#rhoi

Ethan would like to say that the screaming surprised him when it woke him from a dead sleep. That would be a lie though, since it had become an almost nightly feat as of late. So when he sat up upon hearing the muffled sobs and sound of shuffling across the dark cabin, he thought it would be like any other evening. That was until he heard the door slam shut, preceding a loud boom of thunder.

That was what had him on his feet, sliding on his slippers and rushing into the hallway in seconds. Will had emerged from his resting place on his old futon too, hair disheveled from sleep and looking at Ethan blearily.

“Did he..?”

“Yeah,” Ethan sighed, “I think he did.”

“Do you want me to go look for him?” The youngest werewolf looked exhausted, having been hunting all afternoon for the pack and for the vampires too. He was still wary around Ava and Estia but he supposed this agreement wasn’t too bad. At least if he was providing them with animal blood then it meant no wandering humans were at risk. Still, he wasn’t used to so much activity and hadn’t completely adjusted to the act of changing forms comfortably. Needless to say, the last thing Will wanted to do was go running after an upset Connor at midnight.

“No, I’ve got him,” Ethan shook his head and was already tugging on his boots, “He’ll be upset.”

Before Will could press the matter any more, Ethan had already slipped out into the storm. He didn’t bring an umbrella, though he did have the forethought to tuck Connor’s jacket under his arm since the other hadn’t bothered. He wasn’t sure which direction Connor had gone in and the rain interferes with his scent, so Ethan just started walking.

This was, unfortunately, more common as of late. Connor continued to have nightmares about his mother, ones he told Ethan about one night before Will had joined him. His mind often ran through the events of her murder, making him relive the trauma from his teenaged years every night. After his father’s death, at the hands of Connor himself, the nightmares got worse. He barely slept anymore and when he did he almost always woke up screaming.

Connor’s main issue was his coping mechanisms, or lack thereof. Ethan knew his dad had been abusive and would frequently punish Connor for showing any weakness. He knew that he grew up emotionally stunted, used to hiding his feelings and pushing everything down. Cornelius wanted a soldier, a strong heir to the clan; he didn’t have time for a soft son. It didn’t do Connor any good, especially not now.

He didn’t know how to cope, didn’t know how to express his emotions. He never had the chance to properly grieve for his mother and had to make the regretful decision to kill his own father. That was a series of events that would haunt the werewolf for the rest of his immortal life. It made Ethan worry.

Luckily it didn’t take too much walking before he spotted his friend. Connor was crouched on the ground by the riverbank, head in his hands. He wasn’t crying, not audibly, but Ethan could see his shoulders shaking. He was probably freezing, even though lycanthropy made their body temperatures run higher than normal; being out in a rainstorm shirtless is good for no one.

“Connor?”

“I’m fine, Ethan,” his mumbled reply sounded so dejected that it confirmed he was, in fact, not fine. Ethan didn’t say anything though, just came closer and wrapped his coat around Connor’s shoulders.

“You’ll catch your death out here.”

“That’s so dramatic,” Ethan could have swore he heard the eye roll from Connor, “I’ll live, unfortunately.”

“Hey, don’t,” Ethan didn’t like the sound of that. He knew they all had trauma and bad memories to work through, this wasn’t news. Yeah, life as a tiny pack of werewolves wasn’t easy and immortality was the opposite of comfortable. Still, Ethan wouldn’t let one of his pack suffer, especially not with whatever war was going on in Connor’s mind.

Somehow he managed to drag Connor to his feet, wincing at how bloodshot his golden eyes were. Connor hated appearing weak, immediately tried to shy away from him, but Ethan persisted. He wasn’t used to comfort, didn’t remember what it was like to be consoled or cared for. Even still, it didn’t take long before Ethan had coaxed Connor into a hug.

That was the breaking point, the moment where his façade shattered and the scared, abused boy came back to the surface. He hated this, hated that he so easily broke down, but it was what he really needed. Ethan just stood there, holding Connor as he sobbed into his shoulder. His whispered reassurances were barely audible over the rumbling thunder and the river beside them, but it was okay. Connor was just grateful to have him there, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

They stood like that for a while, until Connor’s arms had officially went numb. His tears did stop, save for some poorly stifled sniffles and sound that could only be classified as a whimper. It hurt Ethan to see him like this, the strong and ever confident man he had grown to admire since they met breaking down. He was broken, traumatized, and all Ethan could do was watch as his brain forced him to relive the worst parts of his life.

“You’re safe, Connor,” Ethan promised, “I’ve got you.”

“He-“

“I know. I’m sorry.”

The other man pulled back enough to meet his eyes and the pain that crossed his face was immense, “I- I don’t want to be a... a monster.”

“Hey,” warm hands found Connor’s cheeks, brushing away the tears and forcing eye contact, “You’re not a monster. You aren’t him.”

“But...” Connor exhaled shakily, “I- he said...”

“He was a liar and he hurt you. What happened was bad but you did what you thought was right. You probably saved a lot of lives that day, Connor, including your own. The fact that you even feel guilt for this means you aren’t a monster.”

“P-promise?”

Ethan nodded immediately, not giving him a chance to doubt his words. That alone helped Connor visibly relax, though he still looked like he wanted to run away and never stop.

“Let’s go home, okay?”

Connor wanted to protest, not wanting Will to see him like this. He wanted to keep some of his dignity, leave some semblance of his pride intact. Still, he was cold and so tired. He just wanted to sleep, though he knew the second he surrendered to the exhaustion that the dreams would be back.

“Tired...”

“I know,” Ethan agreed as he led him back down the forest path. He kept an arm around Connor’s waist, giving him a sense of stability because he knew everything was too much at that point. They walked in silence, both soaked from the rain and chilled to the bone. Ethan would light a fire when they got back, he promised, then Connor could rest.

Will wasn’t awake when they returned, knowing better than to pester Connor after a panic attack. While the other wolf trusted him, he didn’t like to show weakness around their newest friend and Will understood that. Their bond could strengthen eventually and maybe then Connor would let himself be more vulnerable, until then he could just let Ethan keep him safe.

It took a bit of coaxing to get Connor to sit down on the couch. He wanted to retreat to his room but Ethan wouldn’t let him, citing that he would only get sick if he went to bed so cold. So Connor ended up bundled in a blanket, looking rather poorly as he watched the other light the small wood stove across the room.

Maybe it was the warmth of the room when the fire started up. Maybe it was the exhaustion from his panic. Perhaps it was all of those things, plus the way Ethan sat down beside him and opened his arms without a word. Whatever the cause, Connor let himself lean into the comfort. No words to be had, that would be too embarrassing, they just sat in the silence.

The warmth was comforting, something that had been majorly missing from his life for years. It was weird but not in a bad way. For the first time, Connor felt safe, wrapped in a soft blanket and with his head on Ethan’s shoulder. Ethan didn’t mention it, just ran a hand up and down his arm in a soothing motion. Connor couldn’t help but melt into the touch because it was the most genuine affection he had felt in years. Even if he couldn’t express it properly, he was so grateful for this moment.

Connor didn’t hear much after the initial snap of his father’s neck, the sound was deafening and he almost felt the way Cornelius’ life left his body. The resounding reaction was absolute chaos but he didn’t register half of it. He barely noticed as the pack around him absorbed the reality of the situation and reacted accordingly, most of them ready to avenge the death of their late dictator. They were appalled that their great leader was dead, at the hands of his son no less, and saw it fit to take those feelings out on his killer.

He must have felt something, though, because the second Connor realized what he had done, he burst into tears. Unfortunately, that resulted in him letting his guard down and the pack only took that to their advantage, overtaking him in a flood of anger and crying for redemption. Connor didn’t know where the hits were coming from, all he knew was it hurt more than anything ever had. He was still sobbing, remorse hitting him harder than any part of the attack, but he couldn’t fight back. There were unsheathed claws digging into his back and arms and face with no remorse, tearing at his skin and forcing him to the ground. Everything was happening all too fast and Connor didn’t have it in him to fight back.

“I deserve this,” he found himself thinking, “I just killed my father.”

He had to do it, though. His father had abused far too many pups and humans and young wolves, there was no way Sam would have survived the training day if she was being punished like Cornelius wanted. She was a new wolf, barely two days off of chains, and she didn’t understand the hierarchy yet. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t been fed enough since turning, she didn’t deserve to be punished for being hungry. Sure she was out of line, trying to take food before the elders, but that didn’t mean she deserved to be beaten half to death. He hadn’t even considered how things might end in that moment, just launched himself at his father with the intention to protect Sam and every other wolf and human that the leader thought he could harm.

He found his thoughts travelling to Ethan, the one pack member he had complete trust in. The other man was only two months into his new life, not yet properly integrated into the pack. If they killed Connor now, they would immediately turn on Ethan and Sam and any other wolf that had a positive affiliation with the leader’s son. He couldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let his friends die because of him. He needed to leave, to escape, and to get Ethan somewhere safe.

That was the only thought in Connor’s mind as he forced himself off the ground, heaving all his body weight upwards to throw the other wolves off him. His head was spinning and his whole body stung, feeling like he was one big open wound. He didn’t think much of it at the time but somewhere in his brain he knew he must be badly hurt. Every movement send his whole being screaming, though he didn’t make a sound outwardly. Everything felt stiff and burned, as if someone was pouring saltwater into his open wounds. He tried to get away, dodging sharp teeth and claws but not fighting back. He could justify defending himself, sure, but he wouldn’t bother. He wouldn’t hurt these people any more, even as they were trying to kill him. That would only make him more of a monster and he didn’t want to be bad; he couldn’t be. He had already stooped to his father's level, became a murderer just like him, and he hated himself for it. All he could do was push through the agony, though, if not for himself then for Ethan.

The wolf in question was standing at the edge of the clearing, fear evident on his face. He immediately ran to Connor, trying to support him because he looked on the verge of passing out. Connor just held onto his wrist for stability, a quiet apology slipping from his lips. Ethan wanted to tell him it was okay, he did what he had to, but there was no time. They had to run, get away, because the pack showed no sign of stopping until Connor paid for what he did. They had them almost surrounded again, growling and shouting, filling the forest with hostile sounds. Ethan didn’t even think as he wrapped his arm around Connor’s waist to help him run, dragging his injured friend with him as he took off away from the pack.

He wasn’t sure how long they ran for. Eventually all traces of other wolves chasing them vanished but Ethan kept going. He ran until he felt Connor slow down, his body going slightly limp and relying on Ethan to keep him up. The other man had been breathing shallowly and whimpering every so often and he knew they needed to stop. He would heal on his own in time but that would only happen if Connor rested. He half carried the other wolf to a sheltered area not far from a river, helping him into a tiny half-cave in the hillside. It wasn’t perfect but they would be safer there, until Connor was strong enough to move properly.

He collapsed onto the cold rock with a pitiful sound, making Ethan wince. His friend was clearly in pain, both mentally and physically. The events must have hit him properly the second they slowed down because Connor was crying again, clutching at his heavily bleeding arms and muttering under his breath. Even when Ethan crouched beside him, hands putting pressure on his wounds and speaking softly to him, all Connor could do was weep.

“I d-didn’t… I didn’t mean to…” he whispered, “I’m not a m-monster…”

“I know, Connor,” Ethan promised him gently, ripping a piece of his t-shirt to use as a bandage. He didn’t have any other choice because Connor’s neck had a particularly nasty gouge out of it and the last thing they needed was an infection. Connor cried out when he pressed the fabric to his damaged skin, making Ethan apologize softly. They just needed to control the bleeding until his body could catch up and heal. He would be fine physically in the next few days, but mentally Ethan knew this would hurt him for a while.

That’s why he had no complaints when Connor finally fell asleep after hours of crying, using Ethan’s thigh as a pillow. They hadn’t been all too physically affectionate before but Ethan didn’t mind at this point. He wanted Connor to feel safe and he knew the pack-instinct was begging for some sense of security and comfort. So he just sat there, on the cold ground of the cave, holding Connor’s scarred hand. He waited it out with him, listening as Connor wept in agony as his body slowly healed itself. Lycanthropy did grant immortality and fast healing, but the process was agonizing and Ethan knew that it would be a rough few days. All he could do was promise Connor that he was safe, listening to the shallow gasps of pain and mantra of apologies that came from his friend.

It’s the beginning of a long shift for Crockett; fourteen hours of surgeries and consults and calming scared patients who often grab his hand and beg him to make promises it’ll be okay. He always does. Crockett fixes things, fixes people. He takes care of them. And this will be no different, he decides as he watches dark scrubs fall on such a well-sculpted form.

“Who’s he?” he asks Noah, leaning heavy on the counter and watching close. “Don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him yet.”

“That’s Dr. Choi. He’s kind of a hardass, but he does right by his patients.”

Doctor Choi, Crockett thinks, and stowes the name tight against his heart to fawn over when he has the blessing of laying in bed tonight and imagining what those hands would feel like on his body. They look strong and sure, capable, like they’ve done everything a thousand times and Dr. Choi is endlessly confident in their abilities. As he should be.

Crockett doesn’t approach him at first; he doesn’t want to do it until he knows it’s the right time, and he has a script planned out for what to say, and he’s had time to make sure it’s obvious how much he has to give. He’s always considered himself a giver, to be quite honest. He loves to take care of people. Cook for them, bathe them, hold them through the night. Wife him up, as his sister used to say when he would cook for the family and set steaming dishes at each place setting.

He should cook for Dr. Choi as an introduction, he decides. Something sweet, not savory, and easy to snack on when the days go long and it’s easy to forget to take care of oneself. Crockett could take care of him. He’d do a damn good job of it, too. Maybe his beignets? He doesn’t make them often enough. But then again, those are endlessly messy, and a hospital environment is one that really should be kept clean. Back to the drawing board. He needs to find the perfect treat, even if it kills him. And he certainly can’t ask anyone for advice. Too often, he’s had those he loves swept under him by someone who couldn’t stand to lose out to the little southern surgeon with a big heart and so much- perhaps too much- love to give.

That night he goes straight to the store for ingredients. He doesn’t bake enough. After a long time staring down the ten different brands of chocolate chips, he settles on making cookies. They’re a little generic, he must admit, but they’re easy and safe, and he’s willing to bet that Dr. Choi will like them. This is perfect, he just knows, and Dr. Choi probably won’t mind how cliche it is.

He tells himself that as he carefully makes the dough, measuring out the perfect amount of chocolate chips to make sure that each cookie is full but not overwhelmed. This is a science, in a way his usual cooking is more of an art. But he’s still amazing at it. And as his house fills with the scent of cookies baking, warm in the oven and flooding the space, he’s more excited than he thinks he’s been since he first dragged himself to Chicago and took the job at Med. Perhaps the day shift has its perks.

All in all, he makes three dozen, just to make sure there’s more than enough to bring Dr.Choi extras for a few days and gain his affection. Besides, he deserves a sweet treat himself, anyways. And maybe he’ll give one to Noah, ever the eager learner and sweet personality who makes Crockett feel just a bit more at home despite being brand new to the day shift.

The tin he brings to work in the morning is large, but they’re for a good cause. For Dr. Choi. He stowes them in his locker for safe keeping for the first few hours, waiting for him to come on shift, excited for the way his face will bloom in happiness when he tries the cookies. It’ll be perfect. 

Except when Dr. Choi comes in, he’s not alone. He’s holding hands with a man just a couple inches shorter, with bright blue eyes and a blinding smile and the most adoring look on his face. Crockett’s blood runs cold.

“Doctor Choi,” he says anyway, approaching with the tin of cookies. “You look like a man who could use a snack.”

“You can call me Ethan,” the doctor replies, and takes one. Immediately his face washes with pleasure, so expressive despite the fact that this is just one little treat given to him. “This is my boyfriend, Connor.”

“Crockett Marcel.”

He shakes Connor’s hand, cataloguing everything about him. He slouches a little. His handshake is firm but his palms soft. He seems a little soft around the edges in general; not someone who can take care of Ethan, not like Crockett can. He isn’t worthy, and yet he walks in holding his hand and looking like he’s owed the attention of someone so otherworldly. It makes Crockett angry. Ethan is his. He’d take care of him. He’d love him like he deserves. He’d give Ethan everything, and it’s an insult to them both that Connor dares to think he’s good enough.

It’s this exact moment that Crockett knows he can’t let this continue.  He can’t knowingly leave Ethan with someone who isn’t right for him. That’s cruel. Whatever it takes, Crockett will show Ethan what love is supposed to be like. It consumes you, and it cares for you, and it adores you. Love is not Connor’s chapped lips and restless rocking back and forth on his heels. 

Crockett doesn’t have a plan right away; certainly nothing complex enough to get Ethan to fully understand how much Crockett loves him and how good he would be for him, but he knows what has to happen first.

He’s going to have to get rid of Connor.

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