a different kind of growth

JC found himself crossing his hands and uncrossing them on his lap, a nervous gesture he tried to temper by using them to grip the arms of the chair instead. "Yeah. It's been hell a lot of the time. Destruction. Death. First Kitty. And now Bobby. I mean, he left the pack, and okay...look, you remember him. He was always...him. But he was still one of ours. He didn't deserve what happened. He really didn't. Like, I failed him, and if I hadn't broken protocol and brought Nico here in the first place, then he would have..." JC swallowed hard, gritting his teeth. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm just. I'm getting a little warm."

He needed a moment to sit, a few beats of silence, counting down in his head to try to keep his emotions from flaring too harshly. While this was palpable, painful loss, not anger, both tugged at his heavy, overstressed center. His features hardened, and when he continued, he spoke matter-of-factly, in a detached way.

"It's a long story. I ran during the last mayor election, and my posters got vandalized. Then, there was this big text message leak. And someone told me a certain vampire was messaging about sabotaging my campaign. I believe what she said she actually wanted was a more 'permanent means of elimination.'" JC trailed off, clicking his tongue. "I don't know if she actually went through it, but this was a conversation with my colleague, the Fae Queen. Who was just fine with her friend suggesting the Alpha be eliminated. Didn't say anything about it anyway. Maybe even helped with the sabotage. I mean, I was a 'problem' in need of solving. Their word."

JC sniffed, looking away. "That vampire chased me down with a silver necklace during the recent town games. Capture the Flag. Shouting for the vampire advisor to hit me hard with a baseball bat. Which made me transform into...this horrible, mindless thing I turn into now." A bitterness settled in his gut, and JC leaned back in his chair, body rigid.

"The reason I turn into that thing, by the way, is because this...person, group...Prometheus, they call themselves. They separated us all. Made us vote for who we wanted to sacrifice. I refused to participate, but our neighbors didn't. Lucky me, right? One of the big winners. Voted for and injected with the same horrible chemical that killed Bobby." JC looked back up to meet his eye. "And you know who one of the people who voted for me was? The Supreme. Who ran away and stole their magic book. Which is all anyone cares about, mind you. Not that she voted to kill another leader. So. That's why things are complicated with the Fae and the vampires and the witches. As for the humans, I scare them. Poor them, huh? But it's fine. My dumb ass still went out to kill an enemy Alpha, the Supreme's father, to protect everyone."

Standing up from his chair, then, JC paced a bit, moving at last to look out the open door. He closed his eyes, allowing a cool stray breeze that pierced the heat to briefly trickle over him. "I know. I get it. I do. It just all fucking sucks, man. I guess it just needs to suck. We can agree on that, yeah? Don't soften it. It's one of the worst things to ever happen to me, and I don't know how to make it all okay again. Maybe I can't."

Spinning back, JC offered a nod. "Besides not wanting to join the pack? Another long story. There's this lone wolf. Dhruv. He discovered the scientific process of passing on the werewolf gene. And was able to replicate it in a lab. No bite needed. He accidentally turned himself. And look, I was open to it. Welcomed him. Trained him. Taught him control. I thought we were friends." JC trailed off again. "But then, this stranger rolls into town and wants to do it too. And I told them I didn't feel secure about it, but she didn't want to hear it. Talked down to me in my own territory. And whelp, they did it anyway. So what?" JC cleared his throat, which was suddenly horribly dry. "And when this beast shit all went down, Dhruv spoke to me like...like it was an issue of my willpower. And I guess I reacted in a crappy way. I know he probably meant no harm. But again, man. It sucks. One of the worst things to ever happen to me. I don't know why no one will let it be that."

The nervous movement of JC's hands had already betrayed how difficult it was becoming for him to keep everything contained. Imran did not rush him. At the mention of Kitty, he felt his own heart tighten. He did not know much about the girl, but she had been young. Then Bobby. "Yes," Imran said quietly. "He was still ours." There was no need to qualify it. They both knew what Bobby had been like, and neither of them needed to pretend his leaving the pack erased the years before it. But it did make something very clear. "Hmm. I see what you're doing with that." His gaze stayed on JC. "You're turning every bad thing that's happened into a list of things you did wrong." There was no accusation in it, only the sort of fond exasperation reserved for someone he'd known far too long. "Hindsight is something you cannot fix. If you'd known this chain of events would happen, perhaps you would have made different choices, but you didn't know. Bobby leaving the pack doesn't mean you failed him. He was still one of yours. You said that yourself. I think that's why it hurts so much." And that was perhaps the cruellest part of grief. There was no version of the past that could be tested, no way to go back and make the other choice simply to see whether the outcome changed.

JC's attempt to pull himself back together was becoming increasingly obvious now. The tension in his shoulders, the way he kept trying to temper his own reactions before they could get ahead of him, even the heat he mentioned as though it were something physical he could blame for the sudden difficulty breathing around the words. Imran's attention briefly flicked toward the open door, catching the way JC seemed increasingly drawn toward the cooler air beyond it. But he listened without interrupting, though there were several points where his expression shifted despite his efforts to keep it neutral. The campaign sabotage, the messages about eliminating an Alpha, the casual acceptance of it from people who should have known better. The way JC had been pushed until whatever control he had left was stripped from him. And finally Prometheus, turning survival into a vote and making the people around him decide who deserved to die.

By the time JC reached the part about being one of the people chosen, Imran's jaw had tightened. "That's a lot to survive and then be expected to lead through," he said quietly. He didn't need JC to confirm it. The restless pacing, the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his attention kept slipping away whenever he got too close to something that hurt told him enough. It wasn't just a singular tragedy, but one thing after another. "What I'm hearing underneath all of this is that you're trying to find the part where you could have done something differently, but sometimes other people make terrible choices and you don't get a say in them." Imran's voice remained level, but there was a quiet gravity to it now. "I can understand why you'd come out of that thinking you have to anticipate everything now, why you would start looking for every possible failure before it happens. But if that's what you're doing, then you're asking yourself to be omniscient rather than a person."

Imarn nodded. "It absolutely does suck. Maybe it can't be okay but I don't want you confusing acceptance with surrender, either. Accepting that something terrible happened doesn't dictate what happens next, and acknowledging that you couldn't prevent it doesn't mean you stop trying for better." There was no judgement in his voice, only the steady practicality of someone who spent years watching people punish themselves for surviving things they never should have had to endure. "That's not me softening it, just telling you things as I see them. If you just need me to sit with you while you acknowledge that this is one of the worst things you've ever been through, I will, because it is, and it's horrid."

There was a shift in his expression then, something firmer settling behind his eyes. "Though, I am going to push back on something." Imran gestured toward JC, not just the man standing in front of him, but everything he'd described. "You keep calling what happens to you that thing. That beast. That horrible, mindless thing." His voice softened. "I understand why you are terrified of it, more so now since you've had people use it against you. Of course you don't trust it. Of course you're angry. But I don't want you deciding that because you lose control of yourself, you've somehow become someone else. You've been through enough without adding self-loathing to the list."

Then there was the werewolf situation, which was something he made a mental note to look more into. "I don't think you're wrong for feeling that way. Just as you're allowed to be upset when it comes to attempts at your life, from the people trying to bring about bigger destruction in the town to those you work with. You've not just lost people, but also the trust in people. And I think that's fed into the certainty you had about yourself and about what being Alpha was supposed to mean. You taught Dhruv and thought you were friends, then had someone come into your territory disregarding your concerns. I can understand why that would feel like you're being undermined."

His expression turned a bit more thoughtful. "I'm going to ask you to do something for me here. Ask yourself why they made those choices. Not to excuse them and certainly not to tell yourself you shouldn't be annoyed, but because there's a difference between understanding someone's reasoning and agreeing with it. You said you were talked down to. How? What was actually said and what was being asked for? The same applies to the people who voted for you. Did they maybe believe what Prometheus told them or did they have something to gain?" His tone remained gentle despite the quiet firmness beneath it. "You don't have to like any of those answers. Some of them might be unforgivable to you. But if you don't understand what was happening in the heads of the people around you, then you're only seeing the choice they made, not the circumstances that led them there. And that matters. You're the Alpha. You don't have to agree with everyone, but you do need to understand them if you are to lead them. Sometimes people make choices that look like betrayal from where you're standing but it could be entirely different from where they are. And, again, this isn't to excuse them or minimise the hurt you felt, it just means there's more information to gain by looking outward."

"Oh, I know." Imran could sell water to the ocean. "Just as long as that day isn't today!"

Sitting down as invited, Nell considered the idea from all angles. How was she doing? Okay, more or less. How had she been? Well, that was harder to say. She had missed the soirée, only to return to town just as Prometheus decided to wreak havoc. Between the White Elephant Party and the Spring Masquerade, Nell often found herself in mingled awe and horror, watching as Lunar Cove somehow held itself and all its people together again and again. Could she have done more to help? She still didn't know the answer. "Fine," she supposed, gaze flitting about the room. That word always covered all manner of sins. "Or the same as you remember, maybe. I don't think I've changed one bit."

"Oh," He pushed his glasses farther up on the brim of his nose with the edge of his palm as he took his time to mull over his own choice of words before he finally landed on one that seemed to be the most fitting. "Happier." His husband had chosen to step away from this life, and with him being human, it didn't come without sacrifices, however much of a blessing the unburdening of the truth seemed to be for his partner. "I think he feels much more at peace, thankfully. I know this world, our world, was hardly easy on him. Though I won't pretend life outside hasn't presented its own fair share of challenges. The lack of memories and altered ones aren't always so easy to navigate." Then there was the fear. The constant having to look over his shoulder and worry that clung to every fiber of his being that he might one day present himself to be a danger to his husband, both in having to now constantly hide what and who he was, as much as from the threat of hunters. He knew his partner and he had made the decision together for them to walk away from the Cove and live as normal a life as they possibly could. They had both agreed that it was best for his partner to forget if that was what he so desired most. But every full moon came the questions and the fights. The 'where' Imran was going and the paranoia that he might be having an affair, because who on earth held a book club that late at night? They managed the best they could, and for the most part, things were good, but life, no matter what path one chose, always presented its own sort of challenges. "We have our good days and our bad. But mostly it's been good."

When Nell heard Imran was back in town, she headed over to Solstice as soon as she could, and saw he was alone. "That might be a good idea," she noted of the question, "for some other time." Nell stepped into the office, smiling. "It's so great to see you, Imran."

To her, Imran had done the impossible. It gave Nell hope.

Therapy, for all intents and purposes, wasn't his idea. It never would have been. His family insisted, his mum going as far as to hover over his shoulder until he booked the appointment. At this point, showing up was just another box to tick, one more obligation to get through so they'd get off his back. "Hi. Uh, yeah, I guess I am."

Malcolm had grown up in a world of secrets. There had always been a mask that he was hiding behind, a performance that he was meant to participate in. From a young age, he had learned to carry his burdens close to his chest. In his father's eyes, he was meant to be a good soldier and nothing more. Weapons didn't weep. They obeyed. He wasn't one to exactly share what was on his mind either. His feelings were a topic he often danced around. It was easier to make others happy. It was harder to admit that you weren't. The only time he had found solace was in the presence of Stevie. She listened. She cared for him in a way he had never known. It was hard to open up to someone again but therapy was something that he (desperately) needed.

Malcolm could admit that much.

He hadn't known what to expect. Truthfully, he expected to be met with some version of the therapist's offices he had seen on TV. The long couch to lounge on and lament his woes, a clipboard to write down every little detail, perhaps even Rorschach tests to identify what childhood traumas he saw in the photo. Instead, he was simply met with Imran's kind eyes. He gave a half-hearted, awkward smile. His charm was depleted now that there was no stage to perform on. "Happy to be here." Honestly, he was, even if he showed some apprehension. Malcolm made himself at home in the chair. A beat of silence fell between them before he spoke once more. "So, uh, where do we start?"

"We can start with yesterday, or twenty years ago, or with the thing you're convinced isn't important enough to mention. This is your session, and your hour to use however you would like," He assured him. "You have my complete and utter confidentiality," Imran added as he rested his hand gently on top of his own heart to reiterate that what was said in this room would, for the most part, stay in this room. "Though I do want to be honest that the confidentiality has a few necessary limits. If it seems that you are in immediate danger, and I do want to emphasize the word immediate here, of seriously harming yourself or someone else, then I am legally required to report it. Those situations are rare, even in this town, but I don't believe in surprising people with the fine print. Outside of that, however, you can confide in me whatever you like, and it will stay in this room, including anything that might've happened in the past. You also don't have to know what you need from therapy today. That's part of what we're here to figure out together. But, if you would like, how about we start with you telling me what made you decide to walk through this door?"

"Good. Good. I'm glad. You deserve it. And I hope...I hope you have all the safety and peace you could want out there, man." He gestured vaguely at the world somewhere beyond them. "I'm sorry to pull you away from it. Really, I am."

JC hummed distantly, picking up the coffee mug once more if only to slosh around the remnants lingering at its base. He did not move to drink any more. "Mhm." The impetus was there to thank him again, but he held it back. He was working on that, after all, on trying to pause and to regulate, a sensation that was, in some ways, more irritating than calming. "The whole pack has carried so much. Saskia. And then Nico, and...look, I don't blame him for anything. Not at all. But it's been a lot of change," JC explained. He laughed, a short, breathy sound. "Yeah. Unfortunately, I'm not really capable of being stressed and angry, though. Things go bad now when I feel those things. And to tell you the truth, there's not a lot of grace for me to go around Lunar Cove. I think more than one person would rather I be dead." JC laughed again, mirthlessly. "That's kind. And I know what you mean. Really, I do. You're not the first to say it. Hell, I took it worse the last time. But it's...when I injured my leg, and I was never going to compete the way I once did, that's what everyone said. Nothing's changed. You're still you. You're still here. Etcetera, etcetera. But it doesn't work, you know?" He trailed off. "I don't know who I am without this pack. And I feel it all slipping away. Hell, time's have changed. You don't even need a bite anymore. Werewolf in a bottle exists now. The lone wolves kind of just do that and hang out in a pod these days."

As JC spoke of Saskia, Nico and the years in between, Imran listened. "You're right," he said quietly. "It has been one thing after another. I'd hear about something happening and think, surely it'll settle now. Then something else would reach me. That's a lot for any pack. It's even more for the one trying to keep it together. And if there are people blaming you..." He looked back up at him mentioning that people wanted him dead with a frown. "That's a hell of a thing to say. Who said that to you?" The remark lingered longer than the others. It would've been easy to dismiss it as the sort of thing people said when exhaustion hollowed them out, but Lunar Cove had never been a place where resentment stayed hidden for long. He had been gone for a while, not decades, yet it was becoming increasingly clear just how much had changed.

"No," he admitted after a moment. "I can see why it doesn't." There wasn't an ounce of argument in his voice. "It can feel exhausting trying to hold on to something that feels like it's slipping through your fingers. Not just with what happened to you but with every thing going on as well." He leaned back, his gaze drifting briefly towards the open door before returning to JC. "When people care about someone, they rush to reassure them. Sometimes that's because we don't know what else to say, it's instinctual to show we're here for you. Tell me what would help you?"

His brow rose in question at the next comments. "Hang on. Werewolf in a bottle? I think I'm missing something here. You're going to have to help me out with that one. What's happening with the lone wolves?"

Making something of a face as he swallowed a bitter mouthful of badly brewed coffee, JC placed his mug on the end table, shifting atop the threadbare sofa and picking at the frayed arm with one finger. The storm door to the exterior deck was open, allowing the familiar sounds of the nocturnal forest to fill the stillness. Crickets chirped. A frog croaked. The Alpha had said it was for the sake of coolness, for air flow, given the stifling heat that had been blanketing Lunar Cove these past few weeks. Suffocating. But it was not. It was so that he had an exit, something Júlio César had found himself seeking out with each new room he entered these days.

"Just like old times, huh?" He spoke up softly, making a move to remove the sunglasses from his ears. Unnaturally red eyes glistened, and he folded the spectacles that had been hiding them beside his abandoned mug. He met Imran's gaze. "And also not. But I'm...I'm glad you're here, man. Really. Thank you for coming. I know it was a big ask." He trailed off. "How are things? How's life on the other side...?"

The small talk was weak, not that JC was not interested, but that he needed something mundane on which to tether himself. He cleared his throat. "Things here are...shit. To be honest about it." He bit his lip. "I sort of gave you the quick version and all, but well...the short of it is that I was experimented on. Exposed to something that changed me. I get too angry or too stressed, and I transform into this mindless fucking monster that...well." He swallowed. "I'm just not capable of being the leader this pack deserves right now. Not alone. I'm not even really capable of being JC. I don't know what I am right now." He bit his lip, hiding his face in the bad coffee again despite himself. He swallowed hard. "The thing is that I'm always stressed and angry. So there's your fair warning."

"It is like old times," he agreed with a small smile as he looked around the place that still seemed frozen it time. He a took a moment then, to take in his friend, noting not just the changes, but in all the ways the man hadn't changed as well. "Life's been good," he admitted. "Quiet, mostly. Peaceful, when we're not debating house prices or whose turn it is to cook." A quiet chuckle escaped him. "Turns out domestic life suits me better than I ever thought it would. But I won't pretend I haven't missed this place, though."

Imran was quiet for a moment before leaning back into the sofa. "That's nothing to thank me for, you called and that was enough." It had been a simple phone call, but he heard what sat beneath it, the decision to come back hadn't required much deliberation after that. "You've carried a lot over the years but nothing quite like this. I don't think anyone walks away from something like that and comes out the other side untouched. Stressed and angry is normal. Truth be told, I'd be far more concerned if you told me you were perfectly fine." The corner of his mouth lifted, just enough to lighten the air without breaking it. "As for not knowing who you are... from where I am, I don't hear incapable, you still the same man who's always insisted on carrying more than his share."