Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On most nights, the forest was rather peaceful, and tonight could have been the same.

It was the perfect night, atmosphere wise. The full moon shone through the canopy, radiant white blooming through lively verdant. A mist seeped close to the ground, drifting around each tree trunk and fallen branch, dampening the grass. 

On any other night, this would be a peaceful place.

"That... thing went that way!"

This was not one of those nights.

And Jon Talbain wasn't enjoying it.

The silence was expelled in favor of raving townsfolk, armed with various firearms and sources of light, both to combat the dark, more specifically that which lies within it. He wasn't unfamiliar with his current predicament. Lynch mobs hastily formed whenever a "monster" like him showed up. He can't blame them for wanting to defend their home, but he can blame them for their assumptions. 

As soon as they find out you're not one of them, they see you as a threat, and an afront to all that is good. Jon knew it all to well. When he first changed, when he was eighteen, his whole town turned against him. As soon as he no longer looked human, they turned on him. Gone was the nobleman the town knew for the entirety of his childhood. Gone was the orphan, whose mother died when he was young, and whose father was an enigma that sired a bastard and dropped off the face of the planet, leaving a lost child with no family to turn to, especially when he needed them most. Gone was Jon Talbain, who put himself through hell to contain the wild side inside him, raging like an inferno, threatening to ruin everything he were to come across if he let up. All they saw was a monster.

He could confidently say he resented them, especially right now.

Tonight was a full moon, so change was inevitable. He knew he'd have to wait until morning to change back and blend back in, so it was just a matter of hiding until then. Strangely, the town had warnings about a "dangeous beast" nearby, and had listed the dates for lunar cycles.

He thought it was rather unusual. Humans avoided talking about the supernatural when they could, as if speaking of creatures such as himself would bring upon misfortune upon the populace. An unspoken rule they follow, barring those who dove headfirst into the world of darkness. This town was different. They actively had warning about a monster.

A monster, like him.

He should have considered the possibility of that abandoned house having another vagrant beside himself seeking it's worn architecture for shelter against the elements.

And that's how he found himself in his current situation. His inhuman feet, shaped into humanoid paws, slammed into the damp ground, twigs and leaves crunching beneath each step he took to evade the mob. The light from the moon betrayed him, shining off of his hide and preventing him from blending into the dark. He needed to find somewhere to evade his pursuers, unusually stubborn in their pursuit. Any other day, he could reasonably take them out, but on a night like tonight, he couldn't risk losing control.

*BANG*

Gunshots break through the forest, and the trees around him start erupting into splinters and dust. A pain shoots through his shoulder, resonating through the rest of his body not long after. The pain is almost enough to make him black out, but he forces himself to power through. If he stops now, he won't live to see tomorrow. His stomps become much harder, as the lycan forces himself to zoom faster through the trees, curving around arbor and over stone in his attempts to lose the mob.

Jon can feel his wound burn, and the crimson drip down his back, as he scans the area for any place he can hide. In his current state, he'd be too exhausted to continue running blindly throughout the forest. His lungs are burning, and his legs are cramping. He can't keep this up.

A large castle catches his eye, and he figure it's his best chance to survive. He practically leaps across the forest floor, pain shooting with every jolt. The voices following Jon eventually fade, and the silence returns, only inviting ragged breaths and pained whimpers from a lone wolf, as he reaches a ruined haven.

The castle seemed in desperate need of repair. It's gates were torn open, and twisted metal lie upon the ground. Cobblestone crumbling from the walls, the only signs of life being weeds invading the front patches of grass. Jon can feel his back soak with blood and sweat. The wound in his shoulder burns as if it were on fire, dripping crimson that stained his blue and silver hide. He feels dizzy, and he needs to tend to his wound before he bleeds out. 

Supporting himself on the wall to his left, he makes his way through decrepit hallways, lined with cracking walls, coming to the end, right as his body fails him. He collapses at the end of the tunnel, vision blurring as he finds what he supposes was a ballroom at some point, before he falls under the spell of unconciousness.

Baron Konrad von Sabrewulf awakens, and he can feel something in his domain.

The Baron rises from the rug infront of the dying fireplace, shaken by a restless slumber. He sniffs the air, hoping to scout out any and all possible intruders, but sure that he's paranoid.

The scent of copper permeating through the air convinces him otherwise.

It puts him on edge, as he grasps with the remains of his mind to not lash out. It's probably just an injured animal that found it's way into the remains of his estate.

What he sees proves him partly-right.

While what lays at the end of the copper trail isn't human, it's shape shoots a shocking message through his mind.

'It's just... like me'

The being that lays infront of him is a canine, humanoid like him. It's hide is a mix of blue and silver, with a tail that blossomed out of it's back. It's only article of clothing is a pair of purple trousers with a yellow waistband, looking like that of a martial artist, being a little gaudy in it's color selection, though he couldn't really say anything regarding fashion. Most startlingly, it's breathing was ragged, it's legs were covered in bits of grass and mud, and it's shoulder was oozing blood, dripping down and staining the back of it's hide. 

The Baron was at a loss of what comes next. He's tried to break the curse a multitude of times, with various methods of ancient and modern origin, but it all failed. He's prayed for death to come take him since he was cursed with his disease. It's taken everything from him, and it's painted a target on his back. He feels pains through his arms as the memories of what Ultratech did to him pop into his mind. He should, by all means, let the beast perish in it's sleep, and spare it from the horrors of this world.

But, a part of him feels he should lend a hand. He knows its selfish, he does. But, this is the first time he's seen a beast like him. He doesn't know what he's thinking, but he's made up his mind.

Scooping the werewolf into his arms, the Baron drags the being to his lab. What was once a ballroom to greet guests, has now mutated into an alchemical lab, designed only to rid him of his curse. Dragging the lycan onto a clear table, he gathers a scrap of cloth, and rushes to an outsode pump. Raising the handle, he sees a stream of water come out of the nozzle, and raises a clawed hand to dampen the scrap. Rushing back inside, he dabs the rag over the caked blood, watching the clump of brown and red drop off onto the rather dusty metal table, taking little bits of fur with it.

Seeing the points of entry, little holes piercing the flesh of this being, undeniably buckshot, he gathers his tools. Taking a pair of tweezers, he gets to work removing the pellets, ignoring the whimpers of the unconcious canine, as little bits of silver are dropped onto the table. He knows how much silver burns when it pierces flesh, especially to creatures like him.

Once all the silver is expelled, he grabs a musty, shredded shirt from a nearby shelf, and beguns wrapping it around the monster's shoulder. He has little-to-no actual supplies, and has had to improvise in regards to certain things, like bandages. 

When he's wrapped it the best he could, given the lack of resources, he flips the wolf over to check for wounds on it's front. While he doesn't see any, he can tell the beast is male, and rather muscular. He's breathing rather rapid still, but he's stemmed the bleeding, and he won't know if there's anything else until he wakes up, if he wakes up at all.

Once again carrying the wolf, he rises up the stairs and moves towards the study that has become his defacto bedroom. It's not exactly comfortable, but after a few encounters with outsiders wanting his home's resources and artifacts, this is the only room with both a fireplace and walls free of holes. It is the most livable room in the castle, by default.

As he lays the wounded werewolf down, Konrad wonders if he should've helped him in the first place. A small part of him hopes that something will come of this, but hope hasn't helped him since he got drunk and ruined his life with that damned claw.

He doesn't hold his breath for any escape from the ruined life he leads.

Chapter Text

Jon awakens in a room he doesn't recognize.

Blurred eyes open to an orange glow, and his vision takes a few moments to adjust to where he finds himself. Upon looking around, he immediately spots cobblestone walls, lined with aged oil paintings, and dusty bookcases, lined with leather-bound books and cobwebs. He looks towards the source of light, a large fireplace, a domesticated inferno raging in it's hearth, but he sees something move infront of it. He places an arm on the ground, yellow claws clacking lightly against the cobblestone to raise himself up, but a sharp pain shoots from his right shoulder and explodes outward, making him yelp in pain. 

An ear twitches on what he now sees is a werewolf. This one has blue-grey fur that is ragged and untamed, various cuts lining his body. His arms, however, show a more concerning story. They appear unusually thin, the fur short, as if it started growing later than everywhere else on his body, allowing bulging, red veins to shine through. Various needle marks litter his biceps, most long since faded. His only articles of clothing are a pair of tattered auburn pants and various bands on his arms, with tiny ones tying the fur lining his face into small braids. A small, bony tail stands out of his back, covered in the same color of fur that surrounds the rest of his form. The wolf's amber eyes shoot open from the noise, and gaze straight into Jon's.

A staredown ensues, two wolves looking straight at each other, silence mixing with the crackles of the fire that spreads warmth throughout the room. A single sentence is what breaks it.

"You're... like me"

His voice is guttural and stilted, and it seems as if he's fighting to get the words out. He seems ...lost, as if he hasn't seen another beast like him before. With how dedicated the town was in hunting me, we're probably the only beasts in the area. 

Jon clears his dry throat before responding, "Yes, we're certainly similar", so not to be rude. He realizes the wolf is staring at his shoulder, and tracing his gaze leads him to discover an old shirt wrapped around where he... got shot. Did he- help me? The last thing he remembers is rushing into a castle before his memory blurs. He doesn't recognize the room, but his... companion brought him here, and tended to his wound.

"Does.. it hurt?" the wolf asks him, concern mixing with stilted speech.

"It's fine, if a little sore," he responds, not wanting to come across as rude to the man who helped him, "thanks again, for this, Mr...?"

The wolf looked at him, amber eyes weary, and full of shame, before answering.

"Sabrewulf. Baron Konrad von Sabrewulf."

A Baron? Jon figures he has more in common with this man than he thought. 

"In that case, from one nobleman to another, Jon Talbain". He reaches out a clawed hand towards the Baron, who hesitates, before gripping it with his own. It's awkward, but the Baron's face does appear to light up during it.

There's something about it, two monsters being more civil to each other than any human has to either of them. Jon would feel it's ironic, poetic even, if it didn't feel so... bitter.

"I'm sorry to ask, but do you happen to have anything to drink?" he asks, throat dry, and the heat in the room not helping much, especially with a layer of fur surrounding his form. The Baron nods, and ushers him to follow, helping him up out of courtesy.

Passing through the chamber, nothing could have prepared Jon for the room up ahead.

A ballroom, basterdized into a crude labratory. From the top of the staircase, Jon can see a magnitide of various machines flooding the room, all rusted and worn. On a round table, he spots an array of books and glass beakers, a metal table right next to it, various needles and metal tools, some covered in dried blood. Most worryingly of all, theres a large metal platform raised in the middle of the room, leather straps and buckles arranged for humanoid use, with bloodstains splattered across it. Electrical diodes pop out of the top, reminiscent of rabbit ears. Why does he have this? The Baron remains ignorant of his inner questioning, and brings him outside to an outdoor pump, which Jon immediately goes for. He pumps the metal lever, and opens his maw for the liquid that soon follows. 

After quenching his thirst, he turns to the Baron, horror in his eyes.

"Wh-what is all this?" he questions.

The Baron looks around, arm starting to tremble, before he uses his other hand to steady it. "This... is where I've been trying to cure my affliction". His head hangs in shame at that statement. He's been using this place... to try and cure himself? 

The implications hit Jon like a freight train. This man, since he became the way he is, has tortured himself to rid himself of his curse. It's futility is what really gets him. Jon knows from personal experience how pointless such an endeavour is. He had to train for years to contain the beast that's so engrained with his being.

He needs to tell this man before he rips himself apart over nothing.

Konrad has never been any more shaken than he is now.

There's... there's no cure

Everything he's done, all he's gone through, all he's lost,... was for nothing. 

He's wasted his life.

He doesn't realize Talbain's still there until he says his name.

"Baron!"

That jolts Konrad out of his mania. He's still trembling, and tears are threatening to shed. He's dropped onto the floor, up against the wall. He feels the uncaring cold of the cobblestone, as he sees Talbain kneel to the ground so they're on the same level. He goes to put a hand on his shoulder, "I'll help-".

"HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA HELP?", he roars, shoving a silver-furred hand away from him. He's furious about his predicament, hot tears spilling unchecked. He wants to lash out. No ones helped him. Ultratech's claims of "help" was more akin to torture. They didn't care about him. They cared about adding another mindless weapon to point at their enemies. They ripped him apart. He ripped himself apart, and used his family's secrets to regain what he lost. He's had all that could help him. And it's pointless. He sees his vision blur, and feel his face become wet and hot, as he crumples in on himself. He can't care what happens next.

What else does he have to lose?

"Baron, listen to me," Talbain begins, placing his hands on Konrad's shoulders, tear stained face looking up, "I know it seems hopeless, losing everything over an affliction you feel no control over. But you do have a chance. And I'm going to help you."

Konrad scoffs bitterly, "Why even try? I'm a lost cause".

"Because," Talbain begins, the morning sun rising behind him, as a change replaces the beast standing before the Baron with a normal man, "I've been in your place before, and I'd be a monster if I left you to rot. So," he raises a normal hand out towards Konrad, "will you accept my help?"

As Konrad's monstorous hand seems to consume the normal one before him, he feels something he hasn't felt in a long time.

Hope.

And this time, it doesn't feel hollow.

Chapter Text

"So, just try to pin me down then."

Konrad looked away from the moon, no longer as full as it was yesterday, but white rays still shining down upon the field outside the estate. It was the night after Talbain offered to help him. Admittedly, he was a little unsure about it, still reeling at the reveal of his effort's futility. The thought of everything he did to himself, the multitude of medicines he's had to concoct with only old books and arcane knowledge that was amatuer at best, the painful treatments that have probably damaged his body more than lycanthropy ever could, the foolish deal he made with Ultratech that just furthered his descent, and what he had to do to himself to undo their machinations, being for nothing... 

Just thinking about it made his body ache all over. He remembers every tear, as he was sliced open and cold, unfeeling metal was implanted beneath his skin. He remembers the overpowering scent of copper and chemicals, threatening to make him sick. He remembers the strange feeling of feeling the muscles on what remained of his arms being pulled, but being unable to actually feel what he was exactly touching.

The aftermath was somehow worse. If he didn't let the monster within himself take over, he's positive that he couldn't have powered through what he did. Tearing himself apart, ripping his body open, the metal, warmed by the crimson of his torso and mishapen under hate-fueled jaws. The pull on his shoulder's muscles as flesh was torn alongside metal. The strange agony of alchemical precedures to regrow what he lost, happening too fast and feeling his arms burning, but feeling like it was too slow, as if his agony was being dragged out. The bittersweet bliss of homebrew painkillers, giving him relieve from the mess that he became, at the cost of another impulse, one that he just chose not to fight, out of some vain hope that it would slow his fall from grace.

His arm quakes as he looks towards Talbain, the wolf he found injured in his estate long gone, replaced by a stoic human with spiked, silver hair. It was almost comedic, like a man teaching his dog a new trick, except the dog was a bipedal, 5'11 formerly-human aristocrat. His shoulder seems to have healed up rather fast. It was rather absurd, though their whole situation could be considered absurd, learning to be less violent by learning more ways to cause injury. It did seem to make sense though. Martial arts revolves around discipline, discipline that people like him or Talbain need for their wild sides.

"Just... pin you down? May I ask what the point of this excercise is?" Konrad questioned, feeling the damp ground beneath their feet, every footstep squishing into the wet dirt and oozing water through it's surface.

"You've mentioned that you've gotten into strifes before, and I tend to mix my knowldege of martial arts with the beast I am, so seeing what your fighting style is like will let me know what to lean into" he replies. That makes sense. He's never seen Talbain in combat before, so he's going in blind with this. Not that he ever plans ahead, preffering to let instinct take over.

Konrad rushes ahead, lunging off all fours towards Talbain, hoping to tackle him and pin him quicky. Talbain's response is to sidestep from the lycan's approach, the wolf landing in a roll and turning back towards the silver-haired man. The immediately goes for a different approach, getting in close and swiping at him with his claws, attempting to grab him and careful to not claw him. Each and every swipe was parried by Talbain, no sign of sweat breaking on his brow, while Konrad felt soaked in it. The duel, if it could be called that, ended with Talbain flipping the Baron over his shoulder, a suprised yelp escaping from his muzzle as four-hundred pounds of werewolf was lifted off the ground and planted there on his back. The Baron gasped, before he frantically started to regain the breathe that was knocked out of him. 

A hand reached towards his downed figure, "Are you ok?" Konrad was able to nod between ragged breathes, answering Talbain's question. "Apologies, I didn't mean to throw you that hard, but you seem to rely more on instinct than skill. Tommorow we can go over some basic stances, and how we can incorporate what you know into it."

Another nod was all he felt like answering with.

He hated this.

Talbain was busy outside, cleaning off with the outdoor pump, the only source of plumbing that still worked in the whole estate. This left Konrad free to take care of something he knows isn't healthy, but he feels he can't live without it. His hands trembe as he steadies the syringe over his bicep, anticipation building for a feeling of bliss that can calm his nerves and help him focus on something else before the allure brings him back when it beckons. Helplesssness takes over when the needle breaks through his hide and the flesh underneath, a clawed thumb pressing the plunger down, as bliss floods throughout his body, followed by shame not long after.

He lets the high ride out before returning to the stairs out of the chamber, passing by shattered oak and piles of books, what were once old bookshelves turned into debris by an encounter with an intruder from years ago. 

Konrad rises out of the stairs, hoping Talbain won't see him, swearing to himself he'll break this curse he's placed upon himself.

Chapter Text

The past few days haven't been easy.

It was a major change for both of them. One had another person living in his house for the first time in years, while the other was staying somewhere for a lengthy amount of time, something he hasn't done since his mentor died. Despite the major changes, the pair hasn't really interacted outside of lessons. They seemed to drift away afterwards, off to their own devices, only staying together for training and in the study at night, when both were too tired from the events of the day to even make small talk. It was only a matter of time before one of them noticed.

In the end, Jon noticed.

In the few days he's been in the ruined Sabrewulf estate, he's been seeing a startling amount of red flags from the Baron, building up and threatening to topple over and bury what lies underneath. Even upon walking through the basterdized laboratory, and hearing just what the man's done to himself to regain the life he's lost to his inner beast is enough to fill him with dread, feeling as though he'd rupture from the implications. Since then, he's noticed concerning signs from him.

From the Baron's trips late at night out of the study they've resided in, to his returns where he'd seem... off, as if he experienced something that shook him to his core, leaving him cracked each time. The Baron's personal appearance and health seemed to only decline each time Jon saw him. His hide seemed more wild and dark each time he witnessed the man, the stench of unwashed fur permeating throughout the room. While it wasn't pleasant, especially for someone with the nose of a bloodhound, he's dealt with worse, but it was still concerning. He's noticed the man's arms, thin and covered in short fur, seeming uneven compared to the fur on the rest of his figure, tremble and quake before he left each night, coming back with the faint smell of copper lingering around it, faint little marks of red growing in number, mostly hidden by the short fur. The man's figure seeming dangerously thin, bones peaking through his skin.

He's gonna fall apart faster if he keeps going like this. Jon's sure he's not eating, and questions about the Baron's arms increase everday, threatening to break open and overwhelm them both. He needs to intervene, but he needs to build trust between them. 

For someone who can count the amount of people he trusted since changing on one hand, it's going to be an uphill battle.

Konrad was a difficult man to suprise.

After coming face-to-face with various monsters throughout his life, from the everyday ones that appear as friends, wearing fake-smiles and spouting false promises, to literal gods and beings, to becoming a creature that most would call fantasy, he's rather numb to the idea of being suprised at anything for the rest of his lifetime.

Ironically, it was the most mundane thing that suprised him.

Talbain had told him that training that day would take place later that night, as opposed to during daytime, he was confused. He'd understand if it had something to do with resisting his bestial side under the shine of a full moon, but the moon was a just a quarter full, so that idea was quickly discarded as soon as it was thought up.

Instead he led him to the edge of a cliff, surrounded by various trees, both standing and fallen, living and dead, healthy and rotten. It was a lengthy walk from his estate, probably an hour in length, so he was internally dreading the inevitable hike back, when he'd be sore and stiff from whatever lesson his companion had planned. He didn't despise Talbain, but he didn't really understand him either, and he was wary of his intent. The last time he trusted someone's word regarding his condition, it only worsened things. It was mainly the fact that he was a lycan, a lycan that could change back, that won him over. 

The cliff overlooked a small valley, a river cutting through the trees like a snake moving through the grass. The area was only illuminated by the moonlight, it's soft glow shining upon the area, white mixing with the dark skies to cascade the sky into a dark blue patch that mixed with the sea of black that was dazzled with stars. Talbain walked over to a fallen log, before turning to Konrad and sitting upon the wood, patting a large, silver-furred hand on the spot next to him, a gesture he had not expected. He felt it would be rude to ignore, and quickly followed suit, sitting upon a log that seemed recently felled, signs of decay abesnt from it's bark. 

Awkward silence filled the area, the two wolves just staring towards the valley, before one decided to break it.

"What are we doing tonight?" Konrad asked, hesitant at what the answer could be.

Talbain looked at him, before looking towards the ground, "Truth be told, it's... not really training".

Konrad was perplexed at the answer, "What- what do you mean?".

"It's... something I felt we needed to discuss if we're gonna continue your training." Konrad didn't know how to follow up, and Talbain started up again before he could come up with one. "This is going to sound rude, but you look like hell". 

"If you just brought me out here to jeer at my appearance-" Konrad starts, annoyance building on his face, teeth barred.

"No," Talbain interrupts, "I mean you look terrible, and you're not taking care of yourself, and it's something that'll only hinder your progress at best, and kill you at worst" he says, concern all but appearing on his face. 

Konrad was shocked. He didn't expect Talbain to bring it up, though he never considered that anyone would live in the ruined castle with him, much less pick up on his behaviors. It wasn't as if he went out of his way to avoid his health, he just... stopped caring. He didn't expect longevity or to find a life that didn't involve solitude and insisent urges. He felt his arm tremble and his claws dig into the wood, bark and arbor pushed out of the way, as his nails parted the xylem like a hot knife through butter. "What exactly should I do? What am I neglecting?" 

"Have you eaten anything since I arrived? Or... anything? You look like you haven't eaten in weeks."

The question punches through the Baron as he takes it in. He knows he stopped eating to try and spite the beast that tried to overtake his life. To try and weaken it, hopefully enough to make himself as little of a problem to the world as he could. He's just wanted to feel as though he didn't need food, while his empty stomach tried to convince him otherwise. Painkillers he's brewed to try and offset his condition seemed to be the only sustenance he's had in a while. He feels Talbain move his hand over his torso, brushing over his ribs, visible as though they'll burst through his skin, and down across his stomach, slightly distended as a result of kwashikor, appearing as a cruel, ironic joke to taunt him. 

The feeling of someone touching him in a nonviolent way feels completely alien to him. He feels exposed, and the only thing keeping him from recoiling is Talbain retracting his hand before continuing. "I'll take that as a no. And I apologize for overstepping any boundaries, I did not mean any offense with it. I'm only concerned".

"Why?" Konrad asks.

"Pardon?" Talbain responds

"Why do you care?" he asks once again, voice fighting to not crack. He hasn't done anything to gain his sympathy, and within the first hour of talking to him, Konrad freaked at him for telling him the truth, cold as it may be. "What do you get out of this?"

Talbain looks right into Konrad's eyes, intent blaring into bright, glassy amber, before answering

"I was like you, and when I most needed someone, someone who wouldn't turn me away, a m-," Talbain's voice chokes at this point, and Konrad swears he can see little bits of liquid form at the corners of his eyes before he blinks them away, composure returning "a man I miss dearly helped me, and I would be doing him a great dishonor by not following his example."

That is not the answer he was expecting, but it was as truthful and emotional to have no semblance of falsehood or deceit attached to it. 

And that's all Konrad needs to know for now. 

He's fine with sitting here and enjoying the moment with someone he hopes will consider him a friend.

A good distance away, a pair of binoculars rests infront of a pair of startled eyes, pasted to a sweat-washed face, discovering another monster for the town to worry about.

Chapter Text

"Baron?"

The mention of his title breaks the silence and cuts through the cold air that's been nipping at his eyes and nose. Konrad turns his head towards Talbain, amber eyes moving towards a silver-and-blue hide. "Did-did something happen to your arms at some point?" he asks, eyes glancing towards Konrad's arms. Anxiety rushes throughout his body, hoping he won't have to tell Talbain about the needlemarks on his arms. It's shameful enough alone, but an audience to his problem would destroy him.

"Why do you ask?" Konrad responds, trying to keep his anxiety from bubbling to the surface.

"Well," Talbain begins, "they look... thin, the fur even more so. At least, compared to the rest of you. I wouldn't bring it up, but they also... tremble, and I need to know if your injured so we can treat it, as to not exacerbate it". His tone has a semblance of concern beneath a veneer of stoicsm. 

While he won't have to explain his addiction ('probably' slips in the back of his mind), but he'll still have to tell him about the utter hell Ultratech put him through, and how his life went further downhill afterwards. 

"I'll... elaborate when we get back to the manor" he answers, tightly gripping the log he's seated upon, knuckles surely white underneath his fur.

"Elaborate? What happened?" Talbain asks, stoic veneer cracking, more and more concern leaking through.

"Something I'd rather forget," he responds, not wanting to ruin the peace he's gotten from tonight, "but I will tell you when we tell you, I promise."

Talbain just sighs, but relents anyways. Silence threatens to take over, but Konrad decides to question his companion. Now's as good a time as any to learn more about him. 

"So, what brought you here in the first place?"

Talbain seems to freeze for a moment, before responding. "Honestly, I've been... drifting, I guess? Soul searching? I'm not sure what to call it, but... I realized something about myself, and I-I'm not sure what to-" before he cuts himself off, tone sounding more and more lost as it went on, the mask he's been wearing chipping as his tangent went on. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he composes himself before continuing, "I'll continue when we get back". Konrad can't find it in himself to complain, he did just do the same after all, but he can't help but find himself concerned and curious over Talbain's struggle. What did he realize, exactly, and why is it shaking him so much?

Talbain rises from the log, and makes his way down towards the river, Konrad following him. He's led to a space near the river, where a waterfall lies. The water rushing down it leaving a mist as liquid splashes into the pool below, bubbles and foam drifting from the impact point. Konrad finds Talbain standing near the edge of it, looking up at the waterfall, a comtemplative look in his eyes.

"Is everything ok? You just kinda ran off without a reason" Konrad asks, eyeing the waterfall, but unable to find what Talbain's looking for.

"You know what I'm thinking of, Baron?" Talbain asks, Konrad shaking his head in response. "I'm seeing the closest thing to a shower we'll have."

Konrad blinks, "Is-is this a jeer about my stench?" he asks, slightly offended by the implications.

Talbain waves a clawed hand at him, "No, though you should probably follow along" and before Konrad can decide whether to be offended or laugh at his bluntness, Talbain immediately starts untying the yellow waistband on his trousers, Konrad covering his eyes and looking away as to give him some privacy, not looking back until he hears splashing from the river. Looking back, he sees a familiar blue-and-silver figure wading through the pool towards the waterfall. The water he was parading around in was waist deep and dark, so it covered up his... stuff. 

"The water's not bad, come on!" he hears Talbain shout before he moves under the waterfall. Deciding to follow suit, he first removes the bands keeping the fur around his face braided, letting it loose like a wild animal, fur draping around his skull like a wreath. Pocketing the bands, he removes the torn trousers and the undergarmnets beneath, and left them right next to the purple ones laying upon the ground infront of him.

Crouching down, he lets himself drop into the few-foot deep water, only to realize something as soon as his lower half is submerged. 

Talbain's a fucking liar, this water's freezing!

The chill feels from the water shoots through his nerves, shocking him like he just got struck with lightning. He fights the urge to jump right out, despite how tempting it is to do so. He can do this. This can't be as bad as surgical mutilation and torture. If he can do that, he can take a little cold water. He wades through the water over to where Talbain is, figure concealed by the rushing rapids that he's using as a makeshift shower. The water falls upon him, and he seems unfazed by the cold liquid soaking his hide, but he doesn't seem to be paying Konrad any mind. Figuring he might as well follow suit, Konrad pushes under the stream, cold shooting through him as his chest is soaked, and cold clings to his hide, refusing to let go. He may as well finish what he started, as he uses his claws to scrub himself down, watching as the built-up dirt and caked blood flakes off and dissapates into the watery pool. It's more helpful than he would have thought otherwise. 

Afterwards, he feels his soaked fur seem to cling together, as he walks out of the waterfall. Talbain doesn't seem to look any better off in that department, the bushy scruff on his neck looking like a wet mop, and his fluffy tail now drooping. As the pair walks towards their discarded clothes, Konrad watches Talbain's face wash over with realization, eyes open wide, like he just realized he screwed up. He turns to Konrad.

"We didn't bring towels" he says bluntly.

"I mean... we didn't plan on going swimming" Konrad responds, equally as blunt, if slightly amused, despite how much this affects him as it does Talbain.

"Well..." is all Talbain is able to say before Konrad decides to try shaking off the water, droplets flying off his coat and hitting everything within a five-foot radius, like shrapnel from a grenade. Talbain's taken by suprise from the assault, volleys of water hitting him. When he looks back at Konrad, all he sees is the wolf with his hands cupped around his muzzle, eyes wide open, shock evident on his face about what he just did.

"You. Cheeky. Bastard!" Talbain practically yelps, flabbergasted at what just occured.

"It was an-" Konrad doesn't get a chance to finish that sentence before a repeat of it, this time from Talbain, hits him. When he looks at him, Talbain has a devilish grin on his face, having gotten revenge on his friend. 

Silence persists for about half a minute, before small giggles erupt from Konrad's maw, low and beastial, before Talbain follows suit, and finally both of them roaring with laughter, laughter that echoes through the forest and reverberated throught each and every leaf.

Was it immature? Yes.

Was it rude? Most Likely.

Was it worth it? The laughter speaks for itself.

Chapter Text

The walk back to the estate was cold and quiet, but Jon felt something was off.

He could be wrong of course, but as he walked side by side with the Baron, he could tell something was wrong. Jon wasn't a "social butterfly", as Felicia put it, but he felt his companion's discomfort. It wafted in the air, tension building, and like thick globs of smoke, it was suffocating. He imagined that he's spent a long time alone in his castle, and thought a change of pace would help. The little spat after their impromptu shower gave him hope, but his mood seemed to once again turn dour afterwards. The wet fur wasn't helping much, each second more water seemed to run off of his hide and dampen his sole article of clothing.

Tonight was full of shortsighted decisions on his end, but hopefully a talk about whatever happened to the Baron would help everyone.

The study's changed since Jon's arrived, if only a little.

In the time he's been here, he suggested to Baron that they figure out some sort of bedding situation. He's not one to be finicky, and he'll take what he can get, but he told the training they'd be doing would be intensive, and a rug over stone tile wouldn't be that pleasant afterwards. Honestly, they were lucky to find a mattress that wasn't completely tarnished, from the room of one of the help the Baron had employed before he became a beast of the night. It would be unfeasible to carry a mattress through a decrepit castle, especially when the nearest town is an hour walk away and only one person could pass as human. Said mattress lay in the corner of the room, in the only spot of the room it could fit.

It was a suprising fact to learn, that his companion got to enjoy things like hiring help, but it makes sense. Presumably, the Baron was afflicted by something outside of his control. That was a luxury Jon was never meant to have. Becoming a monster was inevitable for him. He had eighteen years to live under the veil of a human, before the world of monsters dug their claws into him and tore everything about his life to shreds, leaving him without any hope for a peaceeful life, as either a man or a beast. 

The pair of lycans walked into the room, the Baron moving to start a fire, stacking a few pieces of firewood into the hearth, and using a small chunk of flint and a knife to ignite the fuel. Within minutes, a fire was burning, light radiating throughout the room, an orange glow as warm as it looked. Jon found himself taking a seat on the mattress, shifting out of his monstrous form to his human look. His damp hair clung to the back of his neck, the usual silver spikes they usually formed drooping down to his skull. His skin felt rather cold, no doubt from being soaked in water and exposed to the cold night as they trekked back to the estate. Taking a seat on the discolored mattress, Jon found himself joined by the Baron as soon as the fireplace was going.

"So...," Jon started, remembering the conversation they held off on, "your arms," the Baron wincing as he said it, ears going flat, "are they okay?"

The Baron took a deep breath, before answering, "I can manage".

"Manage?", Jon asked, confused by the Baron's answer, "Do they hurt you? What even happened?" 

The Baron's flinch at his question cues to him that his tone was more harsh than it needed to be, but he responds anyways. "It's a long story, back from when...  I became like this" he responded, gesturing to himself, "It's not... pleasant, Talbain, so...".

"I'm all ears" Jon interjected.

It took a moment for the Baron to speak again, and he began recounting his tale. "When I turned for the first time, it wasn't pretty. My help ran from me out of fear, I... did things I couldn't stop." He took a moment to regain his composure, and he continued, "But back then, I wasn't stuck like this forever. I was able to change back. I thought there was hope, that I could find a cure, that it could be something that I could forget with enough time and alcohol. And that's when Ultratech entered the picture." 

"Ultratech?" Jon found himself asking. He swears he's heard the title before, but it wasn't something he looked too into. Honestly, he thought it was a comic from the title alone, but it seems to be a company.

"They offered me a cure, under one condition... I had to win their tournament, their  "Killer Instinct" tournament." The Baron's voice was stewing with venom as he said the name of the tournament. "I was stupid and desperate, so you can probably tell what my answer was."

"You took them up on that offer."

"It was the worst decision I've ever made. By the end of it, I was barely clinging to life, I felt pain in every inch of my body. I was expecting to die then and there. If only I was that lucky. Next time I woke up, it was in some-some deranged hospital, but I only remember one thing..."

"What?"

The Baron looked Jon dead into the eyes, amber piercing right into his soul.

"I couldn't feel my arms. Instead..." The Baron gained a contemplating look on his face before standing up, and walking out of the room. Jon wasn't sure what he was doing, but before he could follow, he returned, gripping something in his hand. "this- this is what I found."

He held out the object, a metal arm of some sort, and dropped it into Jon's arms. The objects weight caught him off guard, but it was then he noticed the finer details. The object seemed to be segmented into little metal plates, now rusted and covered in dust, but it was caved in the middle, like it collapsed into itself. More concerning was the stench wafting off of the object. It wasn't until he looked at the bicep end that he realized the gravity of the object.

Flesh was practically glued to the object, black and decayed. It's pungent odor immediately invaded Jon's senses, making him gag, and filling him with an ill feeling, as though he was being strangled with his own innards. He wanted to vomit, not only from the stench that assaulted his senses, but from connecting the dots of what Baron was saying. He dropped the damned prosthetic and let it clang onto the floor.

"That's what was there. Their little experiments left me stuck as a monster. I couldn't change back. All they wanted was another weapon for their arsenal."

"Those... monsters!" was all that Jon could growl through barred teeth. That account left him feeling anger, that kept growing like a forest fire. He can't think of anything that's made him that's brought upon this feeling of righteous fury before. The various mobs that have tried to murder him for who he is can only dream of coming close to what he's feeling. The hunters who seek his end for their own ends might, but this is worse. To use someone with an affliction like his in such a twisted, cruel way. He doesn't try to be a monster, but he'd be willing to make an exception if he came into the presence of these so-called human beings. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he needed to remain calm after all, he looked towards the Baron, amber eyes wide with suprise. "What about after? How did we go from-," he pointed at the metal mockery of a lycan arm, "from... that, to flesh?"

"Well, I... tore out... that, but before,  I found some " family secrets " I'll call them, and it taught me how to restore what I lost. It wasn't pleasant though." 

So many questions were racing through Jon's head, but one look was all he  needed to see how drained the Baron was. He'll have time to ask him more another day. But tonight, he'll let him rest. The Baron sat down on the mattress with him, and Jon refused to let their usual brand of silence take over.

"Baron..."

"Konrad. I'd like to consider you a friend, Talbain, so stop with the 'Baron', It's a useless title now."

"Ok, call me Jon then, Talbain seems too formal."

"Deal" and call it a hunch, but Jon feels that the Ba- Konrad seems a little brighter.

"Konrad, what happened to you is terrible, but you're not alone. If you need someone to confide in, I'm here."

A smile seemed to form on Konrad's face, "Thanks, Jon. I'll keep that in mind." 

A peaceful silence entered the room, one of mutual understanding between the two wolves. No tension could be felt in the room. At this moment, they had nothing to worry about. As the warmth of the fire fought off the dark of the world, the pair drifted to sleep, the events of the day catching up to them, as things started feeling so much brighter for them.

Chapter Text

It wasn't often Jon found himself awakening before sunrise.

It was a habit he avoided like the plague. His preferred routine involved throwing himself into training and sleeping throughout the night, though he supposes that now includes Konrad now. When he's left alone to think without any sort of release, he finds himself spiraling into a series of questions he has no answer to. Questions that crawl into his brain and leave him feeling stabbed in the heart.

Questions about his heritage.

Questions about his existence.

Questions about his purpose.

It's a vicious train of thought that left him confused and depressed. It was something his Master helped him with, giving him a sense of belonging in this world. He wasn't as conflicted with being a monster, he knew he wasn't alone when his mentor knew what being cursed was like. They may have been cursed in vastly different ways, but they had an understanding of what life was like for beings like them.

The day his Master was murdered and his home razed was the worst day of his life.

Looking through the window, he could see moonlight gazing through, shining into the room and illuminating the now-dark room, the fire in the hearth only existing as embers that seem to match the warmth of the room, once strong, but now faded.

Closing his eyes once more, he was interrupted by a pained whimper coming from the other side of the old mattress. 

Shooting up into a seated position, he turned his gaze towards Konrad. His fellow lycan was curled up on his side of the mattress, but what would've been a peaceful sight was tainted by several red flags. The lupine was trembling, arms quaking, claws gripping around the corner of the mattress. His ears were flat down, head flat down on his jaw. The moonlight helped iluminate tear tracks tracing down his eyes and through his fur. Going off of gut feeling, Jon instinctually put a hand on his friend's arm, only for Konrad to yelp in pain and recoil, only to return to quiet sobbing.

Feeling guilt at causing his friend more pain than he is, Jon resorted to putting a hand, one more gentle than his more boneheaded attempt, on the werewolf's back, blue fur running through his fingers, before gently shaking him.

"Konrad?"

He saw Konrad's ears twitch, before his eyes slowly opened, amber seeming to glow in the dark, the sobbing slowing but not stopping entirely. The awakened man glanced up at the silver-haired man infront of him, his sobbing reduced to sniffling as he realized what he was doing. He looked towards Jon, whose face was a strange mix of worry and stoicism. Jon's hand stopped moving, but stayed on his back as a show of support. Konrad pushed himself into a sitting position to match Jon before speaking.

"Sorry you had to see... that" he apologized, looking down in shame.

Jon waved it off, being concerned instead of angry. "You're in pain", he flatly stated. It seems that Konrad overestimated how well he could "manage it", but Jon's not someone to get off on the misery of others. He's a monster literally, not figuratively. Moving closer to Konrad, Jon held out his hand.

"Let me see your arm."

"It's been like this since..." Konrad started, but couldn't bring himself to finish. The story of what exactly happened to him is still fresh in Jon's mind, and it wasn't something that Konrad could forget, no matter how long since it happened. The metal replacement is still in the room, hidden in the darkness, the faintest stench of rotten flesh lingering. Still, despite how painful it must have been for him to recount it, Jon's still glad he did so. Now that he knows what happened, he'll have a better idea of how to help him. Gently, he took Konrad's left arm, before massaging it thoroughly, smoothing his thumbs into various pressure points on his wrists and in the crook of his elbow. Despite some hesitation, Konrad remained calm throughout, at most hissing in pain at a few times through the process.

It was during this that Jon realized just how... scarred Konrad's arms were. The fur was shorter than he first thought, like it was shaved recently. Little needlepoints were littered throughout, probably from his attempts to cure himself through science. It was haunting to feel up close, but it wasn't something Jon was unused to. In a world of gods and monsters, it wasn't hard to become desensitized to the darker aspects of life.

"I'm sorry... about all this" Konrad apologized, tone somber.

"Don't apologize for being in pain, Konrad."

"I don't want you to see me as weak." Konrad exclaimed.

"I don't see you as weak." Jon retorted, tone soft. "If anything, you're far from weak."

This catches Konrad's attention. "What-what do you mean?" If anything, Konrad would say he's a special kind of "fucked-up imbecile". He's undoubtedlyy one of many people who fucked up their life by getting drunk, and he didn't even drive while intoxicated.

Jon continues, "Well, if you wanted to, you could have given up. You could have let yourself degrade into a mindless monster, or you could've wasted away in this castle. You could have accepted a lesser fate, one without hope for a better life. But you know what you chose?" Jon asks, "You fought. You entered that tournament, and you fought. You had everything stacked against you, nothing to lose, and you lived! You've lived through hell, and you haven't given up. And, in a very messed-up way, it's honestly admirable."

Konrad feels like he just suffered whiplash. He honestly felt like a failure since he was cursed, but then Jon went and flipped his whole worldview. He hasn't thought of himself as strong before. And honestly, he still doesn't see it. But Jon does. And that's something he hasnt had in a long, long time.

A friend.

"Konrad?" Jon asks, slight concern in his voice, and it takes a moment for Konrad to realize why he's concerned after his enlightening speech. It takes him feeling something wet drip onto his arms to figure out what it is.

He's crying again.

"I-I'm fine, J-Jon, its just t-that..." is all he can get out before he feels his breath choke, and the words seem to die in his throat. He just leans over, resting his head on Jon's shoulder. Jon seems to take it in stride, placing his arm around Konrad's shoulder, and letting him vent.

Eventually, the crying subsides, and the pair split off to return to their sumber, but one's mind lingers to ways of helping his friend, before he lets himself rest.

Konrad awakens to an empty room, devoid of anyone else.

Rising from the mattress, the burning in his arms and dryness of his eyes are confirmation that last night wasn't a dream. He's hoping he didn't scare Jon away with last night. He really hopes Jon didn't get scared off from last night. 

The figure walking in from outside alleviates his fears.

Walking down the stone stairs, Konrad sees Jon walk inside of the former ballroom, sporting a black tanktop and sandals in addition to his usual attire. More notably, he's carrying in several grocery bags, white plastic that crinkles and cruches with each move. Moving over to one of the metal tables, Jon places the bags on top of it, before rifling through one, taking out an assortment of medical supplies. He palms a few black-and-red boxes before turning to Konrad, "I thought we'd need medical supplies that aren't old clothes, and these will help with your arms", placing the boxes into the lycan's large hand.

'Recovery Compression Elbow Sleeve'

After staring at the box for what felt like an hour, he was snapped out of his trance by his friend dragging him to the field outside for their lessons.

Despite how sore he would undoubtedly feel afterwards, he felt like it was only up from here.

Infront of a glowing monitor, an old man, stressed and tired, finaly found a solution to his town's little monster problem. He's heard stories about this one, and the reviews on this particular site all but said " this is the one". It's a rather expensive solution, but he'll live with the chunk of savings gone, so long as thse creatures follow soon after. Clicking the link to hire, within the month, a skilled monster hunter would be in town.

A hunter by the name of Hood.