Path of the Lunes, pt 2: Returning Home
((OOC: This probably happens a day or so after their return, but likely before the moot))
“Overcome your rage. Their punishment will come.”
Those were wise words, and even as the pack landed back in their caern and Drew nearly fell to the ground to kiss it--his strength and spirit rejuvenated, but still glad to be home--he strove to find balance between the brood’s advice and the justice he needed to deal out by his own hand. Nikki’s words had made him doubt that he should tear his parents limb from limb, but the his experience in Erebus had solidified the knowledge that taking such action would let the rage win. And hadn’t he proven time and again that he could be more than a killing machine?
And so he returned to the caern happy to be home and grateful that their journey had taken the path that it had. Even through the pain. Even though the stress of the journey seemed to have fractured the only family he had left. Emil was brooding, Annalee wasn’t talking, Nikki seemed withdrawn. Cody seemed okay, but those words that he’d spoken to Annalee…
Drew sighed. He wouldn’t be able to help his pack until he felt right with himself. Until he lay to rest the rage boiling constantly inside him. Afterall, how would he think with a clear head otherwise?
It was with a clear head that he waited. He didn’t want the temptation of their soft, easily broken bodies in front of him. He thought he could contain the rage, but he didn’t want to test himself. Not yet. Not until he’d cleansed the anger from himself.
It was easy to run to his old home, nestled in the suburbs between the wilds of the caern and the bustle of the city. Him jogging the streets was a familiar sight. Completely unremarkable to the neighbors. The pounding rhythm of the run from the edge of the woods through the familiar streets let him settle into a meditation, calmed his racing heart, made him certain of his path.
He was sweaty and barely panting as he used his key to open the front door. The house was silent. Just as he’d planned. Good. He could do this reasonably, just as he’d thought--
Until his eyes landed on the picture. Him in the center in his football uniform, his parents standing on either side of him. His face was obscured by the helmet, only the serious gleam in his eyes showing through the mask. But on either side his parents were smiling wide. Beaming. So proud of him.
“Drew, honey, be realistic,” his mother implored.
“Exactly,” his father grunted. “You need to focus on the game. Don’t waste your time with the guy who does first aid.”
“It’s more than first aid,” Drew murmured. “He helps guys who get injured. Physical therapy and proper nutrition and--”
“That sounds like a lot of brains. Is that really a good fit? You should stick to the field, like you were meant to. You’re a warrior. Dominate the battlefield.”
Drew didn’t quite remember shifting. All he knew was that he was in his childhood room and the trophies were falling to the ground in cheap plastic shards, no match for his strength and claws. First he destroyed the trophies, then the posters on the walls, then the bedding and the shelves. Everything that had tried to form him into something he wasn’t.
When the womb of his childhood was cleansed, he moved on to the rest of the house. Pictures were ripped from the walls, and if his claws caught a little of the plaster behind them, then that was a shame. (It wasn’t really.) He left his path of destruction down the halls, ignoring the kitchen where he had happy memories of eating dinners and sharing his day, and turned to the living room, where the greatest memories hung on the walls like beheaded corpses of his youth.
He tore all of them apart. Removed himself from any pictures they had, removed himself from this house. From their lives.
And on the cleared wall, with the careful application of his claw, he wrote:
You have disgraced Luna and all her goodness. Don’t worry, she fixed what you tried to break.
That was, perhaps, cheesy and over the top, but it felt good. After all, he had to leave them a note so they would know that he knew what they’d done. That he was not happy with it. That it had been fixed.
And suddenly, a calm flowed through him, as pure as the light of Luna, as sweet as the hug she’d bestowed upon him. He smiled, and his chrinos fell away, leaving his homid form standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the wrath of his controlled rage.
There. It was done. With a decisive nod, he turned and headed out the front door, leaving his key behind.
He had planned well. They would return home hours later and find the message he’d left. And he would be miles away, back with his real family.
He stepped out the front door, where the sun was shining, warm and welcoming on his face, and his parents were just getting out of their car--he must not have heard them pull into the drive while he was...distracted. They spotted him and smiled broadly. “Drew! What a pleasant surprise. What brings you home?”
Rage boiled up inside him. His hands twitched, wanting to become claws, razor-sharp, and render them to nothing more than memories. But instead, he clenched his hands into fists, took a deep breath, and relaxed his fingers, shaking out the anger. He’d already released his fury. He was fine. And they would be judged and given their punishment later. He did not want their bloodshed on his hands. He was better than that.
“Drew?” His mother asked, concern tainting her words. “Why are you home?”
His grin was probably a little feral. “I’m not home. I’m heading home now. But this place…” He snorted. “This is not my home. And you are not my parents.”
He shoved past them down the sidewalk, then continued down the street, ignoring their calls and demands of explanations. They would figure it out soon enough.
He felt lighter as he jogged through his hometown, back to the woods, where he shifted and loped home. Back to his caern, his pack, his family.
