#tbohn

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t quite the golden rule. It wasn’t even technically part of the Litany anymore, more of a general guideline for members of Broad Brook, but it had been the one that made the biggest impression on the teenage boy - hopped up on rage and puberty as he was. He’d thought that was funny. Werewolves are real, he’d thought to himself, vampires and witches and ghosts are real. Gaia is being destroyed by malignant forces of eternal destruction and he was supposed to fix it with his anger management issues, and there was a rule that was like a real world counterpart to that viral YouTube video about a world where straight people are the minority. Would a straight werewolf technically count as a diversity hire?

Haha. Funny werewolves and their funny rules. He had bigger things to worry about than women, he had a world to save.

Less funny now. Less funny when he’d spent the last several years in a kind of self imposed isolation (first because he was fed up with how the Silver Fangs treated Bone Gnawers and then, later, because his whole pack was dead) and, consequently, could barely remember the last time someone had touched him gently. Less funny when you were throwing him a shirt and helping him fix the buttons and your sheer proximity made his skin tingle and his knees get so weak that he’d nearly fallen into your arms. Less funny when you were pulling on your clothes after shifting back into human form, still half covered in monster blood, and he couldn’t stop looking at the way the moonlight caressed the curve of your thighs.

No, it turns out that twenty year-old Patrick Hodge found the whole deal a whole lot less humorous than his dumbass teen self had.

He watched you as you worked, ignoring the prickly, uncomfortable aching in his chest as his wolf howled to be let out. You hated this stupid little coffee shop but it helped you make enough money for the pack to get by and your boss gave them yesterday’s pastries for free, so you stuck it out. The fluorescent lights would’ve been unflattering on anyone else but, as Podge was quickly learning, you were the exception. Your hair shone, your smile was radiant and warm. You looked like any other student working a part time job in a shitty town, but you were so much more than that. He could almost see the wolf beneath your skin, all tawny fur and bright yellow eyes, faster than the wind with senses no one in the pack could hope to match. You were a creature of power and rage and no one in this dingy little fucking place even knew it. It was a tragedy.

Ug, look at him, getting all poetic and patriotic over a girl. He was so fucked.

Nin elbowed him in the ribs, “You’re staring again, Podge.”

“Am not,” he replied, wincing but not looking away.

“You are, and it’s getting pathetic,” Melodie chimed in, twisting a thick lock of her auburn hair around her finger as she scanned the cafe for threats.

He fought back the urge to snarl, tearing his eyes away and focussing them on Melodie, “Okay Mrs Harvest King, considering that, without me, you would be food for an evil spirit by now, I’d be careful who you call pathetic.”

Melodie’s rage flared and she leaned forward but, before she could snap at him, Elton intervened.

“That’s enough of that, I think,” he said, always the voice of reason, “if you two act up, Pembe might fire Y/N and then we’d all be screwed. She and I are the only two members of this pack with steady employment, if you’ll recall.”

Podge and Melodie protested half-heartedly, unwilling to give Elton the impression that he was winning the argument but also unable to counter his logic. Nin chuckled, enjoying the show. Podge leaned back in his seat and tried to not be conspicuous.

“Seriously though,” Melodie eventually said, her tone more even as she looked at Podge with clear sincerity, “you know you can never go there, right?”

“Why? Because of the Litany?” he countered with his usual mocking tone, always more comfortable letting Melodie think he was an idiot who didn’t care rather than risking being truthful with her, “Some old men from a billion years ago said I can’t fuck my roommate?”

Melodie rolled her eyes. Elton sighed as though just being near Podge was draining him. Even Nin shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“You know that’s not it,” Melodie said, “there are reasons why Garou don’t get involved with other Garou.”

“Kathrine and Elton got involved,” he reminded her, idly wondering why he was pushing this at all considering he kind of agreed with her.

The truth was, he understood and had always abided by the rule, even when others had decided that the risk was worth the reward. His logic was as follows; Patrick Hodge was an ahroun - a warrior amongst a race of warriors - his rage was always closer to the surface than it was with others of his kind. While theurges and philodoxes and galliards could probably get all emotionally wound up in one another without tooooo much issue, the risk was just higher with him. It had always been higher. It would always be higher, so he’d turned his gaze from his fellow wolves and focussed on the human world, for all the good that did.

Still, he watched you wiping down a counter with your hair brushing the back of your neck and he wanted. All he seemed to do these days was want you and want you and try to stop wanting you and end up wanting you more. He had kind of hoped that living together might quash his ridiculous little crush but that hadn’t worked. The more he saw of you, the more time he spent by your side, the more he wanted. What was worse is that he was fairly sure you felt the same. A silly little unrequited fondness he could handle but when your eyes lingered on his chest for just a second too long, or when you went out of your way to make sure he was alright after a fight….well, werewolves aren’t exactly known for their patience and restraint.

“Katherine and I are - were - both theurges,” Elton chimed in.

“You and the cub are both ahrouns,” Melodie continued, “do I really need to tell you what a colossally bad idea it would be for two hot headed murder machines who live together to throw sex into the mix?”

No, she didn’t.

“Yeah, maybe I do,” he prodded, sitting forward in his chair again and locking eyes with Melodie, “please, oh great and wise Silver Fang, educate this poor ignorant Bone Gnawer on the error of his lustful ways.”

Melodie pursed her lips. Nin let out a burst of laughter and even Elton had to hide a snort. The room started to close in on them. Podge could feel his beast’s claws scraping against his ribs, the rage simmering just beneath the surface just itching for an excuse to come out. Melodie could feel it too. She could sense the bait and, judging by the battle in her eyes, was fighting hard to not rise to it. But, she was a philodox and he had just asked her to explain a rule to him. What was a Garou to do?

“Well, first off, you would destroy that little cabin you two stay in.” she started.

He shrugged, “It’s a piece of shit anyway.”

“Second, she’s a cub so I’m pretty sure that would make you some sort of predator. She doesn’t even have a tribe yet. You might influence her and stifle her spiritual growth.”

“She’s five months younger than me,” Podge countered, rolling his eyes, “and she’s been talking to North Wind and Stag already. No chance of me poaching her over to Rat.

Elton frowned, “North Wind and Stag? Strange pairing. I would have thought she’d go with Gorgon as her back up.”

“Yeah, well, she’s full of surprises,” he said, cringing at how obviously proud and fond he sounded.

Melodie crossed her arms and leaned back, triumphantly, “Plus you might accidentally kill her.”

Ah.

“Or, she might accidentally kill you,” Melodie allowed, “the point being, with so much rage in one house, the two of you are already one bad day away from double homicide.”

Podge picked at his napkin, hating the sickly feeling her words brought up in him, “We don’t fight.”

“Now.” she corrected, sensing victory, “Because you’re roommates. Roommates don’t fight. Couples fight. Couples who are hopped up on rage and battle adrenaline fight hard, and often. Can you say with absolute certainty you wouldn’t end up ripping one another apart?”

He gave her a annoyed look, “Fuck you, Silver Fang.”

“So, no,” she replied correctly.

“So what’s your solution then?” he pressed, unwilling to back down, his wolf urging him to bite back harder, “We just inflict ourselves on regular people who have no chance of fighting back when we do lose our shit?”

Something shifted in Melodie’s eyes, subtle but unmistakable. Was that grief?

She sniffed, tightening her arms over her chest and forcing an air of nonchalance, “The only honorable thing we can do is remove ourselves from the equation entirely.”

“Suicide?” Elton asked incredulously.

Melodie shot him a disgusted look, “The romance equation, Elton, obviously.”

Nin shrugged, “I kind of thought you meant suicide as well.”

“Thank you, Nin,” Elton replied, vindicated.

The tension loosened its hold. The wolf simmered down as Podge felt a rush of something uncomfortable, like pity, flood through him. Melodie was steadfastly avoiding eye contact with him, focussing on the passing humans instead, but he could see the tension in her. So that’s what Melodie believed. He thought of her alone in the earthen barrows, tending the bones of her dead family, removing herself from the equation. It wasn’t quite an admission of anything, but it showed the Silver Fang in a new, clearer light and he had to admit, he felt a little bad for her.

“I guess we know why you’re so damn uptight now,” Podge finally said, injecting lightness into his tone, “you need to get laid.”

She didn’t smile, but it was a close thing, “Fuck you, Bone Gnawer.”

Just then, you appeared at the table, stopping by to collect empty plates and mugs and steal a few moments of conversation. Embarrassingly, Podge felt his heart leap into his throat and he straightened up in his seat like an excited dog. You noticed, which would have been mortifying if it didn’t make you smile fondly at him. Podge flushed with warmth. He would endure almost any embarrassment for that smile.

“You guys playing nice?” she asked, “The customers got a little antsy there for a second.”

“Just a friendly debate,” Melodie assured, “the value of the Litany, our relationship to the mortal world, you know how it is.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes sympathetically, “Don’t get me started, my day’s been shit enough already. Are you guys heading out?”

You transferred the big black tray you were carrying to your hip and rested your hand on Podge’s shoulder absentmindedly. It was nothing, a casual gesture of comfort. If you had been standing next to Nin or Elton you probably would have done the same. Still, he practically vibrated with pleasure. Fuck, he needed to spend time with people more. He didn’t used to be like this.

His packmates clocked the change in his energy with varying levels of disapproval, but you seemed oblivious.

“In a moment,” Elton replied, “we were just finishing up a chat.”

You nodded, giving his shoulder a squeeze as you made to move away, “Well, I’ll see you for dinner this weekend, yeah?”

The others made various sounds of agreement and he felt you relax as you headed back to work. Weak to his own impulses, Podge followed you with his eyes, his skin still tingling.

Melodie cleared her throat.

“Seriously, Podge, be careful.”

“I think they should go for it,” Nin replied.

Podge tried not to look too surprised. He didn’t usually have much support from within the pack other than you. It was a nice change. Melodie and Elton gave the younger woman incredulous looks.

“Seriously, Nin?” Melodie asked, “What reason could you possibly have for supporting this?”

Nin shrugged, sipping the dregs of her ice coffee, “Seems like the simplest answer. All your worries are more about the risk of emotional entanglements than physical entanglements and, if we’re honest, they’re already pretty entangled.”

“Wha-”

“No we’-”

“Nin-”

Nin turned to Podge, interrupting, “Y/N’s coworker is hitting on her. He’s asked her to dinner this weekend and she’s laughing and leaning into his chest and he’s threading his fingers through her hair so that he can kiss her ne-”

“Stop it,” Podge snarled, feeling a lick of rage so hot and visceral that the people at the next table got up to leave.

His packmates all felt the spike, their own wolves flaring up in a desire to join him in his anger. Nin smiled triumphantly.

“See? Forcing them to keep their clothes on won’t stop either of them from lashing out if they don’t keep themselves in check. We just have to trust that they know themselves and their limits better than we do.”

It was a good point. Nin was actively being supportive of him and yet it took all of Podge’s remaining self control to keep from lashing out. This was the problem with werewolves. No matter how good they tried to be, the monster was always right there, ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice.

He thought about the night he’d met you.

The flames radiating off the Sullivan house. His blood thrumming with the promise of violence, his senses sharpened by the wolf as he runs through the plan in his head. Lots of moving pieces. Lots of potential for disaster. Podge must ensure Sullivan pays for the damage he has done to the earth. No chance for redemption. Sullivan must die.

New smells. Enemies? Conspirators? No, old cigarettes and paper - friend! - Elton-of-Broad-Brook smell. Someone else - Garou. Unknown. Green apples and fresh dirt. Copper-iron-metal of blood. Pastries and coffee - perfectly brewed. Home.

Something stirs in the pit of his stomach, tingling like the electric buzz of wire. He throws himself into the Sullivan house without a second thought. Elton-Shadow Lord slips around the house. New Garou - female, follows behind Podge. Cannot allow distractions.

He rips into Sullivan’s guards, feeling the rush of savage pleasure that always came with a fight. This is what he was born to do. This is the job his selfish hands were built to accomplish. Let some other wolf be responsible for saving Gaia. He would slay her enemies and be content.

Movement to his left. The new Garou - apples-coffee-blood-dirt. He can smell her joy. No fear. No hesitation. She joins him in the slaughter and he wants to howl his appreciation and they are alive. Perfect synchronicity. She hasn’t transformed fully, but she moves like lightning. A guard shoots at his exposed ribs. Brace for pain. Warm arm around his waist. Apples-coffee-blood-dirt. She moves him. He lets her.

The first sound he hears her make is a gasp of pain as the bullet pierces her shoulder in Podge’s place.

He sighed, the anger leaching out of him in a rush. He could feel his packmates staring, he could feel their discomfort and concern. Podge wasn’t normally the most emotionally expressive member of their little pack and, indeed, he was only being as open as he was now out of desperation. Even he could recognize that he was in over his head, unsure which of his waring impulses was the coward and which was his true desires.

Elton leaned in, his brow furrowed with concern, “Come on, bro. Just tell us what’s nagging at you.”

“How do I know if the way-” he sighed, wiping his hand over his face with frustration as the words slipped away, “fuck-man. I don’t want to rip her fucking face off, alright? But Nin’s not wrong, I’m in too fucking deep now to just ignore it. And Nin’s all ‘oh, trust that you know your limits’, but what if I don’t? I’ve never been with another Garou, I don’t know.”

“Do you feel angrier when you’re together?” Elton asked simply.

Podge shot him an incredulous look, “No. Obviously not, she’s the best.”

“Well, there you go.”

“But you’ve seen how we are when we fight together,” Podge countered, “it’s carnage.”

“So you share a hobby,” Elton replied, “There are worse things than being a good team, you know?”

Something hopeful fluttered in the pit of his stomach and he looked over to you thoughtfully. You were working at the register now, taking customer’s orders with a polite smile. He let himself imagine what it might be like if he could just walk up and kiss your cheek.

“Plus, you’ve already asked her out,” Nin chimed in.

Ah, fuck.

Melodie’s mouth opened, “You did what?”