Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The snow was falling sideways.

Simon Riley stepped onto his porch, a mug of black coffee steaming in one hand and scanned the dark pines like he always did. 

Routine kept his head straight.

The cold helped. 

Since retirement, this patch of forest was all he trusted; just trees, silence and the firewood he chopped by hand.

Then something moved.

He froze. 

A shape staggered through the woods; huge, limping, wrong.

Not a bear. Not a deer.

Too tall, too broad in the shoulders.

Its fur glinted brown under the moonlight.

It moved like a dying thing, unsteady and desperate.

Simon set his mug down without looking away.

It collapsed just past the tree line.

He was at its side in under a minute, gun in hand.

A Wolf.

No.

Not a wolf.

It was massive, unnatural.

Fur matted in places, skin beneath crusted with blood and burned flesh.

There were marks scorched into its coat, symmetrical and brutal, like someone had tested weapons on it.

Worst of all was the collar around its throat, thick, black metal, embedded with red lights.

Not decorative.

Not humane. 

A shock collar.

Simon’s mouth set into a grim line.

He took a step closer.

The wolf’s head snapped up, lips curled back over sharp teeth.

Its ears flattened, body rigid, eyes wide with panic.

Not rage, fear.

Deep, bone carved terror.

Simon crouched slowly, letting the cold barrel of his pistol dangle loosely in his grip.

“Easy,” he muttered.

The wolf’s body trembled.

It tried to shift backward, but its legs gave out.

A quiet whine escaped its throat, half choked.

One paw came up slightly, then dropped again like even that had cost too much.

Simon looked at the collar.

“...They hurt you with that, didn’t they.”

The wolf didn’t respond.

He saw now, tiny burns around the edges of the collar.

Scar tissue beneath.

This thing hadn’t just been restrained.

It had been controlled.

Still crouching, Simon slid the pistol back into his waistband and lifted his empty hands.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said quietly. 

The wolf didn’t believe him.

It stared at him like prey expecting a boot to drop.

Its whole body quivered in the snow, muscles taut and ready to run, except it couldn’t.

It had nothing left.

Simon sighed.

“Fuck’s sake.”

He pulled his coat off, stepped slowly forward and wrapped it around the beast’s shoulder.

The second the fabric touched it, the wolf growled, a weak, rattling sound that ended in a wheeze. 

“Easy. Don’t pass out on me now.”

He got his arms around it.

The thing weighed less than it should've.

The wolf’s claws didn’t lash out.

It didn’t bite.

Just trembled in his arms, as if bracing for a fresh round of pain.

Simon carried it into the cabin.

He laid it by the fire, careful not to touch the collar.

The wolf’s eyes never left him.

Not once.

Simon kept his hands slow, methodical.

He fetched a bowl of water, warm but not hot.

Meat from the freezer, thawed and shredded.

He placed them just out of reach, not making eye contact.

“You can eat when you feel safe enough to.”

The wolf didn’t move.

Simon sat down across the room, far enough not to feel like a threat.

"Look, if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't have brought you inside."

The wolf just looked at him, but eventually he crawled forward and ate, one painful motion at a time, his eyes constantly flicking to Simon

Not once did it turn its back.

That night, Simon didn’t sleep.

The wolf tried. Fitfully.

It panted in its dreams, legs twitching.

More than once it let out a low, panicked whimper.

When he approached with a blanket, it startled awake and flinched so hard the collar sparked. 

A jolt of electricity crackled around his neck.

It screamed.

Simon froze.

The wolf thrashed, foam flecked saliva hitting the food as its back arched and it tried to rip the collar off with bloody claws.

The red light on the device blinked once… then went dark. 

It collapsed, panting hard, fur soaked with sweat and fear.

Simon stared in horror.

“That fucking thing…”

He came closer again, cautiously this time.

The wolf didn’t growl. Didn’t move.

“I’m gonna get that off you. Not tonight, but soon.”

The wolf blinked slowly, like it barely heard him.

Simon knelt beside it.

He didn’t reach out.

Just sat close enough to feel the tremble in the air. 

“You’re not just some wild thing, are you?” he asked softly.

“You’ve been… somewhere. A lab. Facility. Military?”

The wolf’s gaze flicked to him at the last word. 

Just a twitch.

But Simon saw it.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“Thought so.”

He sat beside the beast for hours, watching the fire burn down. 

The next morning, the wolf was still there. 

Still silent.

But something had changed.

When Simon brought in fresh meat, it ate it right away. 

Still didn’t look away.

Simon kept his voice low, calm.

“Name’s Simon. Used to be in the army. Got out. Too much blood.”

The wolf’s ears twitched.

Simon sat again, like before.

No sudden moves.

“You’re not shifting back, are you?”

The wolf flinched.

Simon tilted his head.

“Can’t or won’t?”

The wolf made a low, shaking sound; half growl, half breath.

One paw moved toward its muzzle, as if reaching for something invisible.

Then stopped.

Trembled.

Dropped.

Can’t.

Simon nodded slowly.

“Alright. No pressure.”

He hesitated.

“Do you… remember your name?”

No answer.

“Can you understand me?”

The wolf looked at him.

Simon raised a hand.

“Tap the floor once for yes and twice for no.”

A beat.

Then tap.

“Good,” Simon said  quietly.

“You’re still in there.”

His voice was steady, but low, like he was afraid to say it too loud and scare the truth away.

The wolf’s eyes stayed on him, unblinking. 

“You don’t have to shift. I get it. But maybe we can figure out who you are.”

No response.

“You got a name?”

A pause.

“Course you do. Everybody does.”

He glanced around, like the silence might offer clues.

“They didn’t call you ´Dog´, did they? Some crap like ´Subject Nine´?” 

The wolf’s ears flattened briefly. 

Not a flinch, disgust.

Simon nodded slowly.

“Didn’t think so.”

He leaned forward a little, hands still visible, voice quiet. 

“Is your name… Michael?”

Tap. Tap.

No.

"Alright. Not Michael.”

He kept going.

“Andrew?”

Tap. Tap.

No.

“Paul?”

Tap. Tap.

Nothing.

He narrowed his eyes.

“What about John?”

A long pause.

Then, a slow tap.

Simon stilled.

“That’s it?”

No answer.

He tried again, softer.

“Johnny. Is that your name?”

Tap.

Simon gave a small exhale, something like relief curling at the edge of it.

“Alright then, Johnny.”

He sat back slightly.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

He looked at the collar again.

“You got a lot of fight left. But if I try to break that thing off you, I need to know it won’t fry your brain. Is it rigged to shock if tampered with?”

Tap. Tap.

No 

“Good.”

He stood.

“Then we’ll take care of it. Together.” 

The wolf didn’t respond.

That night, Simon sat near the fire, one eye on Johnny beside him.

He didn’t know what it was.

Not exactly.

But he had been hunted.

Broken.

Trained like a weapon.

He knew the look in his eyes.

He’d seen it in mirrors.

Simon leaned back in his chair and muttered under his breath,

“You’re not gonna die out here Johnny. Not after everything. Not in front of me.”

He swore the wolf’s ears twitched again.

As if it believed him.

Just a little.

Chapter Text

The morning light bled through the trees like pale gold.

It touched the snow, the frost covered windows and finally filtered into the cabin where Johnny still laid curled on the rug, ribs rising in shallow, careful rhythm. 

Simon stood in the kitchen sharpening a hunting knife, not for use but for calm.

Familiar weight in his hand.

Behind him, the wolf stirred.

He didn’t turn.

“You’re awake?”

Silence.

Then, soft scraping.

The wolf was shifting, pulling himself upright with effort, front legs trembling.

He got halfway up before his back legs folded beneath him and he slumped again, panting.

“You shouldn't be moving yet.”

He put down the knife and crossed the room.

Stopped a safe distance away.

“You want the collar off, don’t you?”

Johnny stopped moving and looked at him.

Simon crouched slowly, palms open.

“I’ve seen devices like that; Military grade, remote trigger, shock reinforcement. They used these in off the books blacksites, back during counterbio testing. But this one’s different.”

The wolf met his gaze.

“There’s no GPS.”

Simon pointed at a faint seam in the collar.

“No external port. No power switch. Someone made this to stay on. Not to track. Not to release.”

Johnny growled, not at Simon but at the memory. 

He shivered.

Simon lowered his voice.

“You remember who did this to you?”

Tap. Tap.

No.

“You don’t remember, or you don’t want to?”

The wolf hesitated.

Then: Tap. Tap.

Simon nodded.

“Alright.”

He stood and walked toward the corner of the cabin, opening a heavy, locked drawer.

From it he pulled out a toolbox, a battery tester and a hardened steel collar spreader.

The wolf flinched at the sight of the tools.

Simon stopped.

“It’s not for hurting you. Just looking.”

He set it down and walked back to the kitchen, giving space.

Johnny stared at the tools for a long time before dragging himself closer.

Bit by bit.

Each movement stiff.

Limbs protesting.

He laid his head on the rug and stretched his neck out, exposing the collar.

Simon approached again, slower this time.

He knelt beside him and didn’t touch, not at first.

He studied the seams, the embedded tech, the faint smell of scorched metal.

There were symbols etched into the side, not English.

Not any language he recognized.

He reached one gloved hand forward. 

“Gonna touch the edge, not the core. Just testing voltage.”

The wolf twitched but didn’t move away.

Simon used the probe.

No active charge.

He slid the knife under one clasp and began prying carefully.

The metal groaned but didn’t give.

Then…

Click.

A red light blinked on the side.

The wolf jolted violently, claws scrambling against the rug, breath rasping in panicked gasps.

“No shock,” Simon said quickly.

“Just a trigger warning. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He dropped the knife and sat back.

The light blinked twice, then went dark.

He sighed.

“Bobby trapped. Probably keyed to DNA or command input. Might be integrated into your… other form.”

The wolf’s ears tilted at that. 

Warily.

Simon met his eyes.

“You can’t shift back because of the collar can you?”

No response.

“Because of the trauma?”

Johnny looked away.

Simon didn’t push.

Later that day, after Simon left the tools and stepped out to chop wood, the wolf crawled toward the hearth again, slow and stiff.

He curled into a ball, eyes half lidded, still watching the door.

His ears twitched at every noise.

Every gust of wind.

Every creak of the old house.

When Simon came back in, Johnny didn’t growl, but his body tensed like he was expecting a boot to the ribs.

Instead, Simon set a tray beside him.

Water. Meat.

And a blanket.

“Eat what you want. Leave what you don’t.”

Johnny didn’t move.

Simon knelt, slow again.

“You’ve got instincts, I get that, don’t trust easy. But you’re not in a cage anymore.”

The wolf’s paw slid forward.

Claws grazed the edge of the tray.

Then he pulled it back.

Simon frowned.

“You’re not just afraid of me, are you?”

No response.

“You’re afraid of what they made you into.”

Johnny looked up sharply.

Simon stared back.

“How long were you in that place?”

No taps. 

Just a long, deep silence.

Simon didn’t push any further. 

After some time he stood again, leaving the room, to give some space.

But before he went, he whispered, almost to himself.

“I won’t hurt you, Johnny.”

Later that day, Johnny hadn’t moved much.

He layed curled near the fire, belly low to the floor, front limbs tucked awkwardly beneath himself.

One ear twitched whenever Simon stepped too heavily.

Simon retrieved his toolbox and laid everything out neatly on the table near the wolf.

Screwdrivers, wire cutters, a collar spreader.

Nothing powered or noisy.

The moment the tools clinked together, the wolf tensed; ears flat, body low and pupils wide.

“Relax,” Simon murmured.

“I’m not touching you. Just want to see how this thing’s built.”

He crouched down beside Johnny.

He didn’t reach for the collar yet, just looked.

It was brutal.

Heavy metal, layered with internal components.

No seams for removal.

No physical key.

Whoever designed it had wanted it to stay on forever.

At the edges of the wolf’s throat was the skin raw, pink where fur had been burned away, crusted with old blood.

“Poor bastard,” Simon muttered.

Johnny stared at him, unmoving.

Simon reached out a gloved hand.

“I’m just going to touch the outer casing. No pressure. You give me one growl and I’ll back off.”

The wolf didn’t move.

Simon ran two fingers carefully over the rim of the collar.

Johnny’s breathing hitched and his whole body went rigid, but he didn’t snap.

“Good,” Simon said gently.

“You’re doing good.”

The device was more advanced than he thought.

Military grade, maybe black market tech.

No button, no battery slot.

A faint red sensor glowed at the base like an unblinking eye.

“Probably keyed to a controller or a genetic lock.”

He frowned.

“What happens if I try to cut it?”

Johnny gave a tiny, warning growl, not directed at him but at the collar.

“Boom?” 

Simon guessed.

Johnny blinked once. 

Slowly.

Then tapped the floor once.

“...Not an explosion. Just pain?”

Tap.

“Is it wired to shock if it detects tampering?”

Tap.

Simon swore under his breath.

“Then we’ll need to disarm it properly. Safely.”

He sat back on his heels and rubbed his eyes.

The wolf’s head lowered slowly to the floor, chest rising and falling with visible effort.

Not quite sleeping.

Not quite resting.

Simon stood, quietly packed the tolls back into the case and left the room.

When the sun began to set, the wind picked up.

Snow began falling again, thicker this time.

Simon chopped firewood in the clearing out front, letting the rhythm drown out the silence of memory.

He hadn’t meant to get attached.

The thing wasn’t human.

Not right now.

But there is a person in there.

He’d seen the eyes.

Intelligent.

Haunted.

Human.

Simon had known a few men like that in his time; shaped by violence, broken and twisted, but still alive in there.

Still fighting.

He remembered the sound of the collar shocking the wolf, the way it had writhed like it had been set on fire.

He clenched his jaw and split the next log with more force than necessary.

That night he dreamed of cages.

Not his.

Someone else’s.

A cell full of white lights and sterile metal, the smell of ozone and burning hair, of screaming that wasn’t loud but constant.

A wolf slamming his body against glass.

Over and over and over.

Simon woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat.

The fire had gone low.

The room was dark.

The wolf was whimpering.

Not softly, not a dream noise.

Panic.

Simon scrambled from the bed and rushed into the living room.

The wolf was thrashing; claws digging into the floorboards, chest heaving.

His legs kicked out, teeth bared, but not at anything in the room.

Simon stepped closer.

“Hey Jonny.”

No response.

He knelt beside him.

Reached out, but then hesitated.

“Johnny,” he said again, softer.

“You’re safe. You’re in my cabin. No labs. No chains.”

The wolf growled, but it was high pitched.

Simon took a risk.

He reached out and touched the wolf’s paw, gently.

He jerked, but didn’t pull away.

“You’re safe,” Simon repeated.

“You’re safe now.”

The wolf’s breathing slowed.

His claws stopped digging.

He opened one eye and met Simon’s gaze.

For the first time there wasn’t just fear in it.

There was confusion.

Recognition.

Exhaustion.

Simon gave a thigh nos.

“There you are.”

The wolf let out a slow, rattling breath.

His head lowered to the floor again.

He didn’t flinch when Simon laid a blanket over him.

In the early hours of dawn, Simon still sat beside Johnny, watching him sleep.

Simon spoke aloud, even though Jonny wasn’t awake.

“I don’t know what they did to you.”

He stared into the fire.

“But I know what it’s like to come back wrong.”

A long silence.

Then.

“...I won’t leave you like this.”

Chapter Text

Simon had done a lot of things with shaking hands before; field dressings under fire, defusing IEDs, writing letters home.

But this, this was different.

This was someone’s body.

Someone broken.

And still breathing. 

The cabin was dim.

A bitter wind clawed outside at the trees.

But inside, the fire warmed the room, casting flickering shadows across Soap’s brown fur as he lay on his side, ribs heaving with every breath. 

The collar gleamed dark against his neck.

Still locked.

Still humming with silent power.

Simon sat beside him, toolbox open and gloves on.

Not the thick combat kind, but medical nitrile thin enough to feel every texture, steady enough not to slip. 

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low.

Soap gave a shallow breath.

Then, slow tap.

Permission.

Simon nodded.

“Alright. I’m going to touch you now. Left side of your neck first. Just to lock.

Not cutting yet.” 

Johnny didn’t move. 

His tail gave a slow thump once against the floor, not a wag more of an acknowledgment.

Simon shifted closer and leaned in.

The collar was worse up close.

It wasn’t just metal, it had been fused.

Seamless integration with the skin.

Burned in.

Soldered like a restraint and a punishment both.

And underneath, he could see faint tissue swelling, even weeks later.

Infection risk.

Embedded wiring.

He spoke calmly as he worked.

“They didn’t want you removing this on your own. No manual latch. No weld line. They wanted it to stay until… what? You died? They killed you? You lost control?”

Johnny’s breath hitched.

But he didn’t pull away.

Simon pressed a finger gently under the back ridge of the collar.

“You’ve got scar tissue here. Looks like it goes deeper. Did they cut into your spine?”

No tap.

No movement.

Just stillness.

Which was its own kind of answer.

Simon didn’t curse aloud, but his jaw clenched so tight it ached.

“Bastards.”

He leaned back slightly, brushing his knuckles across Johnny’s shoulder.

“If I try to cut this off and I trigger something… it could fry your nervous system or stop your heart.”

Johnny’s eyes opened.

But he didn’t pull away.

Simon searched his gaze.

“I can try but it’s not clean. This wasn’t meant to come off. If you feel anything, anything , you tell me. I'll stop.”

Tap.

He used a scalpel first.

Not to cut, but to probe, sliding the tip gently along the underside, testing for weak points. 

Johnny stayed still.

Breath shallow.

Muscles taut.

Simon murmured quietly as he worked.

“I’m not cutting into skin. Just metal. You’re okay.”

The tip snagged against something near the rear clasp, a groove too small to see at a glance.

He pulled a magnifier over one eye and leaned close.

There.

A micro lock. 

And next to it, almost invisible, a fiber optic line running from the collar directly into the flesh. 

Simon swore under his breath.

It was connected.

Not just worn, wired in.

Soap twitched.

Simon froze.

“Still with me?”

A weak, uncertain tap.

“Good. I’m not doing anything yet. Just found something.”

He set the scalpel down and reached for a thermal scanner.

“Gonna take a heat reading. This’ll hum a little.”

The scanner whirred softly.

The collar’s core glowed faint orange.

Not dangerous, but active.

Simon frowned.

“It’s self regulating, not just a tracker or shock device. It’s monitoring your vitals. Hormone levels, too.”

He looked at Johnny.

“You weren’t just a prisoner. You were an experiment.”

Johnny’s body shivered.

Simon lowered the scanner.

“You don’t have to remember right now. But I need you to understand, if I rush this, if I remove it without knowing the failsafes, it could trigger a failsafe inside you.” 

He reached slowly, brushing fingers down Johnny’s front leg.

“You’re already doing something they never expected.”

A pause.

“You survived.”

Johnny’s ears twitched.

A faint noise rumbled in his chest.

Not a growl.

Not quite.

Simon leaned closer.

“You don’t have to shift. Not now. Maybe not ever, but if you want this off, really off, I need your help. I need to see how it reacts to your body when you try.”

Johnny’s eyes opened again.

Wide.

Afraid.

Simon gave a small nod.

“Yeah. I know. It’s hard, but I’ll be here.”

He moved his hand, slow, deliberate and placed it just behind the collar.

“Can you try?”

Johnny didn’t answer at first.

Then, slowly, his back legs tensed.

His spine arched slightly.

A ripple ran under his fur, like a static charge. 

His breath grew ragged.

Simon watched the collar.

The light blinked green.

Not red.

Green.

Just for a second.

Then flickered out again.

Johnny collapsed with a cry, choked and raw, more animal than man.

His limbs spasmed.

Not from shock, from pain.

From inside.

Simon dropped the tools and pulled him close, arms circling his shoulders carefully.

“Breath. Come on, Johnny, breathe.” 

Johnny whined, a broken sound and pressed his face against Simon’s chest, shaking.

Simon held him.

“You did good. You did really good.”

Johnny didn’t pull away.

He even tried to move closer to him.

They didn’t try again that night.

Simon wrapped the collar with gauze to keep it clean, slid a cooling pad under Johnny’s neck and covered him with a blanket.

Johnny didn’t shift.

But sometime before dawn, he moved.

Simon woke to a weight pressed on his legs.

Johnny had moved to lay on Simon's legs, head resting on one of his thighs. 

Simon didn’t say anything.

He just reached down and ran one hand slowly through his fur.

And this time, Johnny didn’t flinch, his breathing even got softer. 

There was something about winter silence that brought ghosts back.

Not the kind Simon had gotten his name from.

The real kind.

Memory.

Smell.

Voices in a hallway that never actually existed.

He was used to it.

Mostly.

But now there was someone else in the cabin.

Someone whose own ghosts were louder than his.

The fire popped quietly.

Johnny lay on his legs, half curled.

His breath slow, half covered by a wool blanket, tail twitching in sleep.

His fur still hadn’t regrown where the collar bit deepest, but the wounds were healing.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Simon just sat there, staring at nothing. 

He didn’t know what made him speak.

Maybe it was the snow falling against the windows.

Maybe it was Johnny.

Maybe it was just time.

“You know,” Simon said quietly, 

“I don’t tell people anything. Never did. I wore a mask for thirteen years. Not because of the things I’d seen. I wore it because… the man under it stopped making sense.”

He took a deep breath and went on.

“I tried to be the good son. Tried to be a man. Got a job. Paid bills. Looked after my mum. Thought the worst was behind me.

I was twenty three when I got back from my first assignment in Kandahar. Came back to nothing. Father dead. Brother gone. Mum sick. Whole house was rot.”

Johnny shifted in his sleep.

Not awake.

Just reacting.

Simon went on.

“I tried to be the good son. Tried to be a Man. Got a job. Paid the bills. Looked after Mum. Thought the worst was behind me.”

He stared at the slowly dying fire.

“Then the wrong man shook my hand in a bar. Offered me something different. Contract work. Said I was good with my hands. Knew how to make things bleed.”

He snorted softly.

“That man worked for the same bastards who probably built that collar you’re wearing.”

Johnny let out a quiet exhale. 

Simon’s voice dropped.

“I said yes. Because I was angry. Because I missed war. Because peace felt wrong.”

He finally looked over.

Johnny was awake.

Not moving.

But watching him.

Simon held his gaze.

“They trained me in things I didn’t want to know. Made me do things I shouldn’t have survived. Called it ‘containment.’ ‘Extraction.’ ‘Bio assurance.’”

He smiled; bitter, sharp.

“They said it was classified. But it was just cruelty dressed up in science.” 

Johnny’s ears flicked.

His tail curled tighter.

Simon took a deep breath.

“They tried to break me once. Like they did you. Locked me underground for two weeks. No light. No sound. Just noise pumped through the walls. Constant. Just below the threshold of hearing.”

His fingers tapped against Johnny’s back.

“I didn’t scream. Didn’t beg. But when they let me out… I wasn’t right anymore. I started seeing shadows where there weren’t any. Started keeping my mask on even when I slept. Started killing without thinking.”

He let the silence sit for a while. 

Then, very quietly.

“I don’t wear the mask because I’m afraid of being seen.  I wear it because I don’t trust the man underneath it anymore.”

Johnny was still.

He didn’t look away, didn’t move.

A full minute passed in silence. 

Then he spoke again.

Softer.

“You don’t have to shift back again.”

Johnny blinked.

“I know they made that part of your control. I know you think you’re not a man if you can’t stand on two legs again. But you’re more man than any of the ones who hurt you.”

Johnny stared at him.

And then…

He leaned forward.

Pressed his head gently against Simon’s chest.

Simon froze for just a second.

Then his hand came up.

And rested on the back of Johnny’s neck.

No fear.

No shock.

No flinch.

Just quiet.

That night, Simon carried Johnny to his bed and they shared it.

The fire had burned low and the storm outside had grown brutal, shaking the cabin on its foundations.

The room was too cold for an injured wolf to recover alone.

Simon lay on one side, blanket half over him.

Johnny lay on the other, curled together,  breathing slow, occasionally twitching.

Between them, a kind of peace had settled.

Not healing.

Not yet.

But something close.

At one point, just before dawn, Johnny stirred.

Lifted his head.

Simon simply reached out, slid a hand into fur that didn’t shake under his touch anymore…

and kept it there, until morning.

Chapter Text

Before the collar.

Before the pain.

Before everything was torn apart.

It had been raining the day they came.

Not an ambush.

Not some black bag op in the dark.

Just a knock.

He’d been home on leave.

Just two days.

A flat in Glasgow, still smelled like dust and whiskey and cheap soap.

His boots hadn’t even dried from the train station.

The knock had been too calm.

That’s what he remembered.

He opened the door.

Saw the man in the suit.

And then…

Nothing.

He woke up strapped to a gurney.

Naked.

Cold.

Lights too bright.

The hum of electricity.

The hiss of vents.

The smell of antiseptic, metal and burned hair.

He tried to scream.

The mask over his face hissed and numbed his tongue.

Something cold pushed into his spine.

He remembered voices.

Flat.

Clinical.

English, but not from anywhere real.

The accent of people who don’t go home after work.

“Subject is stable.”

“Initiate dose curve.”

“We’ll see if he survives the first turn.”

Johnny didn’t understand.

Not until the howling started.

Not his.

Not yet.

The pain was worse than dying.

He knew that.

He’d nearly died before.

Shot once through the lung and he remembered that clean pain.

Sharp.

Bright.

This was different.

This felt like burning from the inside out.

His bones moved.

Every time his body tried to finish the shift, they sedated him.

Halfway.

He remembered screaming, mouth torn between a growl and a man’s sob, until there was no voice left to scream with.

Then darkness.

There were others.

At least, there had been.

In the first weeks, if they were weeks, he heard them.

Muffled roars.

Claws against steel.

One man sobbing in Gaelic.

Another snarling in what sounded like Arabic, coughing blood between words.

One night, there was silence.

They never came back.

Johnny learned to keep quiet.

They liked it when he screamed.

Measured things by it.

Called it data.

So he learned how to clench his jaw.

How to lie still when the pain started.

How to bury the animal in his chest under a layer of iron will.

That’s when they gave him the collar.

“Since you’re so good at pretending you’re still human,” one of them had said, smiling as she clicked it closed.

“Let’s see what happens when you aren’t.”

It wasn’t just a tracker.

Not just a restraint.

It was obedience.

Electrical feedback if he moved wrong.

Voice command triggers to sedate.

Pain when he tried to shift out of wolf form.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst was the way it listened.

Heart rate.

Cortisol levels.

Stress, fear, adrenaline.

If he got too close to losing control, it would shock him before he even knew.

He wasn’t allowed to feel.

Not rage.

Not joy.

Not even hope.

They didn’t call him by his name.

Just Subject Delta-4.

A designation.

A prototype.

A result.

When they spoke around him, it was like he wasn’t in the room at all.

“Stabilization is improving. Recovery rate post shift down to 7.3 minutes.”

“Neural adaptation is limited. Still resists commands under sedation.”

“Do we up the dose?”

“Let’s test pain thresholds first.”

They always talked like that.

Around him.

Through him.

Never to him.

He learned how to track time by his wounds.

Each shift left his body torn.

Bones would reset wrong, skin stretched tight over reformed muscle.

Once, he came out of the shift with one eye clouded and couldn’t see for days.

But they didn’t let him rest.

They ran him like a machine.

Shift.

Pain.

Restrain.

Sedate.

Record.

They’d pin him down with hydraulic arms bolted to the floor, eyes wide open, body half wolf, half man, covered in sweat, blood and fur.

They asked him questions.

“What’s your name?”

“Do you remember your unit?”

“How much of the wolf is conscious?”

“What were you before us?”

The first time he answered ´John`.

They shocked him so hard he bit through his tongue.

He didn’t try again.

They broke the mirrors.

Or maybe there never were any.

He hadn’t seen his face, his human face, in months? Years?

It didn’t matter.

He wasn’t allowed to be that person anymore.

When he slept, it wasn’t sleep.

It was chemical sedation.

A black hole in his memory. 

He’d wake up in restraints, body numb, mouth dry, collar humming faintly against his throat.

Or on the floor of the shift chamber, twitching, drooling, unable to move.

Sometimes, he dreamed of his mother’s voice.

Just the voice.

Not her face,

He forgot her face.

There was a woman once.

Barely older than him.

Long limbs, sharp teeth even in human form.

They called her Epsilon-2.

They kept her in the same cell block.

Sometimes they’d shift them both on opposite sides of the glass and watch what happened.

They wanted to see if wolves fought.

They didn’t 

They just looked at each other.

Not in affection.

In recognition.

The look of someone who knew what it was like to scream so hard your lungs tore and no one came.

They stopped pairing them after Epsilon bit one of the handlers during feeding.

They transferred her.

Or killed her.

Johnny never saw her again.

Eventually, he started whispering to himself.

When he could.

Not words of comfort.

Not hope.

Just names.

His own.

His squad’s.

Bits of songs.

Anything that wasn’t theirs.

“John MacTavish.”

“Sergeant.”

“Blue eyes, Glasgow, born 4th January.”

“Remember.”

He carved letters into the concrete floor with broken claws.

A single word: HOME.

They cleaned it. 

replaced the floor panel.

But the act had meant something.

They hadn’t taken everything.

He escaped by accident.

There was a breach; gunfire, smoke, a wall crumbling inward.

He never knew who started it.

Never saw who died first.

Slashed one man’s throat, not because he wanted to kill, but because the man raised a syringe.

He remembered the smell of blood and fresh air, real air and ran.

He tore through razor wire.

And kept running until the cold bit through fur and the blood loss took him to the edge of death.

He remembers collapsing.

Smelling pine.

Feeling earth instead of concrete.

And thinking:

If I die here. I’m still free.

And then…

A voice.

A fire.

A cabin.

A hand that didn’t hurt.

The wolf woke with a snarl.

Jaws bared.

Hackles up.

Claws digging into the mattress.

No sunlight yet, just the grey before dawn.

And Johnny was panicking.

His whole body trembled, wild eyed and snapping at something that wasn’t there.

The collar glowed faintly at his neck, yellow flickering.

Dangerously close to red.

Simon was already beside him.

He’d seen this kind of fear before, not from wolves, but from men.

Soldiers pulled out of collapsed buildings.

Civilians dragged from black sides.

Eyes wild, lungs burning from screams they couldn’t finish.

Johnny was there now.

Completely, utterly lost.

Johnny’s  teeth snapped near his own leg, pure instinct.

His muscles locked, ready to bolt or bite.

Simon didn’t flinch.

“You’re safe. Cabin. Woods. Scotland, maybe. Or somewhere close. Doesn’t matter. Point is: no labs. No straps. No needles.”

Johnny let out a ragged, rasping sound.

Not quite a growl.

Not quite a sob.

Just broken.

Simon slowly reached for the heavy wool blanket that had slid off during the night.

Kept his movements smooth.

No sudden shifts.

“Gonna cover you, alright? You’re shaking.”

No reaction.

He placed it gently over Soap’s back.

That’s when he saw it.

Johnny’s eyes.

They were glowing faintly.

Not golden like stories said.

Not amber like some wild creature.

Silver.

Like steel reflecting moonlight.

Simon stared for a breath too long, then blinked and focused.

“Christ,” he muttered, soft.

“They really changed you.”

The wolf let out a sound that could’ve meant yes.

Or please stop looking at me.

Simon leaned back slightly, still facing him.

Let the silence stretch.

“Want to hear something stupid?” he asked.

Johnny blinked, still breathing too fast, but focused now.

Simon gave a humorless smile.

“First time I had a night terror, I punched a wall so hard I shattered two fingers. Woke up thinking I was buried alive. had dirt under my nails for weeks, even though it was just drywall.”

A beat passed.

Johnny shifted slightly under the blanket.

Listening.

“I didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t want them to think I was weak. That I couldn’t handle it.”

He reached out, slowly and rested his fingers just near Johnny’s paw.

Not touching.

Just there.

“You’re not weak for remembering,” Simon said quietly.

“It’s the ones who forget who scare me.”

Johnny made a low noise.

Not quite a whine.

His head dipped, muzzle pressed against Simon’s leg, not in affection but need.

For grounding.

For something real.

Simon didn’t speak again.

He simply moved his hand forward and pressed it gently against Johnny’s head.

Between the ears.

Warm and solid.

Johnny didn’t pull away.

He melted into it.

Like touch was the only thing keeping him tethered to the now.

Simon rubbed slowly, fingers firm but careful.

“You’re here. You got out and I’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

The air outside smelled like pine, frost and freedom.

Johnny paused on the porch, claws scraping lightly against the wood and stared at the trees.

Tall, silent.

Reaching up like old soldiers saluting the sky.

He didn’t move past the threshold. 

His tail was tucked slightly, ears back and muscles tight.

Simon, a few steps ahead, didn’t push.

“You don’t have to,” he said simply.

“Just thought you might want to feel something real.”

Simon turned and walked a little farther out into the snow covered yard.

Boots crunching softly, coat heavy on his frame.

His breath fogged in the cold.

Behind him, silence.

Then:

One cautious step.

Then another.

The blanket Simon had wrapped around Johnny’s back trailed behind him, but the wolf ignored it.

His paws touched the snow and sank slightly, his whole body tensed like he’d stepped on a trap.

Simon watched him.

Johnny’s nose twitched.

The scents were overwhelming.

Cold dirt, birch bark, old smoke.

Wild things that didn’t belong to men.

He closed his eyes and breathed.

Long.

Slow.

Deep.

His claws flexed.

His shoulders shifted beneath the fur.

Muscles unused to free movement pulled in strange ways.

But still, he walked.

Not far.

Only a few feet from the porch.

But it was the first time in years his feet truly touched ground not soaked in blood, bleach, or concrete.

Simon walked beside him through the clearing, staying quiet, letting Johnny pick the pace.

They moved toward the treeline, slow and meandering.

Just to the edge.

Not deep enough to disappear.

Johnny’s ears swiveled constantly, alert to every sound.

The wind.

A distant birdcall.

The rustle of an animal somewhere out of sight.

Everything felt too big.

Too quiet.

Too alive.

His breathing hitched.

Simon noticed.

“You alright?”

Johnny didn’t answer.

He turned in a tight circle once, twice, then sat suddenly, tail curled around his side, chest rising and falling fast.

Simon crouched nearby, arms resting loose on his knees.

“You’re not in a cage anymore.”

Johnny let out a low, uncertain sound.

“Nothing out here is gonna hurt you,” Simon continued.

“At least not unless you piss off a bear. But they tend to hibernate through introductions.”

Johnny gave him a sideways look.

Not a glare.

Just faintly amused.

His ears twitched forward.

His gaze drifted upward.

The sky.

Open, endless, pale blue stretching forever above the pines.

He’d forgotten it could look like that.

The collar buzzed faintly, barely a warning.

Simon noticed.

“Still tracking your heart rate, yeah?”

Johnny gave a low, irritated growl.

“I hate that thing too,” Simon muttered.

He stepped closer.

Not too close.

Let Johnny see what he was doing.

Pulled a small, flat device from his coat pocket.

“Found this on the floor yesterday. Almost didn’t see it. Pretty sure it fell off of your collar.”

Simon held it up.

“Looks like a remote access chip. Was fried when I found it, but I ran it against an old military signal scanner. Got a weak ping.”

Johnny tilted his head, curious now.

Simon knelt.

“If I can boost the signal, I might be able to send a short command through it. Like a shutoff.”

Johnny went tense.

Then hopeful.

Then tense again.

Simon caught the conflict in his eyes and said, gently.

“I won’t do it without you.”

Johnny hesitated.

Then nudged the device gently with his muzzle.

Permission.

Simon pocketed it again.

“Not out here, though. Too exposed. If they’re still listening…”

He didn’t finish that thought.

They sat in the cold a little longer.

Not speaking.

Not needing to.

Then, carefully, Johnny stood.

Stretched out one leg.

Then the other.

And trotted forward.

Slow, controlled, graceful despite the stiffness.

He moved  like something remembering its own body again after being kept from it too long.

Simon didn’t follow immediately.

Just watched.

Johnny reached the edge of the clearing.

Touched the bark of a tree with his paw.

Tipped his nose upward.

Let out a long, low exhale.

It wasn’t a howl.

Not quite.

But it was something close to claiming space.

A sound that meant: I’m here.

When he turned, Simon was still watching.

“You ever been outside like this?” he asked.

Johnny shook his head slowly.

Then, after a pause, lowered himself back into the snow and rolled; fur fluffed, libs loose, tail flicking snow up into the air.

Like he’d just remembered joy was a thing.

Simon laughed, actually laughed, soft and hoarse and real.

Johnny barked once.

A rough, startled sound.

Not aggressive,

Just instinctive.

Ghost knelt again beside him.

“Come on, Johnny,” he said, almost fond.

“Let’s take back a little more of you.”

They stayed outside for another twenty minutes before the cold crept too deep into Johnny’s healing muscles.

Simon led them back.

Inside, he fed the fire while Johnny settled onto the rug, this time willingly.

He let the blanket fall from his shoulders and curled around it instead, still wolf, but not afraid.

Simon sat beside him, holding the black device again.

Thinking.

Plotting.

And watching Johnny as the wolf finally closed his eyes in peace, not fear.

The storm rolled in with no warning.

Thick clouds, low thunder.

Wind carving through the trees like a blade.

Simon set the device on the workbench.

Johnny stood a few feet back, eyes fixed on it like it might bite.

His claws clicked softly against the wooden floor.

His breathing was steady, but shallow.

His ears flicked back every time the wind howled outside.

“You sure?” Ghost asked one last time.

Johnny didn’t move.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward and lowered his head.

He pressed his muzzle lightly against Simon’s hand.

Simon exhaled.

“All right. We go slow. If anything feels wrong, you back away.”

Johnny sat, still as stone.

Simon turned back to the workbench.

The device looked simple, deceptively so.

A black square no bigger than a bar of soap.

Wires extended from it like veins, already patched into the handheld signal scrambler Simon had jerry rigged from old field tech and a shortwave antenna.

The collar’s signal had taken him two days to isolate.

It ran a frequency loop, encrypted, pulsing every ten seconds, like a heartbeat.

It didn’t just control Johnny.

It watched him.

If they could intercept that pulse, Simon could inject a shutdown command.

A manual override.

But there was risk.

He didn’t know what would happen if the collar sensed interference.

Best case: it shuts down.

Worst case…

He didn’t finish the thought.

Johnny watched him with glowing silver eyes, trusting him.

And Simon would not, could not, fail him.

He flicked the switch.

The device hummed to life.

Johnny fliched.

The collar responded instantly, it’s light turned orange.

Simon typed quickly, adjusting the output.

“Hold on, just calibrating.”

Johnny crouched slightly, his tail low, but stayed in place.

Then… 

a loud, sharp beep from the collar.

Johnny’s body jerked.

His claws tore into the floorboards as a sudden jolt of electricity arced through his spine.

“Shit!”

Simon reached for the kill switch, but the device spiked before he could touch it.

The collar turned red.

Johnny let out a pained, strangled yelp and collapsed sideways, legs twitching violently, his back arching in a sickening spasm.

Simon lunged.

Hit the kill switch with his palm.

The hum stopped.

Silence.

Johnny lay gasping, chest heaving, foam at the corners of his mouth.

His body was half curled, fur standing on end, eyes wide with terror.

Smoke rose from the metal clasp around his neck.

Simon dropped to his knees beside him.

“Johnny…Johnny…”

The wolf snapped at him, not with intent to bite, but wild, confused, pure survival.

Simon help up both hands.

“Easy. It’s off. It’s off.”

Johnny trembled violently.

Tried to stand.

Legs gave out.

Simon reached for him slowly, touched his side.

The fur there was scorched.

Beneath it, Simon could feel the thrum of a panicked heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“I didn’t know it would…”

Johnny snarled weakly, then let his head drop to the floor.

Not angry.

Just broken.

The collar still glowed red.

And then.. it spoke.

“Unauthorized access detected.”

“Subject status: unstable.”

“Engaging corrective protocol.” 

Simon’s stomach dropped.

“No, no…fuck.”

Before he could react, the collar emitted another pulse; low, mechanical, rhythmic.

Johnny screamed.

A wolf’s scream, high and raw, not meant to come from any throat.

He thrashed.

Knocked over the bench.

Sent tools clattering.

Blood splashed from where his claws had torn onto his own skin trying to get the thing off.

Simon moved without thinking.

He threw his weight on Johnny’s side, not to hurt, but to pin him gently, keep him from ripping his own throat out in panic.

His hands locked around the back of the collar.

It burned his fingers.

Didn’t care.

Something snapped.

The collar didn’t come off, but the voice stopped.

The red glow died.

Johnny went still.

Not unconscious.

Just still.

His chest rose and fell in short, sharp bursts.

Simon stayed on the floor beside him, hands burned, breathing like he’d just run ten miles uphill under fire.

Neither of them moved for a long, long time.

It was night again when Johnny stirred.

Simon was still on the floor, back against the wall.

His palms were bandaged.

His eyes looked hollow, but focused.

He saw Johnny blink.

And smiled; small, tired, relieved.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

Johnny didn’t lift his head.

Didn’t growl.

Just…watched him.

Simon’s voice softened.

“I shouldn’t have tried that without knowing what it could do. That’s on me.”

He leaned forward, still cautious and touched Johnny’s paw gently.

Johnny let out a low, exhausted huff.

Then, with effort, dragged his body toward Simon and lay against his leg.

Not as a wolf seeking protection.

But as a man who needed someone to stay.

Simon let out a shaky breath and rested his hand on the back of his head.

“I’ve got you.”

Johnny didn’t move.

Didn’t sleep.

But he didn’t leave either. 

The wind howled through the pines like a warning.

Johnny’s body was stiff with tension, his senses sharply tuned to every creak of the cabin, every gust that sent the trees bending under the weight of the storm.

His eyes flicked toward the window, then back to Simon, who was still studying the black device on the workbench with a look of grim determination.

It was a tracker.

A control device.

And the people who used it on Johnny were closing in.

Simon had sensed it for days now, the way the trees seemed to whisper in warning, the way the silence between them felt too thick, too still.

There was a pinging signal just under the radar, low level transmissions.

The kind of scrambled signal that didn’t just track the collar.

It tracked Johnny.

And it was getting stronger.

A ping came through again.

Clearer.

Simon gritted his teeth, hands flexing at his sides.

The collar was still active.

Still sending a pulse.

He had no idea how far the signal reached, but he wasn’t going to wait to find out.

Johnny’s ears flicked, but his expression remained unreadable, body poised on edge like a coiled spring.

The collar’s red light flickered again, a faint pulse of electrical power running through it and through Johnny’s entire system.

“No more,” Simon muttered, his fingers already going for the small handheld device again. 

He’d been working with it non stop, trying to find the exact frequency to disable the collar.

He had a couple of failed attempts.

But that wasn’t enough.

Not anymore.

He would get it off.

Johnny’s tail twitched nervously.

Simon could see the tensions in his muscles, the struggle for control.

The second the collar activated again, the fear tightened around Simon’s chest.

“I’m not going to let them take you again,” Simon said, his voice a whisper now. 

He moved to the workbench.

The device was blinking a sickly yellow, the signal still running. 

Johnny watched him, eyes narrowed with understanding, but no words.

Simon pulled the device toward him, his eyes scanning over the signal.

The clock was ticking.

“Last time, I didn’t know enough. This time…” 

He swallowed hard, fingers brushing over the switches.

“I’m going to make it stop.”

Johnny stood, trembling slightly.

The collar was still pulsing at his neck, a faint hum of electricity that ran under his skin.

He was scared.

Simon was scared too, but he wouldn’t show it.

He had to do this.

He had to get it off.

The storm outside picked up.

The trees began to scream in the wind.

Snowflakes hit the windows like bullets.

And Johnny started pacing.

His claws scraped across the floor, his tail twitching in agitation.

“Easy, Johnny,” Simon murmured.

He glanced up, holding the device and then the collar, a cold bead of sweat trickling down his temple.

Simon stared back, holding the collar between his fingers.

Johnny’s voice, his real voice, was trapped somewhere inside, but all Simon had now were his instincts, the way Johnny moved, the way his eyes shifted when something went wrong.

Simon’s hands tightened around the collar, his fingers going for the small latch.

It was a simple mechanism, but the pressure was high.

If he didn’t get it right…

“Stay with me,” Simon said, more to himself than to Johnny.

Johnny let out a soft growl, his back arched, hackles rising.

His fur bristled and his body tensed as if every muscle in his frame was on the edge of some kind of explosion.

The collar flickered again, red.

The signal was stronger.

Simon didn’t hesitate this time.

He shoved the device into Johnny’s neck, twisting it, digging his nails into the small latch.

Johnny cried out in pain, body writhing violently as the collar pressed against the base of his neck, digging into his flesh. 

The wolf snapped at him, teeth flashing, a raw, guttural sound.

But Simon held on.

“I’ve got it. You can hold on, Johnny. Please.”

The collar buzzed again, the electricity humming louder now, sharper.

Simon’s pulse was racing, his fingers shaking as they gripped the collar, trying to break the latch.

And then a high pitched whine cut through the cabin.

The collar started to vibrate violently.

Simon yanked back.

“Shit, shit.”

The collar wasn’t turning off.

It wasn’t breaking. 

“NO!” Simon shouted.

Too late.

The collar exploded.

Not in a violent burst of flame, but in a shockwave of force.

Johnny’s body arched back in a violent spasm, muscles locking.

The pulse of electricity ran through his entire body like fire.

Johnny screamed again, a raw, tortured scream that rattled the windows. 

Simon barely managed to grab him before he hit the floor.

He caught Johnny in his arms as the wolf’s body jerked against his hold, still trembling violently, still convulsing under the power of the shock.

“Johnny!”

Johnny’s eyes rolled back in his head.

But Simon was there.

He gripped the back of Johnny’s neck, pulling him close. 

“Stay with me. Come on. Stay with me, you’ve got this.”

Johnny’s body was still shaking, but his eyes slowly focused again.

A glimmer of recognition.

Of trust.

Simon held him tighter, feeling Johnny’s pulse thrum in his neck, so fragile.

The storm outside battered at the walls.

But Simon had no intention of letting anything take him again.

Hours passed and Johnny still layed, curled up on Simon’s legs.

His body had stopped trembling, but his breathing remained steady, even if slow.

He wasn’t quite sleeping, but he was no longer fighting the pain.

Simon had his hand resting gently on the back of Johnny’s neck, keeping the warmth close.

He could still feel the pressure from the collar in his fingertips, the scar left by the shock, the reality of just how far the people who made this thing were willing to go to control.

But for now, Simon wasn’t thinking about them.

Johnny was alive.

The collar was gone.

And they still had time.

Chapter Text

Simon woke before the fire died.

The cabin was quiet, thick with stillness, the kind that only followed snowfall.

Frost curled across the edges of the windows like spiderwebs and the air inside was beginning to chill again.

But they were safe.

He could feel it in the weight of silence, in the steady breathing from under the blankets beside him.

Johnny hadn’t shifted back yet.

He was still curled in his wolf form, fur tousled and dull in the half light.

But his sleep was deeper now, undisturbed.

No flinching.

No whimpering.

Just the rise and fall of his chest.

Simon knelt quietly beside him and brushed a hand through his fur.

Johnny stirred, blinked slowly.

One ear turned toward Simon.

Not in fear, just acknowledgment. 

That was new.

That was good.

“Morning, Johnny,” Simon murmured.

Johnny didn’t answer, but his nose nudged Simon’s hand and he exhaled softly.

It felt like trust.

The days passed in quiet.

Johnny slept, healed, grew stronger.

He followed Simon around the cabin like a silent shadow, not close enough to cling, but never far.

He still hadn’t shifted, but Simon didn’t press him.

He figured the decision to return to a human form, to something more vulnerable, would come only when Johnny felt safe enough to face himself.

And that would take time.

Simon gave him that time.

He cooked, talked and told old stories.

Let the silence breathe when it needed to.

One evening, Johnny was curled beside him near the fire again, half dozing.

The snow outside had started again, soft and unhurried.

Simon sat cross legged on the floor. tea forgotten in his hands and looked down at the sleeping wolf pressed against his leg.

And without really meaning to, he started to speak.

“You remind me of someone.”

Johnny didn’t move.

But his ear flicked slightly.

Simon smiled faintly, then let it fade.

“His name was Roach.”

He exhaled.

“Didn’t know him long. Just two deployments. But… we were close. Not like that,” he added, glancing at Johnny.

“Just.. he saw me. More than most ever did.”

The fire crackled.

Simon stared into it.

“He had this laugh. Loud, barky. Drove everyone nuts in the barracks.”

A ghost of a smile.

“I used to tell him it sounded like a goose being mugged. He told me to piss off and then did it louder next time.”

Johnny shifted slightly. 

Simon didn’t stop.

“He was Special Forces. Had more guts than anyone I’ve ever met. He got me out of a bad op once, carried me halfway through a jungle with shrapnel in my leg.”

A pause.

“Wouldn’t let me thank him. Said I owed him drinks instead.”

His voice dropped, quieter now.

“He died in Russian.”

Johnny’s head lifted slightly, eyes half open. 

“They sent us into a building marked clean. No hostels. Turned out the intel was bullshit. There were explosives rigged into the foundation. He took point. Triggered the blast.”

A long pause.

The only sound was the wind scraping over the windows.

“They found his body three days later. I was the one who had to identify him.”

Johnny was fully awake now.

His eyes were on Simon’s, calm and soft.

Simon didn’t look at him.

“I still hear him sometimes. That laugh.”

His fingers curled slightly in Johnny’s fur.

“Still dream about the way he’d lean over my bunk and tell me I snored like a dying cow.”

Johnny huffed.

A quiet, soft sound.

Johnny nosed at Simon’s arm, then slowly rested his head in Simon’s lap.

Simon froze.

Then, carefully, he ran his hand through the thick fur, slowly and steady.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

Johnny didn’t move again.

But he stayed close.

That night, Simon woke to weight against his chest; warm, alive, breathing.

Johnny had curled up on the mattress beside him, tail tucked, head just under Simon’s chin. 

One paw rested lightly against his ribs.

Simon didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just laid his hand on Johnny’s back and closed his eyes again. 

They stayed like that until morning.

They settled into a rhythm after that.

Quiet days.

Slow healing.

Simon sometimes reads aloud.

Johnny sometimes listened with one ear, tail thumping lazily against the rug.

On day six, Simon found Johnny trying to chew a towel and scolded him like a dog.

Johnny dragged it under the bed in protest and refused to make eye contact for a full hour.

Simon laughed harder than he had in years.

And then…

The world tilted again. 

It happened just before sunset.

Simon was chopping firewood outside. 

Johnny had finally gotten strong enough to pace near the edge of the cabin, staying just close enough to keep Simon in sight. 

And then:

A click.

Soft.

Mechanical.

Simon froze mid swing.

He scanned the trees; white, quiet, serene, but something prickled at the base of his skull.

A gut deep instinct from too many years in hostile terrain.

He turned slowly.

And there, half buried behind the treeline, glinting just once in the snow.

Glass.

A scope.

Simon dropped the axe, reached for the sidearm in his coat.

“Johnny…,” he said low.

Johnny was already moving, fur bristling, ears flat.

They didn’t speak.

Didn’t have to.

They ran for the cabin.

Because whoever had found them, they weren’t coming to talk.

Simon had just finished bolting the door when the first shot cracked through the trees.

The glass shattered, a window to the left exploded inward, spraying cold air and shards across the floor.

Johnny was already at his side, body low and bristling, a guttural snarl building in his chest.

“They’re here,” Simon hissed.

“Move, bedroom. We pack, we run, now.”

He grabbed the duffel already half prepared, ex military habits never died.

First aid. 

Ammo.

Ration.

His backup pistol.

The photo of Roach, still tucked in the back flap of his old journal.

Johnny didn’t hesitate.

For once, he didn’t looked terrified, he looked furious.

Simon could see it in his eyes.

Not fear.

Just flame.

But when they reached the back door, they were too late.

Flames bloomed at the base of the porch.

Someone had thrown Molotovs.

Several.

Glass and iol and rage.

The cabin, Simon’s safe place, the place he hadn’t let anyone near for years, the place where Johnny had started to heal, was burning.

The back wall caught first.

Then the roof.

The fire moved fast, like it had been planned to devour everything.

“Shit,” Simon breathed, already pulling open the front again.

“Out. "Now, Johnny, GO.”

Johnny ran.

Simon followed.

They didn’t make it ten feet before the heat hit like a wall.

Smoke clawed through the clearing, choking and bitter.

Trees nearby were chatting, pine needles lighting like fuse lines.

The attackers weren’t just here to capture Johnny.

They were here to erase him.

To erase everything.

They made it into the woods.

But it wasn’t easy.

Johnny couldn’t keep up at full speed.

His legs still hadn’t fully healed, he stumbled, more than once and the old scars on his side had reopened in his scramble.

Blood streaked across the snow where his paws touched.

Simon didn’t leave him.

He never considered it.

Instead, he dropped the bag at a half frozen stream, pulled Johnny into a crouch behind a rock outcropping and waited. 

Waited while the sky turned orange behind them.

While the only home they’d both trusted burned.

The two of them sat in the cold for a long time, huddled behind stone and snow while the fire claimed the last pieces of Simon’s world.

Simon didn’t cry.

He hadn’t cried in a decade.

But watching that cabin go, watching the smoke rise above the treeline and knowing that nothing he’d built was safe anymore, it cracked something deep and old inside him.

And still, all he could think about was Johnny beside him, trembling, curled into a ball like a beaten dog, breathing shallow and fast.

“It’s not your fault,” Simon said.

“They’re monsters. What they did to you, this? This is on them.”

Johnny looked at him with eyes that didn’t quite believe it.

Simon leaned in, pressed his forehead lightly to Johnny’s.

“You’re not alone. I don’t care how long they chase us. I’m not letting them have you.”

Johnny made a broken, hoarse sound, almost a whimper, almost a growl.

Simon didn’t pull away.

The snow was falling again.

The fire in the distance finally dimmed, through the smoke still hung in the air like a promise of more to come.

They couldn’t go back.

Simon knew that.

No more safehouse.

No more waiting it out.

They had to move.

Farther.

Deeper.

Off map.

But first, they had to survive the night.

Johnny tried to walk again.

Failed.

He was staggering now, his legs trembling with every step.

Simon threw the rifle strap across his chest, crouched down and looked up at him.

"Come on, Johnny.”

Johnny gave him a look.

Indignant.

Prideful.

Simon smirked, bitter and fond.

“You saved my life. Let me return the favor.”

Johnny still hesitated.

But then, with a breath, he leaned into Simon’s side.

Let him lift.

Simon carried him through the trees, blood soaking into the side of his coat, the smoke stinging both their eyes.

Neither of them looked back.

Not anymore.

And far behind them, unseen in the treeline, a figure lowered their binoculars. 

Clad in black.

Half their face obscured by a rebreather mask.

Behind them, two others shifted, rifles ready.

The figure spoke into a comm unit, voice cold.

“Target escaped. Initiating secondary protocol. Prepare for Pursuit.”

The light of the burning cabin reflected in their eyes like hellfire.

And the hunt resumed.

Chapter Text

The forest swallowed them whole.

The snow was coming down harder now, heavy and wet, soaking into Simon’s cloth, freezing on Johnny’s fur.

The world was monochrome; black trees, white ground.

Every breath Simon took burned his lungs.

Every step was slower, heavier, like the world itself was trying to pull him back toward the wreckage they’d left behind.

But he didn’t stop.

Johnny’s weight pressed into his shoulder, not unbearable.

Every few minutes the wolf twitch, legs kicking as though trying to keep moving, even in unconsciousness.

He whimpered once, high and strangled and Simon nearly dropped everything to hold him still.

But they weren’t safe.

Not yet.

It took nearly an hour to find shelter.

Not a house, but an old fire watch outpost, half collapsed, grown over with moss and snow and rot, barely standing.

Half the roof had caved in.

But the stone base was solid, tucked against a ravine wall, hidden by overgrowth and fallen pine.

Simon almost missed it.

But Johnny stirred when they passed, his nose lifted weakly.

Then dropped again.

Simon stopped.

Looked twice.

And realized: the air smelled dry.

Warm, even.

Old smoke.

Someone had stayed here once.

It would do.

Getting inside was the hard part.

The door had warped from years of snow.

Simon had to shoulder onto it twice before it gave way with a scream of wet wood.

Inside: cold stone, broken furniture, a rotted sleeping bag and silence.

No signs of current life.

Simon laid Johnny gently on the ground, dug out the emergency blanket and wrapped it around him.

His hands didn’t stop shaking.

Johnny was breathing.

shallow.

Eyes fluttering open now and then, but unfocused.

Simon just lit a small fire in the cracked hearth, keeping the light low.

The warmth spread slow, dull and thin, barely enough to fight off the cold.

But it helped.

Johnny curled tighter into himself with a low sound, ears flat against his skull.

Simon sat beside him, back to the door, rifle in his lap.

And he waited.

Night fell fast.

They didn’t sleep.

Not really.

Simon nodded off once, head tilted back against stone, only to jerk awake to the faintest noise in the trees.

He didn’t know if it was a fox or a footstep.

Didn’t take the chance.

He stayed up the rest of the night, watching the fire, listening to Johnny breath.

By morning, Johnny was conscious again, barely.

He hadn’t shifted.

Couldn’t.

His body was caught in a limbo state: fur patchy, muscles twitching like something inside him wanted to break free but didn’t have the strength. 

By midday, the snow had stopped.

And Simon felt it.

In the stillness.

That wrongness.

Like something breathing just out of sight.

He pressed a hand to Johnny’s fur.

“Company’s coming.”

Johnny tensed.

Simon helped him to his feet.

But he couldn’t walk.

Not fast enough.

Not far.

They had to make a stand.

They didn’t have traps.

Didn’t have reinforcements.

But Simon had his training. 

He had his rifle.

And he had Johnny, shaking and silent beside him, but not broken.

Not yet.

He set up position just outside the shelter, on the low ridge overlooking the approach.

There was only one way in that wasn’t a sheer drop, a narrow path between trees, barely wide enough for two people.

Perfect bottleneck. 

Simon crouched low in the brush, rifle ready. 

He could see shadows in the trees already.

Three.

Maybe four.

Moving careful.

Simon exhaled.

Adjusted his scope.

“Come on,” he muttered.

“Come and get it, bastards.”

The first attacker stepped into the clearing.

Black gear.

Masked.

Rifle up.

Simon fired once.

Dropped him clean.

The forest erupted. 

Gunfire cracked back, but Simon was already moving, repositioning behind a fallen log, counting breaths, calculating angles.

He dropped a second one two minutes later.

But they were flanking now.

Smarter than expected.

One grenade went off near the ridge, sending snow and branches flying.

Simon ducked, teeth grit, ears ringing.

He turned and saw two more coming from behind.

Toward the shelter.

Toward Johnny.

“NO!”

He was up and sprinting before the thought had finished forming.

His side burned from shrapnel, but he didn’t feel it.

He reached the shelter just as one of them stepped inside.

Simon didn’t shoot.

He tackled him.

The two of them crashed into the stone wall, Simon’s hands around the attacker’s throat.

The man brought up a knife.

Simon smashed his head into the wall.

Down.

One left.

And that one had… a shock baton.

Held like a cattle prod.

And Johnny, weak and half standing, was between them.

The attacker didn’t hesitate.

He jabbed it forward, toward Johnny’s throat.

And Simon…

Intercepted.

The jolt hit him like a lighting strike.

White pain.

Every nerve screamed.

He went down hard, convulsing.

But it bought Johnny time.

The wolf lunged; not fast, not strong, but furious and his jaws caught the man’s arm, ripping through the armor with one desperate snap.

The man screamed.

Johnny didn’t let go.

Didn’t stop until Simon dragged himself up, coughing blood and shot the man twice in the back.

Silence.

Smoke.

Blood in the snow.

Johnny collapsed.

Simon crawled to him, every muscle shaking.

He pulled the wolf against his chest.

“Johnny… Johnny, look at me.”

Johnny’s eyes opened.

Barely.

Simon held him tighter.

“You saved my life,” he whispered.

Johnny closed his eyes again.

And for the first time since the fire, he let Simon hold all of him.

No tension.

No resistance.

Just trust.

They didn’t  speak that night.

They couldn’t.

But the silence was different.

It wasn’t full of fear.

It was full of grief, yes.

Pain.

But also survival. 

They were still here.

Together.

And that would have to be enough.

They didn’t make it far.

Johnny could barely keep his head up, let alone walk.

Every step was a fight between his lungs and his body’s refusal to shift back.

His paws dragged.

His breath wheezed.

“We need help,” he muttered to himself, as he picked up Johnny in his arms. 

The problem was… he didn’t trust anyone.

Not anymore.

But there was one man.

One.

And if he was still out there, still alive, he might not slam the door in Simon’s face.

Might.

Simon looked down at Johnny, half conscious and trembling in his arms.

He didn’t have a choice. 

It took the rest of the day to reach the old cabin.

The cabin was off the grid.

Camouflaged.

Reinforced.

And quiet.

Simon approached with caution, scanning the treeline.

Nothing moved.

Then,

“Don’t move a muscle.”

The voice came from above.

Calm.

Steady.

Simon didn’t flinch.

He turned slightly, eyes rising to the trees.

The man standing there hadn’t aged much, beard flecked with grey now, but sharp as ever.

Rifle steady, eyes hard.

Price.

Simon exhaled.

“Captain,” he rasped.

There was a beat of silence.

Then the rifle lowered.

“Bloody hell,” Price said softly.

“Simon?”

Inside, the place was warm, too warm, almost.

A stove in the corner glowed red.

The windows were sealed tight.

Maps and gear lined the walls.

Johnny lay on a thick blanket now, panting, his paws twitching weakly.

Price knelt beside him, not touching, just studying.

“What the hell happened to him?” Price asked.

Simon stood behind him, arms crossed tight.

“They experimented on him. Held him for years. Some private group, not cartel. Organized. Medical. Torture, from the look if it.”

Price’s face darkened.

“He also had some kind of collar,” Simon continued. 

“It was military tech. Modified. Meant to suppress shapeshifters. Lucky I got if off. It wasn’t easy.”

“But he’s…”

“Not shifting,” Simon said flatly.

“Can’t or won’t?”

Simon looked away.

Johnny whimpered in his sleep.

“...Both,” Simon said quietly.

They patched Johnny up the best they could.

Simon sat beside him that night, hand resting lightly on Johnny’s back.

The wolf was fever hot, even through the fur.

“He’s dying,” he said without looking up.

Price, leaning against the wall, didn’t argue.

Instead, he said,

“I’ve seen this tech you talked about before. Years ago. Off book unit. Blacksite stuff. Used to keep metas under control; werewolves, changelings, other kinds. Not meant for long term use. Burns ‘em out. Makes them volatile. Even though you got it off, he still has something of it inside him.” 

Simon’s throat tightened.

“You know how to get it out of him?” 

“I might know someone who can help.”

Simon finally looked at him.

“Where?”

“South. Couple hundred klicks. EX tech analyst. Defected after they started using kids.”

Simon stared at him.

“I’ll get us there,” Price said.

“But Simon… this won’t be clean.”

“Never is.”

Later that night, when Price stepped outside to make contact with the fixer, Simon stayed with Johnny.

The fire flickered.

Johnny’s breathing was worse now; raspy, uneven.

He twitched at every sound.

His ears never lifted.

Like the fear never left him, even in sleep.

Simon reached out slowly.

Rested a hand over the thick scar tissue around his neck.

“You’re gonna make it,” he whispered.

“I swear.”

Johnny stirred.

Didn’t wake.

But his paw reached out.

Clumsily.

Just enough to brush Simon’s arm.

Simon didn’t move.

He just stayed there.

And in the silence, his voice came; low, rough.

“I swore I wouldn’t let anyone close again.”

His hand moved, brushing soot from behind Johnny’s ear.

“Then you showed up. Bleeding in the snow. And all I could think was, God help me, I can’t lose you too.”

Johnny stirred.

This time, his eyes cracked open.

Barely.

But he was listening.

Simon exhaled shakily.

“I’ll get it out of you, Johnny. Whatever it takes. You just have to hold on.”

Johnny blinked once.

Then leaned, slowly, painfully, into his hand.

Simon closed his eyes.

Price returned with a sat phone and a grim look.

“They’re closing in,” he said.

“We’ve got three days, maybe less.”

He looked between Simon and the half conscious wolf.

“Think he can make the trip?”

Simon didn’t answer immediately.

He just looked at Johnny.

And then he stood.

“We don’t have a choice.”

Chapter Text

They were on the road by midmorning.

If you could call it a road.

Mostly, it was old forest service trails, mud and snow and ruts deep enough to break axles. Price drove the beat-up Jeep like it was a tank, one hand on the wheel, the other on a map smeared with ink and blood.

Johnny rode in the back, still wolf-shaped. 

Not from choice.

He couldn’t shift now.

He barely moved at all.

Just lay there on a blanket, eyes dull, limbs twitching with every bump. 

Sometimes he whined, low and ragged, but mostly he was silent.

Simon sat beside him, hand resting on his back.

Counting breaths.

“I don’t get it,” he said once, voice low.

“The collar’s gone. Why isn’t he getting better?”

Price didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“Might not’ve been the collar doing the real damage.”

Simon’s jaw clenched. 

“Then what was it?”

“Something they put in him, maybe. A serum. Failsafe. God knows what kind of biotech they’ve been cooking up in those labs.”

He paused.

“He’s not just a subject, Simon. He’s a prototype.”

Simon’s grip on Johnny tightened.

They camped that night under a low ridge, deep in no man’s land.

No fires.

Too risky.

Simon laid Johnny out gently, then wrapped him in thermal blankets, arms tight around his still body. 

The wolf was shivering now, harder than before. 

Like his body was fighting off a storm Simon couldn’t see.

Price sat nearby, cleaning his sidearm.

“We’ve got another 120 klicks before the rendez-vous,” he said. 

“The fixer’s ex-military. Off-grid for ten years. Paranoid as hell.”

“He’ll help?”

Price looked at him.

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if he wouldn’t.”

By the third day, the bleeding had started again.

Not from any wound.

Just… out of nowhere.

Mouth. Nose. Pads of his paws.

Something inside was coming apart.

Price noticed too, but didn’t comment.

He just drove faster.

They stopped once to treat a fever spike.

Johnny seized briefly in the backseat, legs kicking, teeth bared in silent agony. 

Simon climbed in, held him through it, whispering steady words as the spasms wracked his body.

“Easy now. You’re not alone. Breathe with me. That’s it.”

When it passed, Johnny collapsed against him, panting.

Simon wiped the blood from his snout with shaking fingers.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” he whispered.

Later that night, as they set up a new camp in the hills, Price finally spoke.

“Simon.”

He looked up.

“Don’t hate me if he doesn’t make it.”

The world stood still for a second.

Simon’s voice was sand.

“I already did this once,” he said. 

“Watched someone slip away while I told myself I had time.”

He glanced at Johnny, wrapped in his coat.

“I won’t do it again.”

Price nodded.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t say “you might not have a choice.”

Because they both already knew.

The next day, they saw the first sign of pursuit again.

A drone.

Just a flash of glass in the sky, gone before Simon could raise his weapon.

But it meant they’d been found.

And they were running out of time.

The final stretch was brutal.

Johnny couldn’t stay conscious for more than a few minutes.

His body was too hot, too still.

Simon refused to let go of him.

He sat in the back the whole way, holding his trembling form like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

And maybe it was.

At dusk, the Jeep crested a hill.

Below, through trees heavy with ash and moss, stood a building half-swallowed by the earth. Concrete. Steel doors. Hidden.

Price killed the engine.

“We’re here.”

Simon lifted Johnny gently into his arms.

He didn’t weigh enough.

Didn’t move.

Price knocked on the door with a coded rhythm.

It opened and behind it stood a man with wires in his coat and a burn scar across his throat.

He looked at Simon.

At Johnny.

At the blood on both of them.

And said one thing:

“Get him inside. Now. If you want him to live.”

The bunker door slammed shut with a hiss of hydraulics.

Concrete swallowed them.

Cool, stale air met Simon like a slap to the face, sterile, metallic. 

He didn’t let go of Johnny. 

Not even when Price motioned toward the surgical slab already prepped with clean sheets and restraints.

Johnny was barely breathing.

The fixer, the man with scars on his throat and glass embedded in his fingers, wasted no time.

“Put him down. Slowly. Don’t touch the collar side.”

Ghost hesitated, then laid Johnny gently on the table.

The wolf didn’t stir.

The fixer moved like a surgeon and a soldier; methodical, cold. 

Monitors flicked on with soft beeps. 

Blue light spilled across the room. 

Tech Simon didn’t recognize blinked awake.

“Vitals are unstable,” the fixer said under his breath.

“Blood oxygen low. Internal temperature high. Heart rate’s good, it’s spiking then stalling.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Simon demanded, voice razor sharp.

The fixer didn’t look up.

“You said the collar came off.”

“It did.”

“Then he should be dead.”

Simon’s stomach twisted. 

“What?”

“That model, when it overloads, it releases a bio trigger. Meant to incinerate whatever nonhuman DNA is active in the system. Usually kills them within minutes.”

Simon stared.

“He’s not dead,” he growled. 

“He’s right there…”

“He’s surviving it,” the fixer snapped.

“But it’s still inside him. Burning through his nervous system. Tearing him apart molecule by molecule because his body won’t let him shift to reset.”

He pulled up a scan, jagged lines and fractured pulses flickering on a screen. 

Something writhed on it, buried deep within Johnny’s chest cavity. 

Something foreign.

“What the hell is that?” Simon asked, his voice cracking.

“Not natural,” the fixer muttered. 

“Looks like a nanite cluster. Bioengineered. Could’ve been injected months ago, years even. Dormant until triggered.”

He looked up sharply.

“Did they keep him in isolation? Sensory deprivation? Flash programming?”

“Yes,” Simon said hollowly.

“All of it.”

The fixer nodded grimly.

“They were conditioning him. Likely used the collar to suppress his transformations and train a kill state. The nanites only activate when he resists shifting for too long, or when the collar’s removed. It’s a dead man’s switch.”

Simon felt something snap inside him.

“So you’re saying he’s a fucking weapon?”

“He was meant to be.”

The next hour blurred into chaos.

The fixer prepped for an emergency flush. 

The lab was rigged with ancient tech and bleeding edge scraps, wired together with desperation and brilliance. 

He wasn’t just a medic, he was a rebel scientist who’d turned his back on the ones who made Johnny this way.

“I need a full transfusion kit,” he muttered.

“Canine compatible fluid base, and Simon, you’re still carrying werewolf antibodies, aren’t you?”

Simon blinked. 

“What?”

“Your records. You were exposed years ago. Didn’t turn, but your blood holds partial compatibility. You’re his best shot.”

Simon was already rolling up his sleeve.

“Take what you need.”

Johnny seized once during the procedure.

His body arched so violently it cracked the restraints.

Simon held his face steady, fingers trembling.

“I’m here, Johnny. Stay with me.”

The wolf’s eyes fluttered.

Price stood off to the side, silent.

His jaw was clenched.

His eyes never left the screen.

He’d seen this tech before.

He hadn’t said much, but Simon could tell.

This wasn’t the first time he’d watched someone torn apart from the inside.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the last.

Hours passed.

The transfusion worked, but only barely. 

Johnny’s vitals stabilized just long enough for the fixer to isolate the nanite cluster and try to disable it manually.

“Hold him down,” he barked.

Simon didn’t hesitate.

He straddled Johnny’s chest, pinning his forelegs gently but firmly, whispering through the pain.

“You’re safe. You’re safe. Come back to me.”

The scanner whined.

A line of foreign code flickered across the screen and then a burst of static.

The machine screamed.

Simon flinched.

Johnny let out a sound that didn’t belong in this world, half wolf, half human, broken.

Then everything stopped.

The monitor flatlined.

Simon froze.

“No.”

The fixer didn’t blink. 

He slammed a stim injector into Johnny’s side.

“Come on,” he growled. 

“Don’t you fucking do this.”

One beat.

Two.

Three.

A wheeze.

Then a violent, choking gasp.

The monitor blinked back to life.

Johnny twitched.

Collapsed.

But breathing.

Simon crumpled forward, forehead against Johnny’s side.

Price exhaled a breath Simon hadn’t realized he was holding.

Later, after the machines had quieted, after the fixer started the detox protocol, Soap stirred.

Still wolf.

Still fragile.

But conscious.

His eyes cracked open and found Simon's.

And for a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Simon leaned close.

“You came back.”

He rested a hand gently behind his ear.

Johnny’s paw twitched weakly toward him.

And Simon took it.

Held it like a vow.

The fixer watched from across the room.

“You bought him time,” he said quietly.

“But that thing inside him, it’s not fully neutralized.”

Simon didn’t look away from Johnny.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means he’s stable. For now. But unless we shut the programming down for good… he’ll slip again.”

Price stepped forward.

“And how do we do that?”

The fixer looked grim.

“We find the ones who made him.”

“And?” Simon asked coldly.

“Destroy the original template.”

Simon looked down at Johnny.

At the bruises, the stitches, the soft rise and fall of his chest.

And for the first time, his voice was ice.

“Then we hunt.”

Chapter Text

Johnny didn’t wake right away.

But when he did, it was quiet.

No screaming.

No seizures.

No pain sharp enough to break him in two.

Just warmth.

The sterile hum of machines.

And a man with a shaved head, a calm voice, and one cybernetic eye reading diagnostics by dim light.

“About bloody time,” the man said softly.

“Had me thinking you were stubborn enough to die just to spite us.”

Johnny blinked. Slowly.

He was still a wolf.

Still heavy with fever, with memory, with something deeper than exhaustion.

But his mind was clearer.

“The name’s Gaz.”

He shifted slightly, and looked at him.

“No sudden movements, yeah? You almost flatlined twice. You try anything heroic again and I will sedate you.”

A weak snort left Johnny’s muzzle as he tried to look around, searching for Simon.

“He’s here. And he’s not letting you out of his sight for longer than ten minutes.”

He paused.

“Not unless we both strap him down.”

Simon was in the armory.

Stripping a rifle with mechanical precision, face unreadable.

Price stood beside him, examining a wall map projected on the concrete.

“I’ve been keeping track of the biotech traffic across the Nordic line,” Gaz explained. 

“Intel from back channels, old contacts. And one name keeps coming up.”

He tapped a sector on the map, deep in the mountains, near what used to be a civilian bio research site.

“Off books. Doesn’t exist on anything official anymore. Used to belong to a PMC before they were bought out by Aegis Genetics.”

Simon’s fingers froze on the bolt of his rifle.

“Aegis.”

Price’s jaw clenched.

“I thought we burned that nest years ago.”

Gaz shook his head. 

“They built more. Went deeper. This place, codenamed Helm , it’s the last known location of the command director behind Project MORRIGAN.”

Simon didn’t speak.

But something in his expression fractured .

Gaz continued, voice low.

“The collar. The nanites. Everything they did to Johnny? It all comes from Helm . And if the data we pulled is right… the original template, the kill code, still exists on site.”

Price exhaled. 

“If we destroy it…”

“We sever control. For good.”

Simon looked at the map.

Then at Gaz.

“Coordinates?”

Gaz slid a drive across the table. 

“Burner file. Topography, security layout, exfil routes. You’ll want to go in light. Stealth if you can. But once they see you…”

“They’ll know we’re coming,” Simon finished.

Later, before they left, Simon returned to Johnny’s bedside.

The wolf was awake. 

Eyes tracking him with tired focus.

Simon knelt beside him, fingers brushing through his fur.

“You’re staying here,” he said gently. 

“With Gaz. He knows what he’s doing. You need more time.”

Johnny shifted, weakly. 

His muzzle nudged Simon’s hand, pressing into it like he didn’t want him to move.

“I’ll come back,” Simon promised. 

“I swear.”

A pause.

“You believe me, don’t you?”

Johnny’s tail thumped once against the blanket.

Simon smiled, tired and crooked.

“Thought so.”

He leaned in, forehead against Johnny’s for a heartbeat.

Then stood and left, boots echoing down the bunker corridor.

As Simon and Price loaded gear into the camouflaged Rover outside, Gaz appeared in the hatch.

“Simon.”

He looked up.

Gaz tossed him a small device. 

“This controls the signal scrambler. If they try to use Johnny’s link again, you’ll hear it first.”

Simon nodded.

Gaz hesitated, then added: “I know what they took from him.”

Simon’s voice was low. 

“How?”

“No. I saw the files.”

A pause.

“They were building more than weapons.”

Simon froze.

Gaz’s eyes were hard.

“They wanted obedient monsters . Ones they could turn on and off. Ones who needed someone to anchor them, just enough humanity to make them crave orders. Loyalty.”

Simon’s blood ran cold.

“They failed with Johnny,” Gaz said. 

“He didn’t break. And they hate that.”

Simon’s fingers closed tight around the scrambler.

“Then we end them.”

Johnny watched them go from a small window high in the bunker wall.

He didn’t try to stand.

But he pressed one paw against the glass, and didn’t move until the Rover disappeared into the snow.

Gaz stood quietly behind him.

“He’ll come back.”

Johnny didn’t move.

But after a long, still moment, Johnny turned his head slightly.

And his eyes flickered with something soft.

Trust.

Far away, in the snow choked mountain passes, Simon Riley stepped out of the truck, rifle slung across his back and stared up at the impossible peak where the Helm facility lay hidden behind clouds and stone.

“Ready?” Price asked beside him.

Simon didn’t answer at first.

“They’re not walking away from this.”

And then he started up the mountain.

Into the dark.

The wind screamed like a dying thing.

Snow lashed across the cliffside as Simon and Price scaled the final ridge. 

The world below was all mist and silence, a sea of stone buried beneath the weight of winter.

Then the outline of the facility emerged.

Helm.

Not a fortress. 

Not a laboratory.

Something in between.

Built into the rock like it had grown there, jagged towers and blackened steel, humming faintly under the surface. 

Cloaked. 

Hidden. 

Shielded from satellites by magnetic fields and tech they’d once only heard of in rumors.

Simon stared down the scope.

“Thermals show twenty guards. Light patrol rotations. Underground levels not mapped.”

Price muttered, “What about sentry turrets?”

“Three. Automated, corner angles. But I can bypass them.”

Simon was already moving.

They infiltrated at midnight.

Two shadows slicing through the mountain like knives.

Simon disabled the west perimeter turret with a rewired EMP charge. 

The metal snapped and hissed as it shorted, blue sparks lighting the dark.

Price took down the first guard silently, a throat slit, body caught mid collapse.

They ghosted through the corridors, blood painting the walls behind them.

Simon didn’t hesitate.

Every step was fueled by what was left of Johnny’s breathless body. 

By the image of his battered wolf form twitching on that slab.

This wasn’t war.

It was extermination.

They reached the inner lab by breaching a ventilation shaft four levels down. 

The stench of chemicals hit them instantly, burnt ozone, antiseptic, and something sharper.

Decay.

The room was lined with containment pods.

Some empty.

Some… not.

Price exhaled hard when he saw them.

“Bloody hell.”

Bodies suspended in gel, humanoid but wrong. 

Elongated limbs. 

Cybernetic plating fused into bone. 

One of them still twitched, its eyes flickering red even though its chest was still.

“Test subjects,” Simon murmured. 

“More of them.”

Then he saw the central console.

A pillar of blinking green, caged in titanium and dripping cables.

At its core, a glowing cylinder thrumming with sickly yellow light.

“That’s it,” Price muttered. 

“Template core.”

The kill seed.

The command matrix.

The thing inside Johnny’s body was just an echo of this original, the source code that dictated life or death for anyone modified under Project MORRIGAN.

Simon moved forward, but the lights cut.

The room went black.

And then the alarms screamed.

“ They know we’re here. ” Price raised his rifle. 

“Get it done. I’ll hold them off.”

Ghost didn’t argue.

He bolted toward the core.

Gunfire exploded behind him.

Simon slammed a demo charge to the control panel, but the system kicked back with a shock, throwing him into the console wall.

A voice crackled through the speakers.

“You’ve come far. But you’re not built for this.”

Simon’s eyes burned.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“But I know him.” 

The voice deepened, calm and surgical. 

“You shouldn’t have pulled off the collar. It’ll kill him eventually, you know.”

Simon’s hands shook .

“You built something you couldn’t control.”

“We built perfection. You’re just the emotional error.”

Ghost drove the butt of his rifle into the core casing with a sickening crunch .

Then planted the second charge.

A countdown began 00:30.

“Perfect this,” Simon snarled.

Price burst back into the room as the hallway behind him exploded with fire. 

Blood streaked his sleeve, but his eyes were sharp.

“Move!”

The detonation hit just as they dove behind containment walls.

The core blew like a dying star, yellow light rupturing into white, heat warping the air.

Screams echoed down the halls, guards collapsing as internal systems shorted out.

The matrix was gone.

The control signal was destroyed.

Simon stood in the smoke, panting, face pale.

Somewhere far away, he swore he felt Johnny breathe easier.

They escaped through the blast tunnels, the whole facility folding in on itself behind them.

Smoke poured from the mountain. 

Lights failed. 

Sirens died in echo.

Simon didn’t look back.

He walked through the snow with blood on his boots and vengeance in his veins.

Price kept pace, breath frosting the air.

“That’s one nest down,” he muttered.

“Not enough,” Simon said, voice steel. 

“But it’s a start.”

Johnny was curled in a nest of blankets when Simon stepped into the infirmary.

It had been four days since they’d destroyed Helm . 

Four days since they tore the core from the heart of the beast and watched it burn.

And Simon had barely slept through any of them.

He dropped his gear by the door. 

Silent. 

Heavy with snow and soot.

The moment his boots touched the floor, Johnny’s ears twitched.

He was still in wolf form. 

Still scared. 

Still silent.

But his head lifted.

And his eyes locked on Simon like they’d been waiting.

Simon crouched slowly, removing his gloves.

Letting his breath catch.

“You look better,” he murmured, voice rough.

Johnny didn’t move.

But his tail thumped once against the bedding.

Just once.

It nearly broke Simon open.

Price stood in the hallway with Gaz, watching from the shadows.

“He still hasn’t shifted?” Price asked quietly.

“No,” Gaz murmured. 

“But the seizures stopped. His vitals stabilized after the core was destroyed. Whatever was poisoning him, it’s dormant now.”

“Not dead?”

“We can’t be sure.” Gaz looked grim. 

“But he’s not dying anymore. That’s something.”

Price exhaled, jaw clenched.

“I’ve got a safe house,” he said suddenly. 

“Northern coast. Off grid. No one knows about it but me.”

Gaz looked up. 

“You offering it to them?”

Price nodded. 

“They need somewhere quiet. Somewhere they won’t be hunted. At least for a little while.”

He glanced through the door, at Simon; kneeling, silent, one gloved hand resting carefully on Johnny’s shoulder.

“They’ve earned a moment to breathe.”

They left that night.

No fanfare. 

No noise.

Simon carried Johnny wrapped in blankets when he couldn’t walk. 

The wolf rested his head against Simon’s shoulder, half limp but aware, his body still recovering, too fragile to run, too stubborn to collapse.

Price drove.

They moved like ghosts, cutting across backroads, staying off grid, stopping only when they had to.

Johnny didn’t shift.

But sometimes, late at night when they stopped to rest, Simon would feel claws twitch gently against his thigh where Johnny curled next to him.

And once, just once, he felt a soft, wet nose press under his hand like it belonged there.

The safe house was older than it looked.

A cabin tucked in the cliffside woods, overlooking the storm-gray sea. 

Ivy covered stone. 

Reinforced doors. 

Narrow chimney.

No power lines. 

No neighbors.

Only birds. 

The wind. 

And the distant hiss of waves.

Simon stepped inside first, clearing each room like instinct.

Then nodded once. 

“Clear.”

Price followed behind, setting down the pack of supplies. 

“She’s held up.”

Simon turned. 

“You sure about this?”

Price looked at him, at the war under his skin, the hollow carved out by fear and near loss.

“You’ve always been the type to carry too much,” he said gently. 

“Let someone else carry you for once.”

Simon didn’t answer.

But his fingers tightened on Johnny’s blanket wrapped form just a little.

They settled in that night.

Johnny took the corner of the living room, where a pile of worn pillows had been pulled together into a soft den of sorts.

He curled into it, body still aching, but eyes steady.

Simon sat nearby.

He didn’t sleep.

He just… watched.

Later, after Johnny had finally fallen asleep, Simon stepped outside.

Price stood at the cliff’s edge, staring out at the sea.

Simon joined him, silent.

Wind raked over the grass, harsh and salt-drenched.

“You staying long?” Simon asked.

Price shook his head.

“I’ll head back to Gaz. There are still traces to cover.”

Simon glanced back at the house. 

“I don’t know what comes next.”

Price shrugged. 

“You never do. Doesn’t mean you can’t rest until it finds you.”

Simon didn’t speak.

But when Price turned to leave, Simon touched his shoulder.

Quiet. 

Grateful.

And Price gave him the smallest of nods before disappearing into the fog.

Inside, Johnny stirred.

Simon knelt beside him again, brushing tangled hair from his half shifted brow.

He whispered: “You’re safe now.”

Johnny’s breath hitched.

Just a little.

But enough.

Simon stayed beside him long after the fire crackled low and the wind outside dulled to a soft hush. 

Johnny’s form was curled tightly, limbs twitching now and then, as if part of him still expected pain. 

Still bracing for it.

Simon hesitated.

Then, gently, slowly, he eased down onto the pile of blankets behind him.

Johnny stirred.

Didn’t move away.

Simon lay on his back, his arm resting across his chest and Johnny shifted closer, a heavy weight pressing into his ribs. 

The wolf’s head tucked just under Simon’s chin, breath warm against his collarbone. 

His body curled over Simon like instinct, a heartbeat pressed to another heartbeat.

Simon could feel the heat of him, the tremble of exhausted muscles, the way Johnny’s whole body let go the moment Simon wrapped one careful arm around his shoulders.

Simon stared at the dark ceiling, his other hand resting on Johnny’s back.

The world outside could burn. 

It already had.

But here, in this breathless silence, nothing mattered more than the weight of this battered soul trusting him enough to fall asleep like this.

He closed his eyes.

Sleep came slower than it should have.

But it did come.

The world returned in dawnlight.

Soft gray crept through the curtains, dusting the safe house in morning hush.

Simon blinked awake, breath caught somewhere in his throat, not from a sound or danger, but because something felt… different.

The warmth still lay across his chest.

But it wasn’t fur.

He looked down.

And a man lay there.

Johnny.

Human again.

Pale, lean, gaunt, with lines that looked stitched from fire and broken chains. 

His face was slack with sleep, lips parted just slightly, hair a tangled mess over his forehead. One hand was fisted into Simon’s shirt.

He was real.

Warm.

Alive.

And still holding on.

Simon didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Just watched him; stunned, wrecked, relieved in a way he couldn’t name.

Then Johnny shifted slightly in his sleep, brow twitching. 

A sound escaped his lips, a faint breath, barely a word.

“Si…”

The name fell into Simon’s chest like a prayer.

Chapter Text

“Si…”

The name, slurred and half-breathed, pulled Simon back to full wakefulness like a shot through the chest.

He didn’t move at first. 

Just blinked down at the weight pressed across him, stunned still by the fragile reality of it.

Johnny.

Human.

Still sleeping, barely, but his body was twitching again, shoulders tense, one hand fisting more tightly in Simon’s shirt.

Simon brought a hand up slowly, gently brushing sweat-damp hair from Johnny’s forehead. The skin was clammy, but warm. 

Alive.

The shift hadn’t broken him.

But it had cost him.

Simon felt it in every too-sharp bone pressing into him, every scar that didn’t belong on a man so young, every tremble still running down Johnny’s spine like ghosts refusing to let go.

“Johnny,” he said softly.

The body on top of him stirred.

Fingers twitched against his chest. 

A low sound, part growl, part groan, escaped from his throat as his eyes fluttered open.

Not golden. Not bestial.

Blue.

Muddled and unfocused, but his.

He blinked, confused, eyes darting like he didn’t understand where he was.

“Easy,” Simon murmured, tightening the arm around his back. 

“It’s alright. You’re safe.”

Johnny’s breath caught in his throat.

His lips moved.

No sound came at first, just a tremor. 

Then a cracked whisper, like unused vocal cords scraping against glass.

“S-Si…”

Simon exhaled, shaky and raw. 

“Yeah. I’m here. You’re alright.”

Johnny flinched suddenly, his body going tense again, his eyes wide now, pupils shrinking, scanning the room like he was bracing for someone to drag him back into a cage.

Simon didn’t move.

He just held steady, firm and warm, letting Johnny feel the weight of him, the steadiness of his heartbeat, the calm wrapped around his body like armor.

“Hey… hey, look at me.” 

Simon shifted slightly so Johnny could see his face better. 

“You’re in a safe house. With me. You got out, Johnny. You made it out.”

For a moment, Johnny just stared.

Then his breath broke and he curled tighter into Simon’s chest like a dam snapping all at once.

Simon caught him, arms going around him fully this time.

He cradled Johnny close as his body shook, not from pain, but from memory. 

The aftershocks of survival. 

The horror of finally having room to feel it .

“You’re safe,” Simon whispered again, rocking them gently. 

“You’re human. You’re here. You’re okay.”

It was a lie, sort of.

He wasn’t okay.

Not really.

But he was here.

And that was enough.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Eventually, Johnny managed to shift beside Simon, his body still half draped over him but more relaxed now. 

His head rested on Simon’s shoulder, breath slow and ragged, but not panicked.

Simon tilted his face to look at him.

“You remember me?” he asked quietly.

Johnny gave a weak, almost nod.

“Mmh,” he rasped.

“Good. You… know where you are?”

Johnny frowned. 

His mouth opened, then closed again like the words were caught in his throat.

“Cabin,” he finally croaked, voice hoarse and unfamiliar. 

“Y… you brought me.”

“Yeah,” Simon said softly. 

“That’s right.”

Johnny shivered. 

Simon pulled the blanket tighter around them.

For a while, Johnny didn’t speak again. 

His eyes drifted, brow furrowed like he was still sorting out what was real and what wasn’t.

Then, so quietly Simon almost missed it:

“Is it… gone?”

Simon’s chest tightened.

He knew what Johnny meant.

“The core’s destroyed. Whatever they put in you, it stopped reacting the moment we took it out. You’re stable now.”

A long silence.

Then:

“Hurts,” Johnny admitted, voice cracking.

Simon brushed a hand through his tangled hair.

“I know. But you’re healing.”

Another pause.

“Didn’t think… I’d ever…”

He didn’t finish.

But Simon heard it anyway.

Didn’t think I’d be me again.

He swallowed hard. 

“I did.”

Johnny looked up at him.

Simon met his eyes.

“I didn’t let go,” he said. 

“I never fucking let go, Johnny. Not once.”

A flicker of something passed through Johnny’s expression.

Not disbelief.

Not fear.

Just something raw. 

Fragile. 

Almost holy.

Trust.

He shifted again, slowly, like every inch of movement hurt, but eventually curled himself fully against Simon’s side, one arm wrapping around his ribs like he needed to hold something real.

Simon pulled him in tighter.

They lay like that in silence as the sun climbed slowly over the cliffside trees, casting long golden beams through the windows.

Outside, the world kept turning.

But here, in the quiet between battles, Simon Riley held Johnny MacTavish like something sacred.

And for the first time in years, neither of them was alone.

The storm had passed.

Not the kind that tore through trees or ripped rooftops from homes, but the kind that lived in skin and bone and blood, the one that left aftershocks in the soul.

For the first time in what felt like months, the cabin was still.

And Simon and Johnny were alone.

Simon had made tea, though he didn’t drink it.

His hands were still steady, but his shoulders carried the weight of someone who hadn’t truly let himself exhale yet.

Johnny sat on the couch, a blanket around his shoulders. 

Still pale. 

Still raw.

But human.

A miracle, in its quietest form.

Simon handed him a mug and sat beside him. 

Not close, not touching, just near.  

Enough for Johnny to feel the warmth of him like a tether.

Johnny held the mug with both hands, staring into the steam.

“I don’t know where to start,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to,” Simon said gently. 

“Not if you’re not ready.”

Johnny shook his head.

“No. I… I want to. Just don’t know how.”

Simon waited.

And, eventually, Johnny started to speak.

“They ambushed me. Drugged me. And then… I woke up somewhere else. Underground. Cold. Fluorescent lights. Like time stopped.”

He swallowed hard. 

His hands trembled slightly on the cup.

“They didn’t want a soldier. They wanted a subject. Said I was ‘genetically optimal.’ Strong instincts. High regeneration. Good pain threshold.”

Simon’s jaw clenched.

“I fought at first. Bit them. Broke a few arms. They made me shift. Over and over. Tracked my blood, my reaction to different stimuli. Pain was one of them. And starvation. Isolation. Loud sounds. Electric shocks.”

His fingers drifted toward his throat, to where the collar used to be. 

Ghost saw the motion and gently reached out and took his hand.

“They didn’t call me by name. And I started… losing the line between me and the wolf. I didn’t speak for a long time. Wasn’t allowed to.”

Simon’s voice came, low and steady. 

“You don’t have to explain more than that.”

But Johnny shook his head.

“I want to. You… you stayed. When I was, when I was nothing but that thing. You didn’t walk away.”

Simon turned his head slightly. 

“You weren’t nothing, Johnny.”

Johnny blinked. 

His breath hitched once.

They fell into silence again for a while, the kind that didn’t hurt.

Then Johnny asked, quieter, 

“What about you? What happened after the army?”

Simon looked into the fireplace. 

The embers were still warm.

“I walked away after the last op. Lost too many good people. Price retired too. We all went different ways.”

“And you came out here?”

Simon nodded. 

“Wanted quiet. Peace. But I didn’t find it.”

“You found me instead,” Johnny murmured, with a sad smile.

“I did.”

Another beat.

Johnny sipped his tea, then asked, 

“I don’t really remember the day you found me. Was I… dangerous?”

Simon hesitated.

“You could’ve been,” he said honestly. 

“But you weren’t. You were scared. Hurt. Defensive. I’ve seen real monsters. You weren’t one.”

That landed like something sacred in Johnny’s chest. 

He looked away, biting his lip.

Johnny huffed a breath, almost a laugh. 

“You really carried a wolf man into your cabin and thought, ‘Yeah, this is fine’?”

“I carried you. Not a wolf. Not a monster. Just you.”

Johnny’s mouth opened, then closed.

Emotion gathered in his throat like water behind a dam.

And finally, very quietly:

“Thank you.”

Simon nodded once, like it hurt.

Then, after a long pause, he asked, 

“Do you remember the first thing you said to me after shifting?”

Johnny frowned. 

“No?”

“You said my name. Just ‘Si.’ Half asleep.”

Johnny’s breath caught.

“You remembered me,” Simon added. 

“Even then.”

The silence that followed was thick with everything they couldn’t say.

Then Johnny leaned, slowly, hesitantly, until his head came to rest on Simon’s shoulder.

Simon didn’t flinch.

He just tilted slightly so Johnny had more room.

The blanket fell across them both like a veil, soft and warm.

Outside, the sun began to lower.

Inside, two men sat side by side on a worn couch in a forgotten cabin, and for the first time in years, neither of them had to pretend they weren’t bleeding.

They didn’t talk again for a while.

But they didn’t need to.

Some silences don’t hurt.

Some silences heal.

Chapter Text

The woods were quiet that morning. 

Sunlight filtered through the pines like golden threads, catching on dew and broken bark, casting long soft shadows that danced across the mossy trail.

Johnny stood on the cabin’s porch wrapped in a hoodie that didn’t quite fit and watched the world as if it might vanish if he blinked.

Simon was beside him.

“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, voice low, patient.

Johnny nodded. 

“Yeah. I need to move. Don’t wanna feel like I’m still locked up.”

Simon didn’t press. 

He just handed Johnny a walking stick, not that he needed one, but it helped and Johnny took it without protest.

They started down the trail together.

It was slow going at first. 

Johnny’s legs were stiff, weaker than he wanted to admit. 

But the air was fresh. 

Pine and loam and the faint scent of old rain.

They walked a little in silence.

Birds called overhead. 

A squirrel darted across the path and vanished into the underbrush. 

Johnny watched it with a kind of quiet awe, like he couldn’t believe how alive everything was out here.

Then, softly: 

“Do you think they’ll come looking again?”

Simon didn’t answer immediately.

“They might. But they’ll regret it if they do.”

Johnny didn’t doubt it.

Simon’s hand rested near the knife strapped to his hip, even now.

Johnny’s steps slowed as they reached a clearing, a wide patch of sunlight scattered across damp ferns and a half rotted log.

He stopped, breath heavy, heart beating too fast from the exertion.

Simon noticed.

“Here,” he said, motioning to the log.

“Take five.”

Johnny sat, grateful and flushed, chest rising and falling.

Simon sat beside him.

The silence was comfortable.

After a moment, Johnny looked at the trees. 

“I forgot what color really looked like.”

Simon tilted his head.

“In the labs, everything was gray. White lights. Metal. Scrubs. Blood.” 

Johnny’s jaw twitched.

“When I first saw your cabin, I thought it was a dream. Too warm. Too human.”

Simon stayed quiet. 

Let him speak.

“I kept thinking I’d wake up again in restraints. Back in the cold. Back in the cage.”

He looked down at his hands.

“I still feel it sometimes.”

Simon nodded slowly. 

“So do I.”

Johnny blinked at him.

“I’ve got ghosts too,” Simon said. 

“Not like yours. But loud enough.”

They sat with that for a while.

Then Johnny reached down and picked up a fallen pine needle, turning it in his fingers.

“It’s weird,” he murmured. 

“I spent so long trying not to feel anything. Now it’s all too much.”

“You’ll adjust,” Simon said. 

“Takes time.”

Johnny looked at him.

Simon met his eyes.

They held the gaze for a long moment, nothing said, but everything understood.

Finally, Johnny stood again, carefully.

“Come on, old man,” he said with a faint grin. 

“Let’s see if I can make it to the creek without keeling over.”

Simon arched a brow but stood beside him.

“You pass out, I’m not carrying your arse back again.”

“Liar.”

Simon gave a grunt that might’ve been a laugh.

They walked on.

Step by step.

Not running.

Not hiding.

Just two men and the trail beneath them and a little space carved out between pine trees where the world, just for a moment, didn’t feel like it was ending.

The day passed quietly.

No alarms. 

No fire. 

No wolves.

Just birdsong. 

The rustle of wind through pine. 

And the smell of stew bubbling low on the stove.

Simon cooked, he always cooked. 

Not because he particularly loved it, but because he liked the rhythm. 

The familiarity. 

The ritual of it. 

Johnny helped when he could, though mostly he just leaned against the counter, one hand resting on the wood like he wasn’t quite sure the place was real.

They ate by the fire that night.

Two bowls.

Two spoons.

No words for a while.

Johnny curled up in the armchair, blanket around his legs, bowl balanced on his knee. 

Simon sat on the couch, body relaxed in the dim orange glow.

At some point, Johnny set his bowl down and sank into the couch beside him.

Closer than before.

Not touching.

But near.

Simon didn’t move away.

The fire crackled.

Johnny’s voice came quietly. 

“I missed food.”

Simon glanced over.

Johnny gave a faint smile. 

“Not rations. Or IV bags. I mean food. Hot. Real. Tasted like something.”

Simon grunted. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They lapsed into silence again.

A comfortable one.

Simon leaned back, arm draped over the backrest behind Johnny, not quite touching him.

His fingers brushed the fabric of the blanket.

Johnny’s body was angled toward him now. 

Not fully. 

Just slightly.

Simon noticed.

Of course he noticed.

And still, he didn’t move.

A long minute passed.

Then Johnny said, soft: 

“I don’t really know how to be around people anymore.”

Simon tilted his head. 

“You’re doing fine.”

“I don’t know what to say. Or how to act. Like… what’s okay. What’s not.”

Simon’s voice was low. 

“You don’t have to act any way. Not with me.”

Johnny looked at him.

Eyes wide.

Tired. 

Open.

And something else, too a question neither of them had asked aloud yet.

“You stayed,” Johnny whispered. 

“Even when I couldn’t speak. Even when I was…”

“You.”

Simon said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Johnny’s lips parted, but no sound came.

The fire snapped.

The space between them felt like it had turned electric.

Simon’s hand moved.

Slow.

Deliberate.

He reached out, resting his fingers lightly over Johnny’s, just a touch. 

Barely there. 

Like asking permission without words.

Johnny didn’t pull away.

In fact, his hand turned slightly, fingers brushing Simon’s in return. 

His breath hitched, but he didn’t let go.

They stayed like that, hands barely touching, breathing soft, eyes locked.

Johnny licked his lips. 

“I’ve wanted to…”

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t have to.

Simon leaned in slow, unbearably slow, until their foreheads touched.

Not a kiss.

Not yet.

Just breath.

Close enough to feel, not enough to burn.

Johnny’s hand gripped his slightly tighter.

And in that stillness, that almost, Simon whispered:

“Me too.”

But he didn’t move in the last inch.

He waited.

And Johnny didn’t close it either.

Instead, he leaned back just a fraction, not enough to break the tether between them, but enough to whisper:

“Not yet.”

Simon nodded. 

“Whenever you’re ready.”

And Johnny, for the first time in weeks, smiled. 

Not the tired, broken smile. 

But something soft. 

Hopeful.

They didn’t move apart.

They stayed curled together on the couch as the fire died down to embers, sharing silence and soft warmth, but with the promise of it thick in the air, warm as the hearth.

The world was quiet.

The kind of quiet that didn’t ache.

Morning light filtered in through the windows of the cabin, pale and gold. 

Dust motes danced in slow spirals. 

Outside, the trees shifted with the wind, but gently. 

Like the forest itself was holding its breath.

Simon woke first.

He was still on the couch, one arm slung around Johnny, who had somehow curled up half on top of him during the night. 

Human. 

Warm. 

Breathing steady.

Simon didn’t move.

Didn’t want to.

For the first time in years, the silence in his chest didn’t feel hollow. 

Just… full. 

Full of heartbeat. 

Full of weight. 

Full of Johnny.

Johnny shifted a little, burying his face closer into Simon’s shoulder.

Simon let his hand rest between Johnny’s shoulder blades, fingers splayed, grounding them both.

Eventually, Johnny stirred fully.

Still quiet.

Still soft.

He blinked up at Simon like he wasn’t entirely sure this was real. 

Like some part of him still expected to wake up back in a cage, restrained, locked in a body that wasn’t his.

But then Simon gave him the smallest smile, just a twitch of the corner of his mouth and Johnny exhaled, slow and shaky.

Still here.

Still safe.

Still them.

“Morning,” Johnny whispered, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” Simon said, just as softly.

They didn’t move. 

Didn’t rush.

Time wasn’t something they feared anymore.

After a while, Johnny sat up enough to rest against the arm of the couch, the blanket still around his shoulders. 

Simon stayed beside him, close.

Johnny looked down at his hands.

“I keep thinking… maybe this is the part where things fall apart.”

Simon’s voice was low. 

“They won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No. But I’ll be here either way.”

Johnny looked at him.

And then, quietly: 

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.” A vague gesture between them. 

“ Us. ”

Simon gave a gentle shrug. 

“Then we figure it out. Together.”

Johnny was quiet for a long moment. 

The fire was dead, but the morning sunlight was warm. 

His fingers curled slightly on the blanket. 

Nervous.

Simon reached for his hand again. 

Interlaced their fingers.

“I think I’ve loved you longer than I realized,” he said.

Johnny’s breath caught.

Then, carefully, he leaned forward.

And this time, Simon met him halfway.

The kiss was slow.

Not desperate. 

Not rushed.

Just real.

Johnny’s hand found Simon’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly across the edge of his cheek. Simon tilted his head just enough, his hand settling on Johnny’s waist, holding him close but not tight, like something precious.

It wasn’t perfect.

Their noses bumped a little.

Johnny tasted of tea and warmth and something Simon didn’t have a name for.

But it was theirs.

And when they pulled back, both slightly breathless, Simon rested his forehead against Johnny’s and whispered:

“You’re home now.”

Johnny closed his eyes.

And for the first time in years, no wolves, no chains, no ghosts, he believed it.