Kelly Meding - Requiem for the Dead

The pups deserved a chance to be safe. And loved.

The table blurred and I blinked back tears. They'd get that chance, dammit. No matter what.

Imagine two teenage boys who are terrified and in serious pain, and who are trying very hard to not show it to the adults around them. Add in the fact that two of those adults are Therians, and the boys are teenage werewolves, and it's not a pretty picture. When Peter came around, he freaked out so badly that I thought we'd have to knock him back out. Wyatt banned me from the bedroom, afraid of me getting accidentally bitten, while he dealt with them.

A while later, all three came out of the bedroom. Mark and Peter were dressed in sweats too big for them, and they were clutching each other, limping and sweating from the pain of moving. Therians healed faster than humans, but they were also dealing with the affects of the silver collars they'd worn. They glared suspiciously at Marcus, but tried to smile at me.

"They know we're leaving," Wyatt said.

So we left. It took a while, because the pups moved like old men who were trying hard to not let you know how much their arthritis pained them. Marcus went ahead to bring the car closer. Wyatt climbed into the backseat with the boys, so I took shotgun.

"I told John to not answer the door," Peter said, his thin voice reedy and furious. "Guy said the people across from us ordered pizza and then weren't answering. Asked if we wanted to buy it. John loves pizza."

Classic move to get someone to open the door to a stranger, and the evidence was staining the floor of Wyatt's apartment.

"We didn't think you'd mind if we bought the pizza," Mark said to Wyatt. "Honest. We couldn't go out, you know?"

"You couldn't smell he was Therian?" Wyatt asked. A question, not an accusation.

Mark flinched. "I didn't think to try. All I smelled was the pizza. John opened the door. They shot him."

"With a tranquilizer?"

"I think so. He wasn't bleeding, just unconscious. Peter yelled. I tried to get the phone to call you. Everything happened so fast, and then he must have shot us too."

"The men at the door. What did they look like?"

"I think they were both Felia. They had copper eyes." Mark glared at the back of Marcus's head. "One had reddish-brown hair. He was big, muscular. Taller than Wyatt."

Sounded like Vale.

"The other man?" Wyatt asked.

"Woman," Peter said. "The other one was a woman."

I met Wyatt's eyes, both of us surprised. I don't know why, though. Chicks could be turncoats too. "What did she look like?" I asked.

"Pretty. Tall. Blonde hair, all tied back."

Not a super helpful description, but it was something.

"Possibly Starr Tuck," Marcus said.

Roof sniper's sister. Did that entire family inherit a crazy gene? "What time was it?" I asked the boys. "Do you remember?"

"A little after nine," Peter said.

Not long after we'd left. Damn.

"I'm sorry," Mark said.

"For what?" Wyatt asked.

"We screwed up."

"You were attacked without provocation, Mark. This wasn't your fault. It was my fault. I left you in an obvious place, and I wasn't there to protect you boys. I should have been more careful."

We both should have done a lot of things differently today.

Mark and Peter tried to remember everything they could about the attack, but they'd both been knocked out pretty quickly. They were embarrassed and in pain, and they were worried about their brother. I was worried about John too, more than I expected to be. The pups had been six strong once, then their numbers were cut in half. I didn't know what they'd do if they lost John.

I didn't know what Wyatt would do.

A small group of curiosity seekers (and enforcers) were waiting in the parking area when we returned to the Watchtower. Astrid and Rufus were there, along with Kismet, Tybalt, and Autumn, her arm free of that sling. They were the official welcoming committee, and I wasn't surprised to see a pair of human recruits nearby with side arms. Tranqs, probably, in case someone flipped out.

A lot of them were glaring at me, too, and I ignored the looks. They had a right to be pissed. My pressing concern was for the pups, and to find Vale. Wyatt and I walked on either side of them, offering support and a physical shield from so many other Therians, all the way to the infirmary. I didn't try to listen to the conversation Marcus and Astrid were having as they followed.

Mark and Peter took in their surroundings as they limped between us, curiosity overwhelming their pain, keeping them sharp. Once inside the infirmary, we settled them onto exam beds, careful to keep the curtain between them open. I didn't think they'd take well to being separated right now, even by a thin piece of cotton.

Dr. Vansis approached from the back and introduced himself. He gave the boys the same bland, disinterested look he offered to all of his patients, seeming unimpressed that these were the Lupa whose bite had caused such radical changes in Wyatt's physiology.

"How long ago was the silver removed?" Vansis asked.

"Less than an hour," Wyatt replied. "They wore them for about three hours prior to that."

Vansis snapped on a pair of gloves, then approached Mark first. Mark's nostrils flared, but he allowed Vansis to probe at his neck. "It appears to be healing. I can apply a topical ointment to help with the pain. Where else are you injured, son?"

Mark glanced at Wyatt, who helped him take the sweatshirt off. His thin chest was a palette of blue, black, and purple, and seeing the depth of those bruises sent my temper boiling. He was just a kid, dammit.

Peter watched with sharp, angry eyes while Vansis examined Mark's bruises, starting every time Mark flinched from a rough touch. He even growled once, a sound cut short when Wyatt put a hand on his shoulder. Vansis listened to Mark's breathing, then had him lay down. He pressed around his belly, which made Mark squirm. He asked questions about pain levels and did this or that hurt.

The hushed voices of our shadows had continued beyond the curtains, but they stopped now. I peeked out to find the waiting area empty, except for the two guys and their guns. I might have tried to remember their names (Dallas? Austin?) if I cared enough to expend the energy, but I didn't.

"There is no obvious swelling in the abdomen, nor are any bones broken," Vansis said. "I'll observe the injuries for a few more hours, but I suspect young Mark will heal without complications."

A flare of something hopeful lit Wyatt's face. No permanent physical harm done. Didn't mean there wouldn't be emotional scars, though—not only for Wyatt, but for Mark and Peter, too.

Vansis moved on to patient number two, which took all of Wyatt's concentration. Peter flinched and growled every time Vansis touched him. He was definitely the more high-strung of the trio. While doctor and patient went through the motions, I slipped out to check on some of the other wounded haunting the infirmary.

Paul was asleep in his room, his color better than the last time I saw him. The bandages on his shoulder were clean, not seeped through with fresh blood. He'd probably have a hell of a scar, but he was alive. The little bastard was too stubborn to die.

Maybe we weren't really all that different.

In the next room, Milo was sleeping, too, but a lot less peacefully. A sheen of sweat covered his face, and his eyes twitched. Caught up in a dream or nightmare, I didn't know. I slunk over to the bed, as silently as possible. Touched his cheek with the back of my hand, felt the damp, clammy skin. I smoothed the hair back from his forehead, a light stroke that seemed to settle him.

My best friend was hurting, and if all I could do was chase away a bad dream, I'd take it. I'd do anything for him, and I hadn't felt that sort of loyalty to one person in a long time. In some ways, Milo and Tybalt had become my Jesse and Ash. My friends and partners. I needed them in my life.