some indignation, "How come you didn't tell me you're a werewolf? That's such bullshit. I would tell you."

"I did tell you," Gerard says, although he knows it's a pretty weak protest when he knew damn well at the time he wouldn't be taken seriously.

Frank pauses for a second. "Oh, bullshit, that so doesn't count."

"He didn't tell any of us," Ray says quietly, and it's obvious that he's speaking more to Gerard than Frank. Gerard's sure they've all had plenty of time to compare notes. The accusation hangs in the air awkwardly until Bob clears his throat and stands up.

"I'm making coffee."

Mikey's on his feet in a second, but Frank stays put, looking oblivious. Bob says again, louder, "I'm making coffee."

Frank gives him an irritated look. "Okay, so go make coffee."

Bob rolls his eyes and hauls Frank to his feet. Frank doesn't struggle when Bob pulls him out of the room, but Gerard can hear him muttering, "I don't want any coffee," and Bob saying something that sounds like "deliberately obtuse."

Once they're alone, the awkward silence stretches on even longer. Finally Gerard says, "Ray, I'm sorry," at the same time Ray says, "Gerard, why didn't you-"

They stop, pause, and then Ray starts again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Gerard picks at a loose thread on his pants. His head's finally starting to clear, and that smell is coming back full-force. He's had a month to learn to control it, so at least he's not over there licking Ray's neck or any of the other things he's got the urge to do, but it doesn't mean it's not still making it hard to concentrate. "I didn't think I'd have a shot with you if you knew what I was. You seemed pretty freaked out that first night, and that... those urges haven't gotten a lot better."

Ray barks out a surprised laugh. "That was what that was about? When you were, uh..."

Warmth floods Gerard's cheeks. "Having a little trouble controlling myself? Yeah. You um, you sort of have this smell, I don't know. It makes it really hard to be around you."

Ray looks disappointed, and maybe a little hurt. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. But that night, Gee, I thought you were screwing around with me."

Gerard's head snaps up. "What?"

"It's just." It's Ray's turn to look embarrassed, but he doesn't look away from Gerard. "I'd told Frank like a day earlier that I kind of liked you. I thought he'd told you and you guys were screwing with me."

Gerard really, really wants to wring Frank's neck. If Gerard had known that was why Ray freaked out, this whole ordeal would have been infinitely less painful. Still weird and still problematic, but at least Gerard would have had some confidence built up by knowing Ray was at least interested in Gerard the dude and therefore more likely to be interested in Gerard the werewolf.

It would probably be pretty easy to wring Frank's neck, since Gerard can hear him just outside the living room door, shuffling his feet and probably thinking he's being totally stealthy. But more important than wringing Frank's neck is confirming the fact that Ray just said he liked Gerard.

"I promise I wasn't screwing with you. I just really, really like the way you smell." It's the least eloquent way Gerard could have conveyed his own interest, but he's not feeling overly eloquent at the moment. In fact, he's feeling pretty remedial, and the base instinct to throw himself at Ray is getting stronger and stronger.

"Thanks. I think. I'd return the compliment, but..." Ray grins, and Gerard rolls his eyes. Ray's voice gets softer. "There's other things I like about you that make up for it."

The timbre of Ray's voice sends shivers down Gerard's spine. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I have to ask you something first though."

Gerard tries not to think to hard about what comes second or he'll never get past first. "Okay."

"Did you like me before the werewolf thing, or is this just some primal scent thing that's dictating who you want?"

That's an easy one, but normally Gerard would have trouble admitting to it. His conscious brain is far too used to ducking his head and avoiding direct questions. But Ray's smell is getting stronger, a potent mix of familiarity, safety, and arousal that makes it easy to say, "Before. Way before. Can I kiss you now?"

"I was kinda hoping you would." The words are barely out of Ray's mouth before Gerard's on him, squirming his way onto Ray's lap, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, and attacking his mouth.

If the way Ray smelled drove Gerard insane, the way he tastes is enough to destroy his ability to think coherently ever again. It's the same mix as the scent - something that makes Gerard feel safe and territorial and turned on all at once, but infinitely more potent. Gerard's so hard he hurts, and grinding down on Ray's lap proves Ray's just as into it. He doesn't seem to mind Gerard grabbing at his hair, tugging his head sideways until their mouths fit together better, but he doesn't play possum, either. He fits his hands around Gerard's waist and moves him more securely into his lap, situating them until they're lined up for maximum friction. They groan at the same time, and when Ray tips his head back to suck in a breath of air, Gerard doesn't waste the opportunity. He nips at Ray's throat, teasing bites to test the waters.

Ray digs his fingers into Gerard's sides, the low vibration of his groan sounding like a purr this close up. Gerard does it again, biting a little harder this time, and Ray's breath catches in his throat. The third time he bites hard enough to leave a mark, and Ray jerks, hisses, and comes in his pants.

The smell of that alone is enough to get Gerard off, but Ray doesn't waste any time getting Gerard's pants undone and sticking his hand inside. It's an awkward, uncomfortable position, but he jerks Gerard off with short, hard strokes, mouthing Gerard's throat and returning the favor. Gerard prickles at first, but Ray's teeth and tongue and lips convince him pretty quickly.

Ray twists his wrist and Gerard's done for, weeks of wanting this, dreaming about this and thinking he'd never have it culminating in a pretty quick main event. He slumps against Ray, reminding himself that it's not a one-time deal. He has time to practice making it last, and he's going to enjoy seeing how much he can make Ray squirm.

Ray's actually doing some squirming now, or at least some very involved shifting. He's trying to sit in ruined pants comfortably, Gerard realizes, and he slides off Ray's lap to give him more room to work.

"You can come in now," Gerard calls, and there's a good thirty seconds before Frank opens the door, barely looking embarrassed.

"You really do have like, fucking superpowers!"

"I'm kind of wishing I had the power to scramble brains," Gerard says, only half-joking. Frank looks confused. "This whole time you knew we weren't talking, and you couldn't tell me Ray liked me? Half the reason things were so fucked up was because I thought he was pissed that I came onto him."

"Ray told me not to tell anyone, especially you!" Frank protests. "And anyway, I didn't know he was freaked out about you trying to get in his pants. I didn't even know you tried to get in his pants. I thought you guys were just being dumbasses as usual, no one ever tells me anything."

Gerard's having a pretty easy time forgiving him, considering he's pleasantly post-coital and both sides of him seem content now that Ray's right next to him, looking like he's not going anywhere for a while.

"Whatever, I really do want some coffee now. Have fun biting each other some more," Frank says, looking pointedly at their throats. Gerard smiles benignly and watches him go.

"He's such a shit," Ray says fondly.

"Yeah, which is why I don't feel too bad about not telling him what Mikey and Bob are doing in there."

Ray laughs, and then suddenly says, "Wait, that's my kitchen."

Gerard grins. "I'll help you bleach every surface later."

Ray hums thoughtfully. "And what's to keep me from thinking about it until later?"

Gerard has a few ideas.

--