I see the night, it's coming for me (Gale)

[Zephyr]

The life of a doctor is rarely every easy, but the life of Boston’s best neurosurgeon is downright unbearable at times. There’s always someone who wants a piece of him and Silas wants nothing to do with any of them. Unfortunately, his job entails actually talking to people, and while he likes that most of his patients aren’t in any fit state to talk to him, it’s the ones who do talk that annoy the fuck out of him.

He’s used to having to stay late at work. Actually, his surgery finished up early today and he’s going to get home before midnight…finally. Unfortunately, the man died on the table, so he has to get through talking to the family before he’s even allowed to go home. He’s spent the last five minutes arguing with Eve in the prep room. She’s whispering, he’s pretty much screaming.

“I’m your boss, Evelyn! You will go tell her before I fucking fire your pretty little ass!” His eye is twitching, veins bulging, and his face is a curious shade of purple, but Evelyn isn’t fazed by the display in the least. She just levels a pretty, cheeky little grin at Silas, lifts up onto her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek with a loud smacking sound and giggles at him. “I’d love to see you do that love. No really, I mean it. Give me your best shot.”

Silas wavers on the edge of incredulous and petulant for a moment, on the verge of either laying into Evelyn or falling over on his face. He knows which it will be if he doesn’t gather his composure in a second and he finally goes, grumping and growling for a second, flashing the nurse a truly heinous glare. “I could do it you know…fire you? Anytime I wanted. You just got lucky.” His voice is utterly unintimidating with the petulant pout in there and the blonde just laughs, patting him lightly on the chest condescendingly for a moment. “Yeah, sweetie. You keep telling yourself that.” And she turns and leaves with a musical laugh in her wake.

The surgeon is left fuming at the door for a moment before heaving a sigh and going to tell the man’s wife that he didn’t make it.

Telling someone that their loved one has died is never an easy thing to do…it’s even harder when it’s a man who’s been with his wife for over sixty years. Silas has never been one to know how or even want to comfort other people, so when she breaks down in a heap of limbs and tears, he just stands there awkwardly for a moment before turning and walking quietly away while he suffers disapproving glares from the nurses. He just glares back. He’s never been good at comforting others. They’ve known him long enough to have gotten used to scenes like this…or at least they should be used to it.

Either way, Silas finds that he gives no fucks.

He just wants to get out of the hospital, the scent of bandages and antiseptic is making him sick, and he slips out into the chilly night before too long, collar turned up to the wind. He’d decided to try and be healthy – as much as someone who mostly lives on Cheetos and ice cream can be healthy – and walk to and from work for a while. It isn’t a terribly long walk, maybe an hour if he walks fast, so it isn’t too difficult for one who’s as in shape as Silas is.

Unfortunately the sky doesn’t agree and it starts raining before he gets halfway there. “Fuck!” The man curses at no one in the dark, walking a little faster, but guaranteed to get soaked before he gets home. “Fuck this fucking shit. Goddamn rain, I fucking hate my goddamn life.” Silas walks briskly with a mantra of curses following behind him like a banner, grabbing for his phone to punch out a few strongly worded messages – let’s face it, it’s mostly curse words with a few pronouns thrown in – to Matthias while he walks.

He growls softly, completely wet, typing out one more angry message before he puts his phone away, because it definitely isn’t waterproof.

/One of these days I’m going to snap and go on a homicidal rampage and it’ll be entirely you fault, you little brat!/

Silas has a way with words.

[Gale Whitfield]

Raindrops splattered onto Gale and ran down the expanse of his exposed skin. It was a welcome sensation; he lifted his face heavenward as he walked, shivering at the feeling of the cool droplets rolling beneath his shirt, through his hair, down his ankles and into his shoes. Ever since the sun began to set, hot pins poked and jabbed mercilessly at his body, bugs of fire crawled beneath his skin. Each drop of water blessed unto him by the Lord above provided relief if even for just a moment. I should not have waited this long. This was not to be his first, second, or even third full moon, but he had come no closer to being able to controlling what happened. He was desperate. Gale's life was ruined the moment he was attacked that night—a night much like this—and he'd give anything to return to that comforting sense of normalcy he'd been raised with.

That's why he was heading to see a doctor so late at night. He could feel the pressure building in his body. His muscles were tensing, straining. Eventually his bones would shatter, like they always did. But he was determined to not let it happen here in the open.

He walked faster. Rounded the corner, looked up at the building, and then further down the sidewalk at the form hurrying away.

"Fuck!"

The corners of his lips twitched into an amused smile.

And immediately folded into a pained wince at the first CRACK! His left arm. It was always his left arm that changed first. "Fuck!" His yell seemed to be an echo of the man down the road, or some sort of coded response. I waited too long. Too long, too long, too long.

"Doctor! Doctor Vincent!"

Gale calls out to the retreating back and begins to jog. The jog quickly turns into an awkward, lumbering run. What time is it? The watch that had been on his left wrist already snapped off and lay broken somewhere behind. Hopefully he was not wrong and this was the lycan doctor he'd smelt—and later found online.

The rain was masking his scent rather well. Even with the heightened senses granted to him by the slowly rising moon, all he could make out was his own smell of fear, wet grass, and mud. If he was wrong and this guy was some random passerby or innocent, then what?

"Wait up!"

[Zephyr]

Leave it to Silas to lose track of the lunar cycle. He’d been so busy with work and trying not to drink, that it had just slipped his mind. And he knows this isn’t something that he should just let slip his mind like that, but there’s a first time for everything. Luckily, or unluckily, depending on how you look at it, he has enough control over his beast by now that it doesn’t stir as the moon first makes an appearance.

And he isn’t thinking about the moon when he hears someone calling his name through the rain. Silas doesn’t turn though, because he thinks his ears might be playing tricks on him, and he doesn’t really mind being a dick if it means getting the hell out of this rain. It’s when the man calls against that Silas finally stops, turning to face him. The wolf looks miserable, thoroughly soaked through by the rain, hair and coat dripping wet.

“What do you want?” Silas’ voice is distinctly unfriendly at the moment. His aggression probably stems from the proximity to the full moon, but he isn’t aware of it. He just chalks it off to being cold and in the rain and wanting to get home now.

He blinks water out of his eyelashes, glaring at the man. He tries to at least sound civil when he blows the guy off. “I don’t really have time fo…” It’s about then that his stomach starts to twist painfully and Silas groans, stumbling in the rain against the sudden pain. His head shoots to the sky, and the blood drains from his face. “Oh fuck…” The doctor’s eyes land on Gale again, ready to make an excuse to hightail it back to his house when he sees a similar struggle happening with the other man.

“Oh my god. Seriously? Do I just fucking draw all the crazies to me?” He knows it would be so easy to just turn and run. Leave this stranger to his fate and make it back to his apartment before he loses reason, but he knows he should let the other werewolf loose for a change. If he can keep some people safe, he knows he should at least try.

“Fine. Fuck.” He says at last, stumbling as his bones start to shift. “Not here though. I’m getting us to my apartment now…unless you want to change out here, in the middle of the city. He doesn’t give the man a change to respond, just fists his free hand in the fabric of Gale’s shirt and all but drags him along to Silas’ apartment. If the other man puts up any sort of fight, Silas has no problem just leaving him.

There’s no fucking way he’s going to change in public and risk breaking the tenuous bond he has with the pack…and maybe he doesn’t want to see this guy killed like so many of the rogue werewolves that the pack disposes of on a daily basis.

Silas just doesn’t understand why he gives a shit.

[Gale Whitfield]

Grabbing Gale's shirt was certainly not necessary. Nevertheless, Gale remained silent about the gesture and instead focused on moving along obediently behind the taller werewolf. "I have no intention of changing out here, sir," and that was the truth. It wasn't part of the plan. He'd expected to make it into the hospital before any of the pain started. He even had the idea of calling ahead, asking if one Doctor Vincent was still on the clock. The nurse took her time getting back to him. She'd asked a slew of questions that served only to frustrate him and test his patience; he figured at one point she wasn't going to tell him because he wasn't inquiring about a patient. Even as a police officer, Gale hadn't liked dealing with the hospital.

"You don't live far from here, do you?"

The pace they were moving at? Too slow. Gale held out both his arms, one pressed against the small of the doctor's back, the other gripping his shoulder. He sped up ever so slightly, pushing Silas gently, not wanting to trip on the other man's heels or slip on the slick pavement. The heat boiling beneath his skin intensified. At this distance, the smell rolling off of Silas was akin to meat left a little too long in the fridge—it sort of smelled okay, but you weren't entirely sure if eating it would make you sick or not. Gale licked his lips and squinted against the rain. It wasn't cooling him down anymore.

"If you live on the other side of the city, neither of us is gonna get there in time."

The claws on his hand began to press into the doctor's shoulder, trying to penetrate the skin. What colour do werewolves bleed? Is it red? What does their flesh taste like? Fuzzy static settled at the edges of his vision. It wouldn't be long now. Luckily, Gale knew it was unlikely the doctor truly lived on the other side of the city. The chance that they were approaching the place was high. It was late at night—if he'd lived far away, he'd have a car, flag down a taxi, or find a bus. Bustling cities didn't sleep.

Gale felt the glamour masking his appearance slipping away. He had a sudden, fleeting thought. "You can help me, can't you?" He pleaded, hoping the question wasn't drowned out by the crack of his rib cage.

[Zephyr]

He’s almost shoved forward into the rain before Silas can adjust to the man’s burst of speed, and he cuts off the snarl that rips through his chest at the goddamn audacity. He knows that the wolf is just hot in his chest at the moment, and the smallest infraction will be magnified ten times over. Instead of letting the beast have its way, Silas just adapts to the other man’s speed, letting his briefcase fall onto the ground because there are things that are important at the moment, and that is just not one of them.

The doctor doesn’t answer the man’s questions, just picks up speed when he can see his apartment building in the distance. His grip in the other man’s shirt tightens, and perhaps he can tell they’re close in the single mindedness of the surgeon’s attention. He almost doesn’t register Gale’s question, and when he does, he almost trips when he glances over and sees the man’s face melting away. That isn’t how the shifting usually goes, but Silas has learned not to think of anything as typical anymore.

Though, as to what the guy wants him to help him with, Silas has no idea…it isn’t like he had a chance to tell him what he wants help with what with all the shifting, and running. But whatever the fuck it is, it’s going to have to wait. “I can’t help anyone when I’’m a goddamn dog!” Silas roars; tries to soften the edge to his voice, because the guy sounds so fucking desperate, even Silas’ icy heart wants to help. Maybe that’s part of the reason he pulls him along with him, practically bodily throws the man into his apartment once he gets the key out and the door open.

He’s on the ground a second after Gale, having slammed the door shut behind him and threw the lock. Everything else is forgotten in the moment as the wolf gets its way and Silas’ body convulses, bending and breaking as the wolf shoves its way out. The doctor forgets completely about his guest, shrugging out of his sopping jacket in a desperate bid to get to the closet before the wolf breaks free. He doesn’t know what it will be like having two wolves in the same room, but he doesn’t want to risk anything.

He almost makes it too, has his hand wrapped around the doorknob, pulls himself up before the pain blinds him and he falls back to the ground, writhing in pain as the wolf scratches at his skin insistently. He eyes Gale; more human than wolf for the last time before he throws his head back in agony.

[Gale Whitfield]

After being thrown into the doctor’s apartment Gale does not register much. He does not register his fall, how he was unable to get his footing again, flailing weakly before hitting the opposing wall and dropping to the floor. His fingers brush against carpet, his nose is pressed against it, he studies it intently for a second before he realizes he doesn’t know why he’s doing it. Nothing is quite making sense, truth be told. Pain has swallowed his entire body and now it’s numb and he’s just an observer from a comfortable distance. Once again his fingers brush against carpet. This time his claws leave a tell-tale tear as he catches Silas’ eye.

His senses are heightened beyond belief and the confusion threatens to send him into a frenzy. Gilas is not here this time, if he—no, if it, the wolf, wanted to leave this place, it could. And it gets ready to, begins to rise, clothes tearing as it’s still growing to its full height. (Gale is confused inside the wolf’s mind, vaguely aware of his clothes ripping and wondering what will happen once he goes back to normal. But he’s too relaxed. He doesn’t care. The thought vanishes.)

It catches the eye of Silas, and then the eye of the wolf and it stops.

It watches, curiously. Gale’s towering form, with its sopping brown and black fur, tenses and stands very still. There’s a low sound in its throat; something between a snarl and an indescribable noise of fury. It’s never seen another werewolf, none that walk on two legs or four. The smells enveloping the apartment all point to this other beast as being the “leader”, and it was the trespasser. What would it do?

Gale took several awkward, lumbering steps forward.

It’s breathing is heavy, steps uncertain. It’s clear that this rougarou is still sore and in pain (Gale wishes to rub his large arms but the wolf doesn’t listen, and Gale certainly doesn’t know how to communicate with it.) It seems it is going to attack, it stands up as straight as it can and then suddenly it’s face is coming closer, but then it just shoves it bulbous nose into the other wolf’s fur and sniffs deeply, before huffing and sneezing loudly.