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[captainryan]

((From here))


Scotland. That's what the landscape looks like. If you could smell it, though, you'd know it isn't. There's a petrol-prey smell that sticks to it, just like the woods outside of Milliway's. It's the only territory the werewolf knows. The waning moon in the sky casts the foliage in an almost silver light. An overgrown path nearby practically glows, disappearing deeper into the woods. The black werewolf, Ryan, shakes himself off and  sticks his head into the wind, feeling it through his fur.

Rachel's nearby. He gives her a cautious sniff, rumbling a bit at the back of his throat. He stands up to his full height and the sound goes from a rumble to a full blown growl. It's a warning. This place is mine, he tells her, showing his teeth.

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[futures_of_ash]

"Killing parts of yourself is never a good idea" she sighed "It drained you of the poison, but got infected, and is less able to deal with the twisting I believe." she'd answer any other questions much, much later.

"Question is, Ryan, are you willing to go back?" because...he knew how. The path was always there.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Ah, so that's why it had been easier to think straight after the werewolf had ripped out his throat. He shudders at the sense memory, one hand flying to his neck, making sure the flesh is still whole.

"Of course," he asserts in answer to her question. He was, wasn't he? Why had he let go in the first place? Because he wasn't thinking straight. The anger had blinded him, skewed his thinking. What guarantee did he have that wouldn't happen again?

None. The anger was still there, just in the werewolf. What did that mean? Nothing good, surely.

"I need to lessen the rage. I need to control it," he tells Rachel. The problem there is he doesn't know how.

[futures_of_ash]

She listened, to him, to the wolf outside...and nodded "Yes, you do. It's too poisonous right now though" she admitted. She had...experience with such.

"With your permission, I'll drain some of it, the darkest parts. You should be able to handle the rest." it had all the finality of a one time offer.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Ryan frowns, worry etching its way across his face. "Handle it how?" If he can't even kill it, how the hell is he supposed to do anything else with it?

[futures_of_ash]

"Stop running would be a start" she shrugged. It was his mind, his psyche. She'd dealt with her own splinters in ways that only made sense to her...

"Do I have your permission?" Yes or no, Ryan, the clock was ticking...

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

"Yes," Ryan says grimly. He knows he doesn't want to face it at full strength. That this woman is willing to do so for him when he doesn't even know her he finds very brave and very foolish. It's not something he would do.

"What's your name?" He feels he should know who's putting herself at risk for him.

[futures_of_ash]

"Wise choice" she sighed grimly. He wouldn't do it...no. But Rachel? Was a hero. She specialized in doing the brave, foolish things...and doing them well enough to come back from.

"Rachel Grey" she called over her shoulder, as she was already moving towards the window, something like flame dancing in her hair...

She didn't want to hurt the wolf any more than she had to, it was why she had held back from attacking earlier...but things were changing, and this was for his good as well as the human shard's. So, it was a flame wrapped woman who darted faster, deadlier towards the enraged creature. It was slim, warm legs that hit his chest hard enough to bowl even a giant over...

And it was burning, clawed hands that latched onto the wolf's chest, just above his heart, drawing enough blood to reach the poison. She'd absorb as much as was needed, even knowing how much damage a girl her size could take when foolishly straddling a werewolf's chest.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Ryan watches her go, leaving for the slightly more secure kitchen once she was out the window. He can hear the wolf snarling and growling, and occasionally roaring in pain. God, he wants to disappear out the back door and just let her hold it off for as long as she could.

'Stop running,' she'd said. He paces the kitchen floor, removing the MP5 strap from his shoulder. It hadn't helped him then, it won't help him now. He'd have to face it. He was afraid to face it. The bastard terrified him. Not what it was, but what it could do, what it did to him. What he could do to others, to Suzi and Deitmar.

He finds he's holding the sword on the table. He stares at the blade, remembers the feeling of the metal sliding through his back.

He came here to catch a werewolf. He failed, or thought he had until Wells told him otherwise. He'd been pleased; his mission hadn't been a complete loss. Special Weapons had their werewolf. And then Witherspoon told him that Ingram had decided not to use the data. And the partially successful mission he had died for suddenly meant nothing.

His grip tightens on the hilt. That's why he's angry. He died for nothing. And he let go because he couldn't function with it. How long ago was it? How long had he been hiding in his own head?

The sword is melting under his hand, glowing red hot, then white as it shape softens then runs together. It’s searing his hand, but somehow he knows he can’t let go.

That life is over and done with. The molten metal is shining. What ever happened has happened. He can’t change that. The steel starts to reform. It’s been three years for Wells. His world’s moved on. Did he really expect it not to? The metal cools in his hand, soothing the burn. Britain has to do what’s best for herself, and if that involved negating his sacrifice, so be it. It was for the greater good. The ends justify the means.

He looks at the new sword that has formed. The blade is shining steel, hilt and pommel gold. There’s a design of chains on the grip, and set at the butt of the pommel is a dark brown tiger’s eye with a wolf’s head carved into it. Farris.

This is who he was now. And the wolf is just as much a part of that as anything else. He wouldn’t have grown close to Suzi otherwise. Deitmar would be nothing more than a sparring partner. Both would have little more meaning than as a source of income. Instead they were pack. They were family.

And, perhaps, that is what scares him most of all.

Ryan walks to the front door and it opens easily under his touch, as though the nails holding it shut had vanished. He steps outside under the waning moon, sword catching the silver light.

Rachel, he suspects, will know to let the werewolf up.

[futures_of_ash]

Bitter, dark, and choking thick. Poison...

But she was an empath, she was no stranger to the darker emotions roiling in people, nor to drawing on such to help. It didn't make her sick, as it had Ryan, it didn't change her scent...there was already too much blood in her past for such a little thing to do that.

No, the emotion didn't hurt her as it did others, but that did not mean she escaped injury. No matter her good intentions, and her body language that screamed Helping helping helping... there was still an enraged and twisted Wolf. He couldn't get the proper angle to bite her, but his claws raked her thighs and arms, even her lower back with some twisting. She could have stopped it, donned psychic armor...but then the wolf would never, ever have remembered her.

It was not a pleasant thing, and she was more than grateful when the human shard lived up to her expectations...and his own. She rolled clear, crouching and panting just out of claw's reach when the human shards feet touched the bloodied grounds.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

The werewolf rolls to his feet, the gashes Rachel caused already healed. He snarls and takes a step towards her.

"No." Ryan walks forward cautiously, sword still at his side. Perhaps if he could remove its head...but no, that's not what needs to be done. There are pools of black blood sinking into the ground, but any specks on the 'wolf are being reabsorbed, disappearing into its already black skin.

He thinks he knows what to do. He can't help but think he's going to die trying. The 'wolf is faster, more lethal. The 'wolf heals.

And Ryan's already dead. He raises the sword, knowing he smells of fear. 'She’s frightened, and she misses you.' He has to at least try.

The black werewolf cocks his head, pausing only a moment before he throws himself at Ryan. The man twists aside, too slow to dodge the claws that rip towards his chest. The pain is sharp and immediate and far too familiar…but the gashes themselves are shallow. And now the human is behind the wolf, sword flashing up as he drives the metal through the creature’s back. And that pain, too, is sharp and familiar.

But then Ryan twists the blade, keeping the wound from staying closed. The black blood, the poison, the rage starts to drain, flowing out in rivulets down the werewolf’s skin and soaking into the ground. He yelps, and spins, trying to catch the man, but Ryan stays behind him, keeping the blade twisting, the blood flowing, staying out of reach. It’s a strange dance, the two of them twirling while one growls and the other grimaces.

The moment the blood flows red, Ryan jerks out the sword and backs away quickly. “I am not prey,” he tells the werewolf as he whirls to follow him, still showing teeth. Ryan flicks the tip of the sword at him, sending a few drops of his own blood sailing towards his muzzle.

“I am not prey,” Ryan repeats, still moving backward with the sword up between them. He had hoped that would be enough. He’d drained it, hadn’t he? But the werewolf was still advancing on him. That’s it, then, he thinks hopelessly. The house is at his back. There’s no where else to go. The sword darts out, poorly aimed.

He catches the blade in one clawed hand, gripping it tightly as fresh blood begins to pour down it. The other clawed hand shoves Ryan back against the house, holding him still. He crouches slightly, his large head coming down to sniff at the slashes in Ryan’s chest. Their eyes are nearly level, and the ‘wolf is still, waiting. Ryan looks at him, still hopeless and now confused. The ‘wolf gently nudges the skin next to the first scratch and looks at him again. He’s asking permission, he realizes. For what? To eat him? No, he knows that’s not right. He wants to…help? Heal? He’s so close to understanding…

Ryan nods, hesitantly, wondering if he’s hallucinating. There’s a sharp intake of breath as the tongue flicks out, but where the last werewolf was intrusive and painful, this one is gentle and soothing. Ryan shudders under the sense memory anyway, even as he feels his flesh knitting together. And then the werewolf has released both him and sword, rearing up to his full height.

You are not prey, the werewolf agrees, head tilted, and Ryan’s surprised to find he can understand. You are pack. He leans forward to nuzzle Ryan and winds up stepping into him. Ryan staggers as the wolf’s senses suddenly return. The night lights up and scents assault his nose, bloodtreesfearmetalangerdespairpain, human smells and wolf smells and house smells and a thousand others, all vying for his attention.

He looks dazed.

[futures_of_ash]

Rachel didn't interfere. She knew when to intervene...and this...had been a time not to. Win, lose, it had been all in Ryan's hands.

And he'd probably surprised himself by coming out intact.

She just stood, ignoring the wounds she had, and watched him, waiting patiently for him to come out of his daze. He didn't need her to say 'Good job'.

He knew.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

It doesn't take him long. It was the sudden rush of information that threw him, but he's learned how to sort through that. And now there's even more experience added on to that from the 'wolf's side.

Ryan blinks, shaking his head a bit. It's strange and different and new and old and familiar all at once. This is who he is. He's still not quite sure what to make of it. Of any of it. He just did battle with a poisoned werewolf inside his own head.

He sags against the house, suddenly tired. There's blood smell poking at his stomach, reminding him he's hungry. He did just run an awful long way to get here.

"Are you alright?" he calls across to Rachel. He's got two sets of memories for her now. Both sets showed that he owed her. And he knew he owed her for that, too.

[futures_of_ash]

"Nothing sleep and Bar nagging me can't cure" she shrugged, an oddly flowing motion despite injury. Considering how little she slept though...and how much she hated bar's nagging...it was a pretty serious statement.

"Might even hunt a bit later" to run off some of the tainted anger.

"You ready?" she stepped forward and offered a hand, gaze never leaving Ryan's face.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

"I might do that myself," Ryan replies. Or maybe he'll sleep first. No, get some food from Bar and then head...upstairs? Outside? He'll choose later.

"Yes," he says after a moment, standing up straight. He's still holding the sword. He's reluctant to let it go, and in the end he chooses not to.

It's with a faint, tired smile he steps forward to take Rachel's hand.

[futures_of_ash]

Her smile was warm and soft edged, meant to sooth as she closed that last distance between, grip warm and somehow strengthening.

"Yes...time to get you home" she sighed, a sound of ages to gently blot away the house and the woods...

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