Archive of Our Own ^beta

The werewolf bares down at them from the top of the van, snarling. Kaitlyn trains her gun a little better, but her shaking finger won't listen to her commands to pull the trigger, despite having done so to save Abi not five minutes ago. Anxiety slickens her palms and she whispers a silent prayer that it doesn't cause her grip to falter. Not now. Not when she can feel Dylan's remaining hand twisted anxiously into her shirt, trusting her to get them both out of there safely. She won't let him down.

"Kaitlyn!" Abi screams from far behind them (far out of the danger zone but now, hopefully), but she doesn't look. She can't. The monster is shifting like it's just waiting for her focus to stray. If her focus strays, her gun strays. She can't give it an opening.

She feels Dylan move behind her, relinquishing his grip on her clothing, and then he's over her shoulder with a shotgun shell in hand. "It- Take this. It's silver."

Kaitlyn swallows. "What if- if it's Nick or someone?"

"What if it isn't?"

They're both fair questions. They have no idea how many monsters are running around, but they also don't know how many of their friends have been turned. For all she knows, this is Emma! Is she willing to take that risk? Can she withstand the moral consequences if she's wrong? It's such a big decision in such small hands. She doesn't want to make an adverse choice. She wonders for a moment - if she didn't know where Dylan was. . .

Would she take this shot?

"I - I can't." She shakes her head, sick to her stomach with doubt, and Dylan - as a credit to his vast capability for kindness - doesn't push it. Doesn't push her.

She's made her choice. Now the beast makes its own. As if a proverbial timer has hit its end, the beast springs to the ground and bares a maw full of jagged fangs, flecks of drool dripping onto the dirt at its paws. The sudden proximity startles her enough to jerk a half-step back and the sudden motion has it lunging forward, jaws open and claws extended, with bloodlust in its ghoulish white eyes.

Three things happen in rapid succession.

1) She fumbles the gun.

2) She accepts, in the only breath she has, that she's going to die. Right here, right now.

3) She's shoved forcefully to the side, out of the werewolf's path, and to the ground.

Before her brain catches up, all she can feel is the overwhelming relief that she's alive. Then she looks up and sees Dylan standing where she had been, face twisted into a terrified glare as he braces for the impact of the monster that was going for her. He barely has time to lift his hand (his only hand, he's helpless) before it takes him down in a mess of teeth and snarls.

Kaitlyn feels frozen for all of two seconds. Then Dylan screams as the wolf hauls him up by his arm, fangs driven deep into the appendage. Its claws rake at him and white-hot rage floods her body.

These fucking creeps have already taken his peace of mind and his hand. They aren't going to take his life.

She grabs the gun and brings it up, putting two furious shots into the fucker's shoulder. It turns to her, enraged, but it hasn't let her best friend go yet, so she puts another in its stomach.

With a painted howl, it finally releases its hold on him and scuttles back. He crumples to the ground and groans, curling into a half-fetal position around his wounded side. She takes three large steps forward until she's planted protectively over Dylan's stiffened body with her gun raised offensively. She failed him.

It won't happen again.

"Come at me, motherfucker," she hisses, squaring her stance. "I dare you."

The werewolf scratches gouges in the dirt, shifting forward, but it must decide they've become more trouble than they're worth because it turns and lopes into the trees without another attempt. She doesn't dare move until she can no longer hear it. Then she slings the gun over her back and drops to Dylan's side with her heart in her throat.

"Oh my god, oh god." Her hands flirt over him, uncertain what she should be looking over first. Dammit! She should've tried to badger medical pointers from Laura before she and Ryan took off on their epic quest. "Dylan, fuck- What the fuck?"

He rolls fully onto his back, bitten arm held close to his chest by his other arm crossing over it. One of his eyes is half-swollen, a small cut snaking across the lid. The side of his shirt is shredded, although the scratches underneath don't look urgently deep. His lip is split. He's a mess of blood. But he still grins at her, even if he has to spit out crimson saliva before talking. "Did that look cool?"

If he wasn't so hurt, she'd punch him. She wants to punch him. And hug him. Then punch him again. As it is, she settles for digging her fingers into his shoulder. He winces.

"What were you thinking?" She demands, anger and relief and terror colliding to create a boiling chasm in the center of her chest. "You- You- I can't believe you!"

He has the audacity to huff a laugh, seemingly oblivious to her stress only ticking higher. "Didn't know I had a heroic side?"

"It's not fucking funny!" She half-snaps, half-sobs and the crack in her voice must be enough to get through to him, because the smile drops off his face in an instant. She doesn't let him speak though because the words are spilling out of her mouth like vomit. "Jesus fucking Christ, Dylan; what- what if you had fucking died?" He says her name but she can't stop herself now even if she wanted to. "You think this is a fucking joke? Dying? Or- Or leaving me alone?! I can't - " A proper sob tears out of her and her flow of speech is cut to a sudden stop.

He could've died. He could've died right in front of her - saving her - and she would've been powerless to stop it. They've been running from the jaws of certain death all night but it never occurred to her just how close those particular teeth really are.

Two seconds. Two seconds and he had nearly been taken right out from under her. A moment later and she'd be cradling his corpse.

He takes the chance to push himself into a sitting position with a grimace. "Kaitlyn," he starts, obviously uncertain of himself, "I didn't. . . I don't think it's funny. And I wasn't trying to. . . leave you. Alone." His fingers tap unsteadily on his knee. "Besides, you have Abi."

Unable to hold herself off any longer, she hauls back and decks him in the shoulder.

He yelps. "Ow! Hey, what was that for?!"

"You are my best friend," she snarls through her tears, fist still cocked back for another swing. "I want you right here - right by my side - all night. You don't get to- to throw that away so you can play hero!"

Underneath all the blood and dirt, she thinks his cheeks color. Either way, he frowns and averts his gaze. "Oh. Oh, I- Kaitlyn, you're my best friend too."

He doesn't get it. She leans forward and grabs the collar of his bloodied shirt, tugging him close. "No. Listen to me. This isn't just a camp thing." His good eye widens but she bulldozes on. "You are my all-time, bonafide favorite person and you have to survive the night with me." She didn't plan to walk away this summer with many lasting relationships, but even as she says it, she's never known anything to be more true. She can't imagine not ever seeing him again. Or even just infrequently. She's not going to let him walk away from her. Not after this. "We've got a hell of a lot more stupid shit to do together. Normal stupid shit." She releases her hold. She can go on, but just because she isn't as emotionally dense as Dylan doesn't mean she particularly enjoys spilling her guts.

Metaphorically. Bad choice of words, in retrospect.

He coughs once and looks anywhere but her. "B- Boner-fide." It's weak. He's reaching. "Get it?"

"Dylan," she warns. She knows joking is his favorite deflection technique and - for all that he comes across as - talking about his feelings is like trying to pull bricks from a wall.

To her surprise, however, he starts talking without any further prompting and his voice is thick with sincerity. "I- If. . . If it wasn't me, Kait, it- it was you. I couldn't just. . ." He breathes sharply. "Kaitlyn, I can't let you die. I won't. If it comes down to a choice, I'm always going to choose you because- like, fuck, man, you're my favorite person too." He hiccups and turns his head away. "Pl- Plus Ryan would, like, kick my ass and stuff."

This time, she lets him have his jokes as she shuffles closer, pressing their bodies together and grabbing gently for his bitten hand. He winces with a hiss and she can see why. The bloody bite mark is swollen and torn from being shaken like a ragdoll, black veins seeping half an inch out already.

"Ryan would kill me too," she says quietly as she inspects it, "if I let anything happen to you." Her eyes find his - stern where he's unsure. "You're not resigning me to that fate."

His breath ghosts over her forehead as he gives a breathy laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, that- that'd be pretty mean of me." He lets her help him up by the elbow, rotating his bitten hand nervously. "Hey, uh. . . We should- You, um. Watch out. For this." Once he's on his feet, he scowls at the stump on his other arm. "Glad I did this for nothing."

Her heart jumps for him. She wants to dispel the insecurity with an encouraging fantasy and move on before she's pulled into an awkward conversation that she doesn't know how to navigate.

But he doesn't deserve that.

"We're going to get through it," she whispers instead, squeezing his bicep briefly before moving to open the hood of the van. She wants to comfort him properly, but she also has their lives to consider. "Once this bullshit is over, I'm getting you to a doctor. We'll figure it out from there."

He just nods despondently before flicking his attention to her as she takes in the engine. "Can you fix it?"

Yeah. If she was a miracle worker. She shuts the hood. "Nope."

". . . oh."

"At least not without some parts," she amends, making her way back within arm's reach. It makes her feel better - even if only slightly. "Specifically a rotor arm. There's a scrapyard not far from here. Maybe we can find something useful."

His face pulls into apprehension that she can't blame. "I dunno. . . Seems like a long shot."

She swallows down the rising crawl of hysteria and pleads, "Dylan - come on. I need you." She gestures to the storm shelter door, where she knows Abi is probably struggling to hold together. "We all need you."

He shifts back, visibly caught off guard. Then he cradles his missing hand with his infected one (god isn't that a picture for her worst moments) and nods. "Alright. Alright - fine." He sighs. "Once again, Dylan puts himself in mortal danger for the sake of his 'work friends'."

"Dylan?" She smiles and gently cups one of his cheeks. "Shut up." He rolls his eyes, and she leads him to warn Abi of their departure and tell her to stay put. The introvert had been through enough tonight. Better to just keep her safe.

"Hey, Kaitlyn?"

Kaitlyn turns from the trail. "Yeah?"

Dylan can't seem to take his eyes away from his bite. "I - I know you said you wouldn't let anything happen, but. . . if I'm putting you in danger," his gaze slides up to meet hers, "will you be able to turn the gun on me?"

She takes him in for a moment before gliding forward and hooking their elbows so she can tug him along. They have places to be after all. "Bestie, if I ever think for a second that you could hurt me, I promise I will."

It's not the answer he wants and both of them know that, but he brings his arm closer so she doesn't have to stretch and says nothing.

They go bravely into the night and pray to emerge from the dawn, hearts still beating, hand in hand.