Spitting blood and bleeding all of us (Open)

[Zephyr]

As much as he hates admitting it, the people part of his job isn’t the worst part. He actually misses it now that he has a head position in the hospital and finds himself left out of surgeries more and more in favor of doing paperwork. God. The paperwork is definitely the worst part of his job, and there’s so fucking much of it. That and consults. Those are at least a little more bearable because it’s at least a semblance of doing something. Today, the surgeon finds himself with a pile of paperwork roughly the size of Mount Everest and a paper to write.

And he thought he’d be done with the fucking papers once he was out of college.

He needs to get the paper done soon, and neither his office nor his apartment are very conducive to getting anything done. The former because of the constant interruptions by Evelyn and his coworkers who always and a piece of him. Matthias would make the thing go by quicker – or not at all – but he has no idea when the other man is going to show up to see him anymore…and the latter is awful because of the access to alcohol he has, and this paper is stressful enough that it would be way too tempting to just drink instead, and while he’s sure that the paper would go by quicker if he were drunk, he isn’t sure that his superiors would be too pleased with the quality of writing.

So the surgeon decides on a little coffee shop out of the way where he can take his laptop and just work on the paper in peace.

Silas doesn’t go to places like this often, but it’s nice. He has coffee, and his expression of bored concentration is enough to keep people from bothering him. It’s either that or most of the people are too concentrated on their own work to care about bothering him. He doesn’t give a shit which one it is, but at least he’s able to finish the goddamn thing. By the time he does and he puts all his shit away, it’s dark outside. The wolf growls lightly, knowing that even when he takes this shit to the hospital, he’ll still have a while before he’s done enough work to go home.

He’s gotten his briefcase in his car and is about to slide in when he catches the scent of gunpowder and the slight sound of shoes on pavement behind him. All of his senses are in tune in a moment, and he drops to the ground just as the gun goes off. He isn’t quite fast enough though, and white hot pain burns through his arm and shoulder. There’s no doubt by the pain coursing through his being…the bullets are silver. Silas knows he doesn’t really have time to stop and feel sorry for himself, or to check the extent of the damage because he whirls around on the ground and the hunter has come into sight.

Fucking hell. What the fuck did he do to deserve this? He locks himself in a fucking closet when he turns for fuck’s sake. The only way he can think of any hunters knowing about him is because of the goddamn pack…when he’d been in it. He scrambles away to the other side of the car as the guy pulls the trigger again, and absolutely does not think about Matthias knowing about this in favor of getting the passenger’s side door open and fumbling for the pistol he has stashed under the seat.

No one can say Silas isn’t prepared.

His left arm is effectively useless at the moment, but it doesn’t matter, since his right is all he needs. He pops up to shoot at the man, who darts off when he realizes that shooting this particular werewolf is going to be harder than he thought.

Even though Silas doesn’t give a fuck about the pack anymore, he isn’t so much of a dick that he’s just going to let a hunter who obviously is intent on killing loose in pack territory. He isn’t exactly sure he stands with the new management, but he hasn’t gotten hunted down yet. That might change real quickly if he just lets the hunter go, bullet wound or not.

He knows the fucking silver is slowly poisoning him, but adrenaline is hot in his veins, and he can easily push down the pain enough to give chase.

Getting shot and goddamn gun chases. God. His life is such a fucking soap opera.

[Logan]

Boston’s pack owes its longevity to a long-established system of extreme control. The men and women at the top may squabble and fight, but the foundation remains strong. Wolves known as enforcers are nothing more than custodians and maintenance men; but their roles are not to be overlooked. When dangers arise within the city and threaten the secret, they are dealt with quickly and effectively.

The warning goes out that there is a brazen and rash hunter causing a ruckus. Pack enforcers leave their day jobs, citing emergency. Others cancel their dates or tell their wives that something at work requires their immediate attention. A normal life, where enforcers are concerned, is a dream that must be abandoned whenever the reality of the pack demands it. In the case of Logan Duvall, he must call in a favor and leave his godson at a friend’s for the night.

In the quiet of his room, Logan’s fingers push in a sequence of numbered buttons. A lock pops, and the door to a gun cabinet swings open. Inside rests a small arsenal of weapons, each cared for by a meticulous hand and an eye for detail. The expression on the man’s face is wan as he reaches to retrieve the magnum. These upsets to life as normal are never welcome, and Logan has no choice but to respond.

He tucks the weapon into a chest holster, zips up his old hunting jacket and heads out to meet the night.

If Logan says a prayer to a God he no longer believes in, it is out of habit, and an action born from persistent hope.

Silas gives chase, the hunter runs. What may have turned into a firefight, is cut short when the doctor rounds a corner. There, on the ground, is the struggling hunter held down by a heavy boot placed squarely on his chest. His captor is a somewhat heavy-set woman with a harsh haircut and a scowl to match. Around her, four others stand. They are all unremarkable, everyday men and women ripped from the fabric of normalcy and stitched into a life of supernatural chaos.

There is a short man with a rounded face dressed in a janitor’s uniform. Next to him, a police woman who cannot be older than twenty-three, and behind her, an older gentleman known in the local community for his charity work. Logan stands as the fourth and he, among all the others, looks the part of the enforcer. His build is thick, his face scarred, his appearance weathered. Together they are a patchwork group of ordinary people thrust into extraordinary circumstances, and they all reek of wolf.

Five pairs of eyes rest on Silas and they all carry the same question. It is the heavyset woman that speaks. ”What the hell do you think you’re doing?” If Silas expects a hero’s welcome, he is about to be sorely disappointed.

He is not an enforcer and for all they know, the doctor is the reason their lives were upset and their nights ruined.

[Zephyr]

The surgeon isn’t expecting what it is he happens upon when he turns the corner into an ally. His eyes are dark and predatory, the pain in his arm causing the wolf to howl in rage. The silver keeps it prisoner, causes it agony, but it is still aware enough to want to rip and kill and maim.

This desire doesn’t die at all, when the doctor comes face to face with the group of wolves…but the wolf quiets, content that things will be fine now as it stews in its own agony. Silas skids to a stop, taken aback by sudden silence of the wolf as he is by the angry eyes on him. While his fucking beast is content to just let things be, the man has never been one to just sit by and fucking take something like this.

Eyes fall to the struggling man beneath the woman’s foot. His grip tightens on the gun and he takes half a step forward, lip curling in a feral snarl. “He fucking shot me.” Silas hisses, battling the urge to just put a fucking bullet in the asshole’s head, even while all these wolves watch. And it escaped him before, in his frantic chase after the hunter. Eyes dart up to the woman who spoke, the large man who is the only one who seems like a thread…and he knows.

These are pack wolves.

He doesn’t know if Sabra has told them about their deal. This is what she does then? Hunts down stray dogs and rogue hunters. It occurs to him that the other wolf probably knows these people personally, but he can’t find it in him to question them…not when he is the one with the bullet wound in his arm and they have the audacity to question him. Like hell…did they think that he somehow brought this upon them?

Why the hell would he associate with a fucking hunter.

Then Matthias springs to mind and the fire in his chest, the desire to fight and fight until there’s nothing left is tempered. Guilt settles in his chest like a weight and he lowers his hand, fingers still tightly wrapped around the hilt of the gun. “The fucker shot me.” Silas growls, ignoring the curses coming from the hunter’s mouth when he realizes that his own goddamn arrogance is not going to make the situation any better.

He lifts his gaze, steely and defiant. Silas didn’t do anything wrong. In fact... “I didn’t want the bastard to hurt anyone else.”
The doctor might not exactly be a fan of the pack, but it doesn’t mean he’s willing to risk lives out of pure spite…his own and Matthias’ included. The adrenaline is still hot in his veins, and his arm bleeds heavily from the gunshot wound…and while he doesn’t feel too much pain now, the slow seep of silver poisoning his blood is impossible to ignore.

It’s gonna be a bitch later. And the sooner the wolves let him go, the sooner he can get it dealt with. It isn’t an ideal situation, but maybe he could get Eve to look at it…or Matthias. He just can’t be here now.

[Logan]

No one present wants to be there. This is not a life of choice, but one of necessity. Tempers are short and the wolves are more liable to jump to conclusions than listen to reason. The police woman, despite the authority implicit in her uniform, is hesitant to speak. Concern weighs in her brown eyes and she can smell the blood emanating from Silas’ wound. Her mouth opens then claps shut when the larger woman again takes the lead.

”And why is he hunting you?” The accusation in her voice is clear. She nearly loses her footing when the hunter writhes beneath her. A growl breaks from deep within the woman’s chest and she stomps down on the man’s jaw. The responding snap is meaty and gross; the human gasps, his hands twitch, and he promptly loses consciousness. Furious eyes pin the doctor with a glare. ”How the hell does he know you’re a wolf?”

Indiscretion is a sin among their kind. To be known is to risk not only individual safety, but the safety of the pack. That Silas is shot means the hunter is aware of the doctor’s true nature. There may be others out there who are privy to the information as well. Hunters are like roaches; stomp one out and a dozen more skitter out from the cracks.

”Last thing we need is some goddamned loose end making trouble for the rest of us.” With the recent change in leadership, came a resounding sense of trepidation. The pack is unsettled and made wary more than ever before. Silas is not among their ranks and whether the rest of the enforcers are aware of the agreement he struck with one of their kind, does not matter. He has no friends here, or so it would seem, until the grizzled man in the hunting jacket decides to speak.

Storm grey eyes rest on the doctor. Logan’s expression gives nothing away as he steps forward and places himself between the other enforcers and the injured man. He holds up an appeasing hand towards the angry woman and says without hesitance, ”Lay off, Jess. I know him-- alright?” For a man who hardly ever lies, Logan is surprisingly convincing.

Jess fixes him with a scowl and grunts as she manhandles the deadweight of the hunter onto her shoulders. ”Are you serious, D? You’re taking up for this guy?” She is incredulous and ready for an argument. The other enforcers say nothing; they just want to get back to their lives.

”I think you need to get your hearing checked, doll. I said –I’ll handle this.” Logan steals one last look at the hunter and can’t shake the feeling that he has seen him before. He meets Jess’ eyes and interjects before she can get a word in with, ”You take care of Mister Trigger Happy. The rest of you head home.” His tone leaves no room for discussion but Jess isn’t having it. Her hackles raise and she is ready to give him hell, but the policewoman finally speaks up, emboldened by the shift in discourse.

”He’s right. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. I don’t know about you guys, but I have a family to get back to.” With the group favoring the idea of calling it a night, Jess is left with little option but to oblige. ”Fine. I’ll take out the trash, you pansy-asses go home.”

The first to leave is the man in the janitor uniform, and the other gentleman is quick to follow behind him. Jess throws a withering look at Logan and Silas before disappearing into the dark of the alley. The policewoman lingers and offers an unsure smile. ”You take care, D.”

Logan responds with a nod. ”You too, Liza. Stay safe.” The two men are left alone and Logan stands with his back to Silas until he is absolutely certain the others are gone. When he turns to look at the doctor, it is with a guarded expression. He keeps the distance to a leg-length away and regards Silas with the look of a man who just found a stray and is not sure what to do with it. Strays can bite and an injured wolf is a dangerous one.

A beat, and then something in Logan’s disposition changes. His shoulders slump and relax in such a way to suggest resignation. It is his lot in life to play the Good Samaritan, and if he went as far as to lie on this stranger’s behalf, he might as well follow through with it. ”So, am I taking you to the hospital or somewhere else?” Blood loss and pain are not exactly elements for safe driving, and Logan figures he can play chauffer just this once.

The ghostly suggestion that Logan has seen the hunter before persists at the back of his mind. He was tight with the hunter circuit once, and knows the established families well. These are worries he will mull over later, for now the coppery tang of blood proves ample distraction. ”I’d suggest the hospital, but I have a feeling you’ll fight me on that.” Wolves are the hardest headed bastards Logan has ever met – he would know. He’s one of them.

[Zephyr]

He knows he should probably watch his mouth in this situation…but Silas has never quite been able to censor himself during the best of times. It doesn’t help that at the moment he’s in a fair amount of pain, his adrenaline is just starting to wear out and he’s more than a little offended that they think that this is somehow his fault. “How the fuck am I supposed to know?” He snaps at the woman before he has a chance to think through his words, hand tightening around the hilt of his pistol.

The surgeon tries to think back to the only time he remembers shifting not in his apartment. It was to save Matthias from a bunch of fucking shifters. He hadn’t thought about it in the moment, but he supposes that it’s possible someone could have seen him. He’d mainly been interested in saving the hunter from the shifters, so it’s not like he would have noticed if someone decided to tuck the knowledge away. Instead of admitting any fault here, he growls at the woman. “Hell if I know! Not like I had a chance to ask him with being shot and all!.” Eyes fall to the hunter back to the woman and Silas’ eyes are narrowed. “Ask him if you want to know. Jesus.”

Which actually becomes a hell of a lot harder when she promptly breaks his jaw and blacks out. Silas twitches visibly, caught between wanting to go help the hunter and wanting to stay as far away as possible from the source of pain in his arm. Plus, he isn’t in a big hurry to get any closer to the woman interrogating him…no matter how much his wolf wants to comply. The thing is a goddamn pansy.

Silas’ free hand tightens into a fist at his side, and the veins in his neck bulge dangerously at the woman’s continued bitching. He’s close to laying into her when the larger man steps up.

The wolf is slightly taken aback when he speaks to the woman – Jess – and green-brown eyes dart up to the back of the man’s head, eyes widening in his surprise for a moment before he gets with it and erases the surprise from his face. Why the hell is this guy lying for him? Silas supposes he should probably know him from his time in the pack, but truthfully, he never socialized with anyone aside from the odd case of silver poisoning here and there and any other ailments that it wasn’t advisable to see a human doctor for.

He takes the opportunity out of the spotlight to let his guard fall a bit. Silas stumbles back against the nearest wall of the alley, legs wobbly but not giving in. He ignores the conversations of the wolves around him to crane his neck around to look at the hole in his arm. It’s nasty looking and he hisses in pain when he rolls his shoulder. He should probably clear some of the blood away, but the pain is intense and for some reason he’s unwilling to let go of his gun. The man lets his head fall back against the wall, twisting his head to watch while the wolves turn and disappear into the darkness.

Good fucking riddance, as far as Silas is concerned. He has nothing against werewolves. He just cut ties with the pack for a reason, and he doesn’t have any desire to be pulled into their troubles. Not that he hasn’t already with the damn hole in his arm, and he wonders what he owes this stranger when his eyes fall on Logan again, licking his lips in contemplation before the guy turns around to face him.

Impossibly, a smile quirks the corner of Silas’ mouth. Of course it’s probably due to the shock and blood loss, but it’s strange anyway on the man’s face. Silas’ first instinct is to tell him thanks but he can drive himself to his apartment…until he realizes that the last time he got shot it took both Nathan and Matthias to make sure he didn’t die. Of course that wound was a little more extensive than this, but his doctor’s good sense sets in and he sighs, deflating visibly for a moment as he considers the options, chuckling lightly at the stranger’s words.

“Rather not go to a hospital if it’s all the same to you. I'm usually the one ripping these things out.” He used to be the go to doctor for the pack wolves for a reason; so that human doctors don’t ask any uncomfortable questions about the nature of the wound or try to explain the mysterious poison that’s making the wolf sick…that and he probably has more experience with silver poisoning than any human doctor. Still, he’s treated enough bullet wounds to knows what comes next and he straightens up, knuckles white around the gun pressed against his thigh. “I’m a doctor.” He says by way of explanation. “Should be fine as long as I can get someone to get the bullet out and stitch the thing up.”

Of course he makes it sound so easy. Getting a bullet out of someone’s arm isn’t easy by any means, and while stitching a wound doesn’t necessarily take experience, it takes some skill so that the person doesn’t scar horribly. That also doesn’t take into account the silver poisoning that’s going to make him sick for a few days at best…kill him at worst, but he doesn’t think it’s been so long that the silver’s gotten too far into his blood stream.

Silas stuffs the gun into the waistband of his slacks and uses his now free right hand to press at the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but really only serving to cause more pain. Eyes flicker to Logan again and he quirks a crooked grin. “I’d ask you, but I know none of us really like to touch silver.” He doesn’t like it any more than the rest of them, but he has to by necessity. He’s gotten used to the stuff, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy to rip a bullet out of his own arm. “I can try to get it out on my own, but I need a hell of a lot more than I have here.” Which probably means a supply run, but whatever…he can try and improvise. “Silas, by the way. Why’d you vouch for me?” Curiosity is strong, even through the pain and he flicks his eyes towards where the other wolves disappeared as if one might come back.