#goemonfanfic

Goemon Ishikawa XIII stood silhouetted against the stormy night, his usually pristine blue yutaka torn and stained dark. His long black hair, normally bound neatly, hung loose and matted around his shoulders. Blood—whose blood, she couldn't tell, streaked his face and hands. But it was his eyes that made her heart clench with fear. Those dark eyes she knew so well, usually so steady and sure, now darted around the room like a cornered animal's.

"Goemon?" Her voice came out as barely a whisper, but in the quiet of the hideout, it might as well have been a shout.

He flinched at the sound of her voice, his entire body going rigid. For a moment, he stood frozen in the doorway, rain still dripping from his clothes onto the wooden floor. Then, without a word, without even looking at her, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him with deliberate care.

From the back room came the shuffle of footsteps. Lupin III emerged first, his usually playful expression replaced by concern as he took in Goemon's appearance. Jigen followed close behind, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his hat pulled low but not low enough to hide the worry in his eyes.

"Jesus Christ, Goemon," Jigen muttered, smoke curling around his words. "What the hell happened out there?"

But Goemon said nothing. He stood there, dripping and bleeding, looking like he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the shadows of the room. His hands, Eris noticed, were trembling slightly—something she had never seen before in all the time she'd known him.

"You're hurt," Eris said, rising from the sofa. Her heart was racing now, fear and love warring in her chest as she took a step toward him. "Let me help—"

"No."

The word came out harsh, cutting, so unlike his usual gentle tone when he spoke to her. Eris flinched as if he'd struck her, her eyes immediately filling with tears. She was always too quick to cry, too quick to feel everything so deeply, and she hated herself for it sometimes. But she couldn't help it, especially not when it came to him.

Goemon's expression twisted with something that might have been regret, but he didn't take the word back. Instead, he moved past her, past all of them, heading for the narrow hallway that led to the bathroom.

"Goemon, wait—" Lupin called after him, but the only response was the sharp slam of the bathroom door.

The three of them stood there in the sudden silence, listening to the sound of running water through the thin walls. Eris wrapped her arms around herself, feeling suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room. She could feel Lupin and Jigen watching her, probably waiting for her to break down completely and part of her wanted to collapse and cry until someone made sense of whatever had just happened.

Instead, she walked to the bathroom door and pressed her palm against the rough wood.

"Goemon?" she called softly. "Please, just tell me you're all right."

No response. Just the continued sound of water running and, if she strained her ears, what might have been quiet, pained breathing.

She tried again. "I know something happened. I can see that you're hurt. I just... I want to help."

Still nothing. But the water kept running and it had been running for nearly ten minutes now. How long did it take to wash off some blood?

Behind her, she heard Lupin and Jigen talking in low voices, probably trying to figure out what kind of job could have left their usually unflappable samurai in such a state. But Eris couldn't focus on their words. All she could think about was the look in Goemon's eyes when he'd walked in; wild, haunted, afraid.

In all the time she'd known him, through all the dangerous jobs and close calls, she had never seen Goemon look afraid.

The water finally stopped running, and Eris pressed herself closer to the door, hoping to hear something, anything that might tell her he was all right. What she heard instead made her blood run cold.

It was quiet at first, so quiet she almost missed it. Then it came again, a low, pained sound, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. It was the kind of sound someone made when they were trying very hard not to make any sound at all.

"Goemon!" She turned the door handle, but it was locked. "Goemon, please, let me in!"

The sounds stopped immediately, replaced by a silence so complete it was somehow worse than the pain she'd heard before.

"I'm... I'm fine," came his voice through the door, but it sounded strange. Strained. "Just... just give me a moment."

She wanted to argue, wanted to demand he open the door right now and let her see for herself that he was fine. But she knew Goemon well enough to know that pushing him when he was like this would only make him withdraw further. So instead, she pressed her forehead against the door and closed her eyes.

"I'll be right here," she said, loud enough for him to hear. "When you're ready."

Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty. Eris had settled herself on the floor beside the bathroom door, her back against the wall, when it finally opened. Goemon emerged wearing clean clothes—a simple dark yukata instead of his usual blue, his hair damp and combed back. The blood was gone, but she could see fresh bandages wrapped around his left forearm and shoulder.

He stopped when he saw her sitting there, and for just a moment, his carefully controlled expression cracked. Something soft and vulnerable flickered across his features before he quickly looked away.

"You shouldn't wait for me like that," he said quietly.

"Why not?" She got to her feet, brushing dust off her dress. Now that he was clean and dressed, she could see that whatever had happened hadn't left any permanent damage—at least, nothing visible. But there was something different about him, something in the way he held himself, the way he kept glancing toward the windows as if expecting something to come crashing through.

"Because..." He trailed off, seemingly unable to find the words. Instead, he walked past her toward the main room where Lupin and Jigen were still waiting.

"Goemon!" Lupin jumped up from his chair as soon as he appeared. "Thank god. We were starting to think we'd have to break down the door."

"What happened out there, partner?" Jigen asked, stubbing out his cigarette. "You look like you went ten rounds with a grizzly bear."

Goemon was quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes focused on something none of them could see. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully neutral. "The job. It... it didn't go as planned."

"That much is obvious," Lupin said with a nervous laugh. "But what—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

The finality in his tone made it clear that the subject was closed. Lupin and Jigen exchanged a look, but neither pushed further. They knew their friend well enough to recognize when he'd hit his limit.

But Eris couldn't let it go that easily. She moved to sit beside Goemon on the sofa, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough to see the fine tremor in his hands that he was trying so hard to hide.

"You're shaking," she said softly.

His jaw tightened. "I'm cold."

It was a lie, and they both knew it. The room was warm, and besides, she'd seen Goemon comfortable in conditions that would have had anyone else frozen solid. But she didn't call him on it. Instead, she reached for his hand, intending to offer what comfort she could.

He jerked away from her touch as if she'd burned him.

The rejection hit her like a physical blow, and she couldn't stop the small hurt sound that escaped her lips. Goemon's face twisted with something that looked like anguish, but he didn't reach for her, didn't try to take it back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just... I can't..."

"Can't what?" The words came out sharper than she'd intended, hurt and fear making her voice crack. "Can't let me touch you? Can't tell me what's wrong? Can't even look at me?"

She was crying now, tears spilling down her cheeks in the way that always made her feel pathetic and overdramatic. She knew she was too emotional, too needy, too much—but she couldn't help it, especially not when it came to Goemon.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, wiping at her eyes. "I'm being ridiculous. I know I'm being ridiculous. It's just... seeing you hurt, seeing you scared—"

"I'm not scared."

The words came out too fast, too sharp, and they only confirmed what she already knew. Goemon Ishikawa XIII, the man who could cut bullets in half with his sword, who had faced down armies without flinching, was terrified of something.

"What happened out there?" she asked again, gentler this time. "Please. You're scaring me."

For a moment, she thought he might tell her. His mouth opened, and she saw something raw and desperate flicker across his features. But then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, his expression was carefully blank.

"Nothing you need to worry about," he said.

It wasn't an answer, and they both knew it.

The next few days passed in a haze of tension and worry. Goemon barely slept—she could hear him moving around at all hours of the night, pacing his room like a caged animal. He barely ate, picking at his food with the distracted air of someone whose mind was elsewhere entirely. And he barely spoke to any of them, especially not to her.

But it was the little things that really worried her. The way he flinched whenever there was a sudden loud noise. The way his eyes kept darting to the windows and doors, as if he expected something to come bursting through at any moment. The way he'd started avoiding mirrors, turning his face away whenever he caught his own reflection.

And then there was the incident with the neighbor's dog.

They'd been walking back from the market three days after the mysterious job, Eris chattering nervously to fill the silence while Goemon walked beside her in brooding quiet. Mrs. Tanaka's little terrier, normally friendly to a fault, had come running up to them as it always did.

But instead of the usual polite nod he'd give to the animal, Goemon had gone rigid. The dog, too, had stopped short, its tail dropping as it began to whine and back away. Then it had started barking and in not the playful yapping they were used to, but something sharp and panicked, the kind of sound an animal made when it sensed danger.

"What's gotten into him?" Eris had wondered aloud, but when she'd looked at Goemon, his face had been white as paper.

They'd hurried home after that, and Goemon had disappeared into his room for the rest of the day.

By the fourth night, Eris was at her wit's end. She'd tried everything she could think of—gentle questions, worried hovering, even attempts at normal conversation, but nothing seemed to reach him. He was slipping away from her, pulling back into himself, and she didn't know how to stop it.

She was lying in her own bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the familiar sound of his restless pacing, when she heard his door open. Footsteps in the hallway, moving toward the main room. She waited a moment, then slipped out of bed and followed.

She found him in the kitchen, standing at the counter with a glass of water in his hands. In the dim light filtering through the windows, she could see how thin he'd gotten in just these few days, how sharp his cheekbones looked, how his clothes hung loose on his frame.

"Goemon?"

He turned at the sound of her voice, and she saw him fully for the first time in days. His eyes were bloodshot and shadowed with exhaustion, and there was something wild in them that made her take an involuntary step backward.

"You should be sleeping," he said, his voice hoarse.

"So should you." She moved closer, noting the way his grip tightened on the water glass. "When was the last time you actually slept? I mean really slept, not just... whatever you've been doing in there."

He looked away, setting the glass down with deliberate care. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." The words came out more forcefully than she'd intended, and she saw him flinch. She gentled her tone, moving closer. "You're not fine, and I'm worried about you. We all are."

"You shouldn't be."

"Why not? Because you don't want us to care about you? Because you think you don't deserve it?" She was close enough now to see the fine tremor in his hands, close enough to smell the clean scent of his soap mixed with something else, something wilder. "That's not how it works, Goemon. I can't just stop caring about you."

Something in his expression cracked at that, and for a moment she thought she saw the man she knew and loved beneath all the fear and pain. But then he was pulling away again, both physically and emotionally, putting distance between them.

"Maybe you should," he said quietly.

The words hit her like a slap. "What?"

"Maybe you should stop caring about me." He wouldn't look at her now, his gaze fixed on something beyond the kitchen window. "Maybe it would be better if you all just... stayed away from me for a while."

"Better for who?" Her voice was rising despite her efforts to stay calm. "Better for you, or better for us? Because I can tell you right now that staying away from you wouldn't be better for me. It would kill me."

He did look at her then, and the anguish in his eyes nearly brought her to her knees.

"I'm not safe," he whispered.

"What do you mean you're not safe? Safe from what? Safe for whom?" She reached for him, needing to touch him, to reassure them both that he was still there, still hers.

But he jerked away from her again, so violently that he knocked the water glass off the counter. It shattered against the floor, the sound sharp and sudden in the quiet kitchen.

They both stared at the broken glass, and when Goemon looked up, his face was set in lines of grim determination.

"I have to go," he said.

"Go where?"

"Away from here. Away from you." Each word seemed to cost him something, but he pressed on. "I'll find a motel, or... or maybe I'll just keep moving for a while. It doesn't matter where, as long as it's—"

"No."

The word came out flat and final, surprising them both. Eris stepped over the broken glass, closing the distance between them despite his obvious desire to retreat.

"No," she said again. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to just decide what's best for me and disappear."

"Eris—"

"I don't care what happened out there," she continued, her voice gaining strength as her emotions took over. "I don't care what you're afraid of, or what you think you might do. I'm not letting you go through whatever this is alone."

"You don't understand—"

"Then explain it to me!" The words came out as a shout, and she immediately lowered her voice, mindful of Lupin and Jigen sleeping in the next rooms. "Please, just... explain it to me. Let me help."

For a long moment, they stood there facing each other across the broken glass and the gulf of his fear. Goemon's face cycled through a dozen different expressions; pain, longing, terror, love before finally settling into something like resignation.

"I can't," he said simply. "I'm sorry, Eris. I'm so sorry. But I can't."

He moved to step around her, but she blocked his path.

"If you leave," she said, her voice steady despite the tears streaming down her face, "I'm coming with you."

"No."

"Yes. You can't stop me, Goemon. If you walk out that door, I'll be right behind you. If you get in a car, I'll get in too. If you try to run, I'll run after you." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing tears across her cheek. "I know I'm being dramatic and pathetic and all the things you probably hate about me, but I don't care. I love you, and I'm not letting you face whatever this is alone."

Something in his resolve seemed to crumble at her words. His shoulders sagged, and when he looked at her, there was so much pain in his eyes that she wanted to wrap him in her arms and never let go.

"You shouldn't come with me," he said, but his voice lacked conviction now.

"Why not?"

"Because... because I might hurt you."

The admission seemed to surprise him as much as it did her. They stared at each other in the dim kitchen, the weight of those words settling between them like a living thing.

"You would never hurt me," she said finally.

"You don't know that." His voice was barely a whisper. "I don't know that. I don't... I don't know anything anymore."

She could see how much it cost him to admit that uncertainty. Goemon was a man who lived by absolutes—his sword was sharp, his aim was true, his principles were unwavering. For him to say he didn't know something was like admitting his entire world had shifted off its axis.

"Then we'll figure it out together," she said.

He closed his eyes, and she could see the internal battle playing out across his features. When he opened them again, she knew she'd won—or maybe they'd both lost. Either way, he wasn't leaving without her.

"All right," he said quietly. "All right. But Eris... if something happens, if I... if I tell you to run, you have to promise me you'll do it. No matter what. Promise me."

She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him there was nothing in the world that could make her run from him. But she could see how desperately he needed this promise, this one small reassurance that she wouldn't let whatever he feared destroy them both.

"I promise," she lied.

They left the hideout an hour before dawn, slipping out quietly while Lupin and Jigen were still asleep. Goemon had written them a note—she'd seen him agonizing over it, writing and rewriting the same few lines until he finally gave up and settled on something simple: "Need some time away. Will contact you when I can. Don't come looking for us."

The cabin he'd found was two hours' drive into the mountains, accessible only by a narrow dirt road that wound through dense forest. It was old and weathered, the kind of place that had probably been abandoned for decades. Perfect, she supposed, for someone who wanted to disappear from the world.

As they pulled up in front of the building, Eris felt a chill that had nothing to do with the mountain air. The cabin sat in a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by towering pines that blocked out most of the morning sunlight. It looked lonely and forbidding, like something out of a gothic novel.

"Are you sure about this place?" she asked as Goemon cut the engine.

He was staring up at the building, his knuckles white where they gripped the steering wheel. "It's isolated," he said. "No neighbors. No one to... disturb."

The way he said it made her stomach clench with unease, but she didn't argue. Instead, she got out of the car and followed him up the creaking front steps.

Inside, the cabin was surprisingly well-preserved, though it smelled of dust and disuse. There was a main room with a stone fireplace, a small kitchen, and what looked like a bedroom off to one side. The furniture was old but sturdy—a wooden table, a couple of chairs, a faded sofa that had probably been expensive once upon a time.

"It'll do," Goemon said, setting their bags down by the door.

Eris walked to one of the windows and peered out at the forest beyond. Even in the daylight, it looked dark and primeval, the kind of place where anything could be hiding. She suppressed a shiver and turned back to find Goemon watching her with an unreadable expression.

"Second thoughts?" he asked.

"No," she said firmly. "No second thoughts."

He nodded, but she could see the doubt in his eyes. As if he was already planning how to convince her to leave when the time came.

They spent the day settling in, which mostly meant cleaning decades worth of dust off the furniture and making sure the old generator still worked. It was mundane work, domestic almost, and for a few hours Eris could almost pretend this was just a romantic getaway, a chance for them to be alone together without the chaos of their usual lives.

But as evening approached, she noticed Goemon growing increasingly agitated. He kept checking the windows, testing the locks on the doors, pacing the small confines of the cabin like a trapped animal. When she asked if he wanted dinner, he barely seemed to hear her.

"Goemon?" She found him standing at the bedroom window, staring out at the forest as shadows lengthened between the trees. "The sun's going down."

He turned at the sound of her voice, and the look in his eyes made her take a step backward. There was something wild there, something desperate and afraid.

"You should tie me up," he said.

"What?"

"There's rope in the car. In the trunk." His voice was steady, but she could see the tension in every line of his body. "You should tie me up. To the bed, or... or to one of the chairs. It doesn't matter where, as long as it's secure."

Eris stared at him, her mind struggling to process what he was asking. "I don't understand."

"Please." The word came out cracked and desperate. "Please, Eris. I can't... I won't be able to control myself much longer. You have to tie me up before it's too late."

"Before what's too late? Goemon, you're scaring me."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I'm scaring myself."

She could see him fighting some internal battle, could see the way his hands were shaking now, the way sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool evening air. Whatever was happening to him, it was getting worse.

"The rope," he said again. "Please."

She wanted to argue, wanted to demand an explanation, wanted to shake him until he told her what was wrong. But the desperation in his voice, the raw fear in his eyes—she couldn't ignore that.

"Okay," she said quietly. "Okay. I'll get the rope."

She found it exactly where he'd said it would be, coiled neatly in the trunk of their car alongside what looked like a small arsenal of weapons. Her hands were shaking as she carried it back inside, and she found Goemon sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

"How do you want me to...?" She held up the rope, feeling ridiculous and terrified in equal measure.

He looked up, and she saw something flicker across his face—gratitude, maybe, or relief. "My wrists," he said. "Behind the headboard. And... and my ankles too, if you can manage it."

She'd never tied anyone up before, but fear made her careful and thorough. When she was finished, Goemon was secured to the old iron bed frame, unable to do more than flex his fingers or turn his head. He tested the bonds briefly, then nodded his approval.

"Good," he said. "That's... that's good. Now you should go. Lock yourself in the other room, or better yet, take the car and—"

"I'm not going anywhere," she interrupted, settling herself in the chair beside the bed.

"Eris—"

"I'm not leaving you alone like this. Whatever's about to happen, we'll face it together."

He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, he doubled over as much as the ropes would allow, a low groan escaping his lips. The sound was raw and painful, and it made every protective instinct she had scream at her to help him somehow.

"What's happening?" she whispered.

He couldn't answer. His body was rigid with tension, every muscle straining against the ropes. Sweat poured down his face, and his breathing came in short, sharp gasps. When he looked at her, his eyes were wild with pain and something else—something that looked almost like hunger.

And then, as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the mountains, the change began.

It started with his hands. She watched in horror as his fingers lengthened, the nails growing into claws that scraped against the iron headboard. Hair—no, not hair, fur—began to sprout along his arms, dark and coarse. His breathing became harsher, more labored, interspersed with sounds that were barely human.

"Oh god," she breathed, pressing herself back in her chair. "Oh god, Goemon, what's happening to you?"

He couldn't answer. His jaw was changing, elongating, teeth sharpening into fangs. The transformation seemed to radiate outward from his core, his entire body reshaping itself into something else, something wild and dangerous and impossible.

The worst part was the sounds he made. She'd heard him in pain before—had seen him injured on jobs, had watched him push himself beyond human endurance, but this was different. This was agony in its purest form, the sound of someone being torn apart and rebuilt at the molecular level.

She wanted to run. Every rational part of her mind screamed at her to get up, get out, put as much distance between herself and this thing as possible. But she couldn't move, couldn't do anything but watch as the man she loved disappeared before her eyes.

When it was over a creature sat where Goemon had been moments before. It was massive, easily twice the size he'd been as a human, covered in thick black and silver fur. Its eyes were golden and wild, and when it looked at her, she saw no recognition there, no trace of the gentle man who wrote her poetry and brought her flowers from his morning walks.

The creature tested its bonds, and she heard the metal of the bed frame groan under the strain. The ropes held, but barely.

"Goemon?" she whispered.

The thing's ears pricked forward at the sound of her voice, and it turned its great head to look at her fully. For just a moment, she thought she saw something familiar in those alien eyes—a flicker of the man she knew. But then it was gone, replaced by something primitive and hungry.

It threw back its head and howled, a sound so mournful and wild that it seemed to shake the very walls of the cabin. Then it began to struggle against its bonds in earnest, claws scrabbling against metal, powerful muscles straining against rope.

Eris pressed herself back in her chair, too terrified to move. This was what Goemon had been afraid of, what had driven him to isolation and despair. He wasn't just sick or injured—he was cursed, transformed into something out of nightmare and legend.

The creature; she couldn't think of it as Goemon, not when it looked at her like she was prey—continued to fight its restraints. One of the ropes creaked ominously, then snapped.

With one arm free, it made quick work of the rest of its bonds. Within seconds, it was standing beside the bed, towering over her, its golden eyes fixed on her with unmistakable intent.

She should have run then. She should have listened to every instinct screaming at her to flee. Instead, she found herself thinking about the scraps of his kimono that still clung to the creature's massive frame, about the way it had responded to the sound of his name, about the man who had held her through her nightmares and promised her she would never be alone.

"You're still in there," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know you are. Goemon, please. I need you to remember who you are."

The creature tilted its head at the sound of her voice, and for just a moment, its aggressive posture softened. But then something else took over; instinct, maybe, or hunger—and it turned away from her, padding toward the cabin's front door.

She heard the wood splinter as claws raked across it, then the crash as the door gave way entirely. The creature disappeared into the night, leaving her alone in the ruined cabin with her racing heart and the lingering scent of something wild and dangerous.

For several long minutes, she sat frozen in her chair, too stunned to move. Then, gradually, the reality of what had just happened began to sink in. Goemon, her Goemon—was somewhere out in those dark woods, transformed into something that might not even remember her name.

She couldn't just sit here and wait for morning. She couldn't just hope that somehow the sun would bring him back to her, safe and whole and human again. Whatever was out there, whatever he'd become, he was still the man she loved. And she'd be damned if she was going to abandon him now.

Moving carefully, she made her way to where their bags sat by the ruined door. She pulled on her heaviest coat and grabbed the flashlight Goemon had packed, then hesitated over the pistol he'd left on the kitchen table.

In the end, she left it where it was. If the thing in the woods was truly lost to her, a single bullet wouldn't save her anyway. And if some part of Goemon was still in there, she couldn't risk doing something that might hurt him.

The forest was alive with sound as she stepped out into the night. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear crashing through the underbrush, the sound of something large moving through the trees with no regard for stealth or safety. She followed the sound, her flashlight beam dancing crazily as she stumbled over roots and rocks in the darkness.

She'd been walking for maybe twenty minutes when she heard it—a sound that froze her blood and made every bone in her body churn.

A howl echoed through the darkness, long and mournful and utterly inhuman. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, bouncing off the trees and reverberating in her chest until she felt like her heart might stop from the sheer otherworldly loneliness of it.

Eris stood perfectly still, her flashlight beam wavering as her hands shook. The sound faded slowly, leaving behind a silence that was somehow worse than the howling had been. In that silence, she became aware of her own breathing, harsh and quick in the thin mountain air, and the way her pulse hammered against her throat.

Then she heard something else—a wet, tearing sound, accompanied by low growls of satisfaction.

Against every screaming instinct in her body, she followed the sound deeper into the woods.

The smell hit her first. Copper and musk and something wilder, something that made her stomach turn and her legs want to carry her in the opposite direction. But she pressed on, pushing through a tangle of low branches until she emerged into a small clearing bathed in moonlight.

What she saw there would be burned into her memory forever.

The creature crouched over the carcass of what had once been a deer, its massive form hunched with predatory satisfaction. Blood stained its muzzle and chest, dark against the silver-shot fur. Its claws, impossibly long and sharp, were buried deep in the animal's flesh as it fed with the single-minded focus of a wild thing.

For a moment, Eris could only stare in horror. This wasn't the gentle man who wrote her poetry in careful calligraphy, who brought her tea when she couldn't sleep, who held her so carefully it was as if he thought she might break. This was something primal and savage, something that belonged to the wilderness and the hunt.

But as she watched, she noticed the remnants of fabric clinging to its massive shoulders—the tattered remains of his dark yukata, torn but unmistakable. And when it lifted its head, alerted by some sound she couldn't hear, she saw those eyes. Golden now instead of black, wild and alien, but still somehow familiar in the shape of them, the way they narrowed when they focused on something.

A small sound escaped her throat—half gasp, half sob—and the creature's head snapped toward her with lethal precision.

In that moment, as those inhuman eyes fixed on her across the bloodstained clearing, Eris understood true terror. Every cell in her body screamed at her to run, to flee, to put as much distance as possible between herself and this thing that wore the shape of her nightmares. Her flashlight beam wavered wildly as her hands shook, painting crazy shadows across the trees.

But she didn't run.

Instead, she heard herself whisper, "Goemon?"

The creature tilted its massive head at the sound of his name, and something flickered in those golden eyes—confusion, maybe, or recognition struggling against baser instincts. It took a step toward her, then stopped, as if fighting some internal battle between the beast it had become and whatever remained of the man it had been.

"I know you're in there," she said, her voice stronger now despite her terror. "I can see you. You're still you, aren't you? You're still my Goemon."

The beast, she couldn't think of it any other way, not when it looked at her with eyes that held no human warmth, let out a low whine. The sound was heartbreaking in its confusion, like a lost animal that didn't understand where it was or how it had gotten there.

Slowly, carefully, she took a step forward.

The creature immediately shifted into a defensive crouch, lips pulling back to reveal fangs that could tear her throat out without effort. A growl rumbled deep in its chest, a warning that any rational person would have heeded.

But Eris had never been particularly rational when it came to the people she loved.

"It's all right," she said, her voice gentle despite the way it shook. "I'm not going to hurt you. I know you're scared and confused, but I'm here now. I'm not going to leave you alone."

She took another step, and this time the creature didn't threaten her. Instead, it seemed to fold in on itself, that massive frame somehow managing to look small and lost despite its size. The growling stopped, replaced by small, wounded sounds that reminded her painfully of the way Goemon sometimes breathed when he had nightmares.

"That's right," she whispered, continuing her slow approach. "It's just me. It's just Eris. You remember me, don't you?"

When she was close enough to touch it—close enough to die if she'd misjudged—she slowly extended her hand. The creature sniffed at her fingers, its nostrils flaring as it took in her scent. For a terrifying moment, she thought it might bite, might decide she was just another prey animal to be hunted and devoured.

Instead, it pressed its great head against her palm with a gentleness that nearly destroyed her.

The fur was coarser than she'd expected, thick and wild beneath her fingers. But the way it leaned into her touch, the small whimper of relief it made when she began to stroke behind its ears—that was pure Goemon. Her Goemon, trapped in a nightmare he couldn't escape.

"Oh, sweetheart," she breathed, tears spilling down her cheeks as she knelt beside the massive creature. "What did they do to you? What happened out there?"

The beast—no, she couldn't think of him that way anymore, not when he nuzzled against her with such desperate need, looked up at her with those alien eyes. She saw pain there, and confusion, and underneath it all, a love so deep and fierce it transcended whatever curse had twisted his body into this shape.

"I'm here," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his massive neck. Her face pressed against his fur, breathing in the wild scent of him mixed with something that was still uniquely Goemon. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

He made a sound then, half whine and half purr, and she felt him relax against her. Some of the wildness seemed to leave him, replaced by exhaustion and relief. When she pulled back to look at him, his eyes were clearer, more aware. Still not quite human, but closer to the man she knew.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, her stroking his fur while he pressed against her with a desperation that spoke of deep loneliness and fear. The blood on his muzzle had dried, and she tried not to think about what he'd done, what he'd been driven to do by instincts he couldn't control.

When the first pale light of dawn began to filter through the trees, she felt him tense against her.

"What is it?" she asked, though part of her already knew.

He pulled away from her, backing up several steps, and she saw the golden eyes begin to flicker with something like pain. His massive frame shuddered, and she realized with growing horror that the change was beginning again.

The transformation back to human form was somehow worse than watching him become the beast. His bones cracked and reformed with sounds that made her stomach twist. The fur receded, leaving behind skin that was pale and slick with sweat. His claws retracted, his fangs shortened, his entire body contracting and reshaping itself back into the familiar form she knew so well.

When it was over, Goemon lay curled on the forest floor, shivering and utterly human. He was covered in blood, some his own from the transformation, some from his nocturnal hunt and in his face was a mask of shame and horror.

"Don't," he said when she moved toward him, his voice hoarse and broken. "Don't touch me. Don't come near me."

But she ignored him, shrugging out of her heavy coat and wrapping it around his shoulders. He was ice-cold despite the sweat that covered his skin, and she could feel the tremors that wracked his frame.

"Don't," he said again, but there was no force behind it now. "I'm a monster. I killed... did you see what I..."

"I saw," she whispered, gathering him against her despite his weak protests. "I saw, and I don't care."

"You should care." His voice was barely audible, muffled against her shoulder. "You should run. You should have run hours ago."

"Well, I didn't." She held him tighter, feeling the way he shook against her. "I'm here, and I'm staying here, and there's nothing you can do about it."

He lifted his head then, and the anguish in his dark eyes nearly broke her heart.

"I could have killed you," he said. "When I saw you in the clearing, for a moment I... I wanted to hunt you. I wanted to chase you and bring you down and..." He couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't voice the horrific thoughts that had run through his transformed mind.

"But you didn't," she said firmly. "Whatever that thing was, whatever it wanted, you didn't let it. You recognized me. You let me touch you. You're stronger than this curse, Goemon. You're stronger than whatever's been done to you."

He shook his head, tears streaming down his blood-stained cheeks. "I'm not. I'm weak, and I'm dangerous, and I don't deserve your love. I don't deserve any of this."

"That's not your choice to make," she said, wiping the tears from his face with gentle fingers. "I love you. Monster or man or anything in between, I love you. And unless you can figure out how to stop my heart from beating, you're stuck with me."

Something in his expression cracked at that, and suddenly he was sobbing against her shoulder with the desperate relief of someone who had been holding back tears for far too long. She held him while he cried, stroking his hair and murmuring nonsense words of comfort, and tried not to think about what the coming night would bring.

When his sobs finally subsided, she helped him to his feet. He swayed slightly, exhaustion and the aftermath of transformation making him unsteady, but he managed to stay upright with her support.

"Come on," she said gently. "Let's get you back to the cabin. You need rest."

The walk back seemed longer than her desperate flight into the woods had been. Goemon moved slowly, still wrapped in her coat, his bare feet picking carefully over the rocky ground. Several times he had to stop and lean against a tree, overcome by waves of dizziness and nausea that seemed to be aftereffects of the change.

The cabin looked different in the morning light—less like something out of a Gothic horror story and more like a run-down vacation rental. The front door hung askew on its hinges where claws had splintered the wood, and there were gouges in the door frame that spoke to the creature's desperate need to escape.

Inside, everything was as she'd left it—the broken ropes on the bed, the chair she'd sat in during those terrifying hours of transformation, the lingering scent of something wild and dangerous.

Goemon stopped in the doorway, staring at the destruction with haunted eyes.

"I did this," he said.

"You were scared," she replied, guiding him toward the small bathroom. "You were in pain and scared and not yourself. None of this is your fault."

She helped him into the shower, adjusting the water temperature until it was warm but not too hot for his shock-sensitized system. The blood washed away in pink rivulets, swirling down the drain and taking with it the visible evidence of what he'd become. But she could see in his face that the internal scars would be harder to cleanse.

When he was clean, she helped him into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin despite his continued protests that she shouldn't be near him, shouldn't touch him, should save herself while she still could.

"Sleep," she said, settling into the chair beside the bed. "You need rest."

"You can't stay," he whispered, but his eyes were already drooping shut. "When night comes again, you can't be here. Promise me."

She didn't promise. Instead, she watched him fall into an exhausted sleep, noting the way his face relaxed for the first time in days. Even unconscious, though, he looked haunted. His brow was furrowed, and small sounds of distress escaped his lips as he dreamed of things she probably didn't want to understand.

She spent the day planning.

If she was going to help him through this—and she was, no matter what he said—she needed to be better prepared. The ropes had been a good idea, but they needed to be stronger. The restraints needed to be more secure. And she needed to accept that this was going to happen again, would keep happening until they found some way to break whatever curse had been laid on him.

While he slept, she drove back down the mountain to the nearest town, a tiny place with a hardware store and not much else. The elderly proprietor didn't seem particularly curious about why a young woman might need heavy-duty chains and reinforced locks, though he did give her some odd looks as she loaded her purchases into the car.

She also stopped at a small grocery store, buying enough food to last them several more days. She wasn't sure how long they'd need to stay at the cabin, but she had no intention of leaving until they'd figured out how to manage his condition—or found a way to cure it entirely.

When she returned, Goemon was still sleeping, though his rest seemed less peaceful now. He was muttering under his breath in what sounded like a mixture of Japanese and animal sounds, his body twitching as if he were running from something in his dreams.

She unpacked her supplies quietly, trying not to wake him. The chains were heavier than she'd expected, solid steel links that would hold even something with supernatural strength. The locks were commercial grade, the kind used to secure warehouses and construction sites.

Looking at them, she felt a chill of unease. These weren't the sort of restraints you used on a person you loved. These were the kind of things you used to contain something dangerous, something that might hurt you given the chance.

But she'd seen what happened when he wasn't properly secured. She'd seen the terror in his eyes when he realized what he was capable of. If chains and locks were what it took to keep him safe—to keep them both safe—then that was what she'd use.

He woke as evening approached, surfacing from sleep with the gradual awareness of someone who had been truly exhausted. For a moment, his face was peaceful, relaxed in the way it used to be when he'd wake up beside her in their shared bed at the hideout. Then memory returned, and she watched the peace drain out of his expression like water through a broken dam.

"You're still here," he said, and she couldn't tell if it was relief or despair in his voice.

"I'm still here," she confirmed. "I brought supplies."

His eyes found the chains where she'd laid them out on the dresser, and something in his face just... broke.

"Those are for me," he said. It wasn't a question.

"They'll hold better than rope," she said, trying to keep her voice matter-of-fact despite the way her heart was breaking. "And I got locks that—"

"No."

The word came out flat and final. Goemon sat up in bed, the covers pooling around his waist, and she could see the tension already beginning to build in his frame as the sun sank lower on the horizon.

"No," he said again. "I won't let you do that to me. I won't let you turn me into some kind of animal that needs to be caged."

"You turn into an animal whether you want to or not," she said, more harshly than she'd intended. "At least this way, you'll be safe. We'll both be safe."

"Safe." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "There's nothing safe about this, Eris. Nothing safe about what I become, what I want when I'm like that. You saw me last night. You saw what I did."

"I saw you recognize me," she countered. "I saw you let me touch you, let me comfort you. You're not as lost as you think you are."

"I thought about hunting you." The words came out in a rush, as if he needed to get them out before he lost his nerve. "When I first saw you in the clearing, before I remembered who you were—I thought about chasing you through the woods, bringing you down, tearing your throat out with my teeth."

The image he painted was horrific, but she could see the pain it caused him to voice it. She could see how the memory of those thoughts tortured him, how they fed into his conviction that he was a monster who deserved nothing but isolation and death.

"But you didn't," she said quietly. "Those thoughts came from the beast, not from you. And you fought them off. You chose to let me help you instead."

"This time," he said. "This time I fought them off. But what about next time? What about the time after that? How long before the beast wins, before there's nothing left of me to fight with?"

She didn't have an answer for that. The truth was, she didn't know. She didn't understand the curse that had been laid on him, didn't know if it could be broken or if it would eventually consume him entirely. All she knew was that she wasn't willing to give up on him, wasn't willing to let him face this alone.

"Then we'll figure it out," she said. "One night at a time. One transformation at a time. Whatever it takes."

He stared at her for a long moment, and she could see the war being waged behind his eyes. Part of him wanted to believe her, wanted to accept her help and trust in her love. But another part—the part that had been shaped by years of discipline and honor and an iron sense of duty—couldn't bear the thought of putting her at risk.

The sun was nearly gone now, just a sliver of orange on the horizon. Soon it would be dark, and the change would begin again. She could already see it starting in subtle ways—the way his breathing had quickened, the fine tremor in his hands, the dilation of his pupils despite the fading light.

"The chains," he said finally, his voice hoarse with resignation. "If you're going to stay—and I can see that nothing I say will make you leave—then yes. Use the chains."

She tried to keep her expression neutral as she retrieved the restraints, but inside, her heart was breaking. This was the man who had taught her what it meant to be loved gently, who wrote her poetry about the way moonlight looked in her hair. And now she was chaining him to a bed like some kind of dangerous animal.

But when she looked at his face—at the relief mixed with shame and terror—she knew it was what he needed. Not just for her safety, but for his own peace of mind. At least if he was properly restrained, he wouldn't have to fear what he might do in the depths of transformation.

The chains were heavier than the rope, more secure, but also somehow more humane. They allowed him more range of motion while still keeping him safely contained. When she was finished, he tested them briefly, then nodded his approval.

"Better," he said. "These will hold."

The change began shortly after full darkness fell, and this time she was prepared for it. She'd pulled her chair closer to the bed, close enough to touch him if he needed comfort, but far enough away to be safe if the beast decided she was a threat.

The transformation wasn't any easier to watch the second time. If anything, knowing what was coming made it worse. She had to sit there and watch his face contort with pain, had to listen to his bones crack and reshape, had to see the intelligence fade from his eyes as something wilder took its place.

But this time, when the change was complete, the creature that remained seemed calmer. It tested its bonds once, found them secure, then turned those golden eyes to her with something that almost looked like gratitude.

"Hello," she said softly. "Do you remember me?"

The beast tilted its head at the sound of her voice, and she saw recognition flicker in its gaze. Not complete understanding—she could see that the animal instincts were still strong—but awareness that she was someone important, someone to be protected rather than hunted.

Slowly, carefully, she reached out and touched its massive head. The creature leaned into her touch with a soft whine, and she felt something tight in her chest finally begin to relax.

"That's right," she murmured, stroking the thick fur. "You know me. I'm safe. You don't have to be afraid."

For the rest of the night, she sat beside him, talking quietly about nothing in particular—memories of their time together, stories from her childhood, bits of poetry she half-remembered from school. The beast listened with an attention that seemed almost human, responding to her voice with small sounds and movements that spoke of contentment.

When dawn came and the change began again, she was ready with blankets and gentle hands. Goemon's return to human form was still painful to watch, but the aftermath seemed less traumatic this time. He was exhausted and disoriented, but not consumed by the same desperate shame that had overwhelmed him the night before.

"How do you feel?" she asked, helping him into a sitting position.

"Like I've been hit by a truck," he admitted, accepting the glass of water she offered. "But... better. More myself." He looked at her with wonder. "You stayed with me the whole time."

"Of course I did."

"Last night, when I was... when I was changed. I could hear your voice. It helped me stay anchored to who I am underneath all of that." He reached for her hand, and she let him take it, relief flooding through her at the simple human contact. "I don't think I would have come back without you."

Something warm and bright bloomed in her chest at his words. She'd been so afraid that she was fooling herself, that her presence was making things worse rather than better. To know that she was actually helping him, actually making a difference—it felt like a gift beyond measure.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, squeezing his hand. "Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not until we figure this out together."

He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I love you," he said. "I don't deserve you, and I don't understand why you're willing to do this, but I love you more than I have words for."

"You don't have to understand," she said. "You just have to trust that I'm here because I want to be. Because there's nowhere else in the world I'd rather be than right here with you."

They settled into a routine over the next few days. During the daylight hours, when he was human and himself, they would talk and eat and try to piece together what had happened to him during that mysterious job. He was reluctant to share details at first, but gradually the story began to emerge.

He'd been hired to retrieve a stolen artifact from a collector who lived in a remote mansion outside Tokyo. The job had seemed straightforward enough—break in, locate the item, get out without being detected. He'd done similar jobs dozens of times before.

But this time had been different. The collector had been expecting him, had laid a trap. And the guards he'd employed weren't human.

"Werewolves," Goemon said, the word coming out like a curse. "A whole pack of them. I fought them off, but not before one of them got its teeth into me."

The bite had been on his shoulder, he explained, showing her the faded scar that marked the spot. At first, he'd thought he was lucky—the wound had healed cleanly, with no sign of infection. It wasn't until the next full moon that he'd realized the true cost of his encounter.

"I didn't understand what was happening at first," he said. "I thought I was getting sick, or maybe losing my mind. It wasn't until I woke up in the woods, covered in blood, that I started to piece it together."

"Why didn't you tell us?" she asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the forest beyond the cabin windows. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with exhaustion and self-recrimination.

"What was I supposed to say? That I'd been infected with some kind of supernatural curse? That I turned into a monster every month and couldn't trust myself not to hurt the people I loved?" He shook his head. "It sounds insane even now."

"We would have believed you," she said. "Lupin and Jigen have seen enough strange things in their lives that they'd have taken it in stride. And I... I would have believed you because you were the one telling me."

"Would you?" He turned to look at her, and she saw doubt in his eyes. "If I'd come to you that first night and told you I was a werewolf, would you really have believed me? Or would you have thought I was having some kind of breakdown?"

She wanted to say that of course she would have believed him, that she never would have doubted his word. But honesty compelled her to admit that he was probably right. If he'd told her the truth before she'd seen it with her own eyes, she likely would have assumed he was suffering from some kind of trauma-induced delusion.

"Maybe not at first," she admitted. "But I would have figured it out eventually. And I would have stayed with you through it, just like I'm staying with you now."

Something in his expression softened at that, and he reached out to touch her face with gentle fingers.

"I know you would have," he said. "That's what terrifies me."

As the days passed, they both grew more comfortable with their new routine. The transformations became less traumatic for him, and less terrifying for her. She learned to read the signs that warned of the approaching change, learned how to comfort him through the pain of it, learned how to communicate with the beast he became.

Because it was still him, she realized more and more each night. The creature was wilder, more primitive, but it was still recognizably Goemon at its core. It responded to her voice, sought comfort from her touch, even seemed to take a protective stance when she moved around the cabin during the long night hours.

One night, about a week into their stay at the cabin, something shifted between them. The transformation had been particularly difficult, leaving the creature restless and agitated despite the chains that held it secure. It paced as much as its bonds would allow, whining and growling in apparent distress.

"What's wrong?" she asked, moving closer to the bed. "You're more upset tonight. Did something hurt during the change?"

The beast looked at her with those golden eyes, and she saw frustration there. It was trying to communicate something, but lacking the words to express whatever it was feeling.

On impulse, she reached out and began to stroke its head, running her fingers through the thick fur. The creature immediately stilled, leaning into her touch with a soft sound of contentment.

But when she started to pull away, it whined and pressed closer, clearly asking for more contact.

Without really thinking about it, she climbed onto the bed beside it.

The beast went very still as she settled herself against its side, as if afraid that any movement might make her change her mind and leave. When she didn't retreat, it carefully lowered its great head until it was resting in her lap.

"Is this what you wanted?" she asked softly, running her hands through its fur. "Just to be close?"

A soft rumble answered her, something that was part purr and part sigh. The creature's eyes drifted closed, and for the first time since the transformations began, it seemed truly at peace.

They stayed that way for hours, her stroking its fur and humming quiet songs while it dozed fitfully against her. When dawn came and the change began again, she held her position, providing an anchor of stability and warmth as his body reshaped itself back to human form.

When it was over, Goemon found himself sprawled across her lap, his head pillowed on her thighs. He looked up at her with wonder.

"You held me," he said. "All night, you held me."

"You needed it," she replied simply. "You were hurting and scared, and you needed comfort. So I gave it to you."

Tears gathered in his dark eyes, and she saw something in his face that hadn't been there before—hope. For the first time since this nightmare began, he looked like he believed there might be a future for them beyond the curse and the fear.

"I don't know how to thank you," he whispered.

"You don't have to thank me," she said, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "This is what love looks like, Goemon. This is what it means to choose someone and keep choosing them, no matter what."

He closed his eyes, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. She held him until the tears stopped, until his breathing evened out in sleep, and tried not to think about what would happen when they eventually had to leave this place and return to the world.

The curse wasn't broken—she understood that. They'd found a way to manage it, a way to make it bearable, but the fundamental problem remained. Every full moon would bring the transformation, and every transformation would bring the risk of discovery, the risk of someone getting hurt.

But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of the mountain cabin, they were safe. They were together. And somehow, impossibly, they were managing to build something beautiful out of the ashes of what should have been a tragedy.

As she sat there with his head in her lap, watching the morning light creep across the wooden floor of their small refuge, Eris allowed herself to believe that love really could conquer anything—even curses, even monsters, even the terrible fear that had driven them to this place.

Whatever came next, they would face it together. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.