Note: Hey! Damn, it's been a while since I posted. School finals and then not having a laptop for weeks will do that to you, apparently. Anyway, this is a oneshot I had lots of fun writing! Early in my werewolf Stan AU, someone on AO3 commented that it would be pretty cool if Stan managed to escape, and... well, you'll see. Thanks to the person who gave me this idea! Hope you all enjoy :)
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Stan was beginning to think that it was time to re-evaluate his life.
How many times did a guy have to chew his way out of something before coming to that conclusion? Twice, apparently. At least this time heâd had wolf fangs to back him up; the last time heâd chewed his way out of a sticky situation he hadnât even had that.
Heâd been so desperate for so long to just do what Pa had ordered. Make millions, prove to everyone that he wasnât just a failure, be welcomed back home. But â it was never gonna be enough, was it? He may as well stop living in a fantasy world.
Fuck getting rich and being accepted back into his family, Stan just wanted to sleep in a bed. He wondered idly if this backwater town was hiring waiters or something. Didnât need high school credentials or a valid ID to be a waiter, right? Sure the pay was shit and there was no hope of getting rich enough to make Pa happy, but he might be able to afford a cheap motel or something.
Not that Stan looked like prime employee material right now. When heâd first stumbled into this diner the waitress had looked like she was expecting him to either rob the place or drop down dead in front of her. Now it seemed like her suspicion had given way to pity because she placed a slice of pie in front of him alongside the coffee heâd ordered.
âItâs on the house.â
Hey, heâd take what he could get.
Stan dug into his pie, groaning happily at the warmth seeping through his mouth. The pleasure of eating actual food was slightly marred by the ache in his jaw. He winced and poked at his teeth with his tongue, checking out the damage. All things considered? Not bad. It probably wouldnât take more than a few weeks to heal the worst of the damage. Hey, werewolf perks.
Luckily Stan had only needed to break the lock of Fordâs cage to escape â if heâd tried chewing through the bars he wasnât sure he would have any teeth left at the end of it. He wasnât sure what he would have done if there had been heavier security. Heâd managed to break himself out before shifting into human form to unlatch the shed door, limping into the woods as quickly as he could while the night still hung heavy and quiet. Heâd finally found his car and gunned it until he ended up in this dump, a town a few miles away. Sitting in this booth was the first time heâd rested since getting out of there and he was beginning to realize that everything hurt.
The whole ânearly-beaten-to-deathâ thing wasnât new to Stan, but that didnât make in pleasant. From the pain in his chest he was pretty sure at least one rib was broken. Peering at his reflection in a spoon revealed that he was also covered in a myriad of ugly black, brown and yellow bruises like a patchwork blanket â a patchwork blanket with a mullet. Ugh. He put the spoon back to its original purpose of scooping pie, so he didnât have to look at his reflection anymore.
Also, he couldnât remember hurting his neck, but he must have somehow because a spot on the back of it was tender and swollen. When Stan reached up to feel it there was a little lump. Maybe he could get some ice for that to bring the swelling down? Nah, no use when his whole face looked like a discoloured turnip.
He wolfed down (haha, wolfed) the last of his sad little meal and felt around in his pockets for spare change. He could just finish his coffee and run, but that would make a pretty bad first impression and he was still hoping to get hired. On the other hand, this coffee was expensive as shit and Stan could probably buy himself a cheap burger or something with the cash tomorrow. Would it be better to make a good impression, stick around in this town and look for work, or steal now and search for another place?
He gulped down a mouthful of scalding, bitter coffee. It was way better than lapping lukewarm water from a metal bowl. Upgrades, people. Upgrades.
The door gave a stupidly cheerful jingle that Stan resented â partly on principle, and partly because who the fuck goes to a diner at three in the morning? (Except for Stan, because he was pathetic, and of course the waitress. At least she got paid to be there.) Stan took another sip of his drink and glanced across to get a look at the other sad sack who had just come in.
Because holy shit that was Ford standing in the doorway, staring right back at him.
Fordâs glasses were askew and his hair mussed, like a man who had recently crawled out of bed. How the hell was he there? Stan had barely left an hour ago! He coughed and thumped at his chest to encourage his stupid lungs to start breathing again.
Fordâs eyes travelled down to some machine doohickey he was holding, and then back up to Stan. A frown flashed across his features.
Stan tried to speak but it came out as a wheeze. He cleared his throat and tried again.
âUh â Ford. Didnât â um â didnât think Iâd run into you here.â
Ford walked over and slid into the booth across from Stan, eyes scanning him. The intense gaze made Stan shrink back into his seat and cough uncomfortably. Well, at least Ford had no reason to believe that Stan was the werewolf he was missing?
âAre you some kind of â werewolf?â Ford demanded.
Stan schooled his expression into a grin, trying to ignore the thundering of his heart pounding against his chest. âWerewolf? Psh, Ford, you know those donât exist.â
Ford rolled his eyes at Stanâs forced nonchalance. âStanley, please. I tagged you with a tracker, I know itâs you.â
Well, Ford kinda had him there.
âWait, wait wait wait â you chipped me?â Stan hissed. Ford only nodded to himself with self-satisfaction. Stan cursed and reached up to scratch at that tiny lump in his neck, wincing as his fingers prodded tender flesh. Damn. He should have noticed earlier and clawed it out.
And now Ford was watching him with that calculating stare. Stan stared back defiantly, swallowing down the growl that bubbled up in his chest. He would not be out-stared, dammit.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â
Fordâs question broke the frigid silence. Stan blinked.
Ford pressed on. âWhy didnât you tell me what you were? Who you were? Hell, this entire mess could have been avoided if youâd just-â
âOh, so itâs my fault, is it?â Stan couldnât bite down a hint of a growl, and he took pleasure in seeing his brotherâs eyes widen at the low rumble.
ââŠI didnât say that.â
âMay as well have.â Calm down, he had to calm down. He couldnât afford to lose his cool in front of people. Of course, it would have been easier to control himself if he wasnât exhausted and aching all over and starving and shivering and afraid and so so angry. The gritting of his teeth was already becoming awkward around sharp canines and the beginnings of a large, lolling tongue. He had to get out of there now.
â-back to my house.â Ford was continuing. How long had he been speaking for? âYou could be a danger to yourself and others in this state.â
âIâm fine.â Stan stood up roughly. Thank god the waitress had ducked into the kitchen for something â she wouldnât be monitoring to make sure he paid. And as an added bonus she also wouldnât see the inhuman gleam of his irises. He yanked his hood over his head just to be sure and stalked for the door.
âNeed I remind you that you attacked a man just yesterday?â Ford followed him relentlessly. Stan shouldered through the door and his dirty boots crunched in the thin layer of snow outside. Fat flakes spiraled down around him and stung his face as he stomped to his car, Ford in fast pursuit.
Ugh, the snow muffled the sounds around him so all he could hear were the sounds of two bodies, magnified and echoing â harsh breathing and the pounding of blood in his ears, crunching of footsteps behind him and the minute scrape of fabric brushing against itself in movement. The sensation of being followed made him shiver, made every muscle in his tired body tense.
Itâs just Ford. Not some rando. He wonât hurt you, calm down. Focus on the moment, Ford is talking to you.
âNo.â Stan snapped out. âNo, I attacked his fucking dog. Heâs the one who tried to bash my skull in.â
Footsteps behind him brought to mind a similar sound. Footsteps crunching in snow as the person followed him when he tried to crawl away. He could still see the burly figure looming over him. Red, red hair and red, red blood on his own pelt-
His breaths came quick and fast, gulps of frigid air. Ford was speaking to him loudly but the words all blurred together. A hand reached for him and Stan jerked away.
His voice rumbled with a low growl and Stan cursed to himself, claws digging into his own bicep as he tried to force the Shift away. Now was not the time to have a breakdown. He was supposed to be in control, goddammit!
But the urge to Shift sat heavy in his chest, almost an ache. Shifting made him safe, because shifting made him dangerous, and nothing can hurt you if you hurt it first and every cell in his body was screaming for him to run away-
Stan didnât realize heâd sunk to his knees until he felt the snow soaking through his pant legs. Burning, biting cold. Pain radiated from his arm, too â his claws had slid under the skin of his arm and sent pain stinging through him. But the pain was good, it kept him grounded.
âShut. Up.â Stan growled out. Ford shut up.
Deep breath in, deep breath out, forcing his lungs to expand and contract. Slowly the Shift settled itself, claws shrinking into dirty nails and fangs becoming blunt and fur (when had the fur appeared?) receding into skin.
Stan ran his tongue over his teeth to ensure that they were wholly human once again. The fluctuation between states hadnât helped their aching â his gums throbbed and he could taste blood.
âOooookay.â He pulled in another deep breath and let it out slowly. âAlright. Iâm good.â
Ugh, the snow was soaking through his pants. Stan pulled himself up and tried dusting the white powder off, but his body heat had already caused it to melt into the fabric. He cursed.
ââŠare you okay?â Ford finally said.
A glance at Fordâs face showed equal amounts of wariness and concern. Which, hey, Stan didnât think that his brother would be concerned about him, so that was a nice surprise.
âŠbut there was also the possibility that he was just worried Stan would go apeshit and tear him to pieces. That would make more sense.
âYouâre fine, Iâm not dangerous or anything unless I wanna be.â Stan waved a hand. âJust my Shifting acting up. Funnily enough, itâs hard to not slip into danger mode when youâve been locked in a cage for hours on end! Funny how that happens, huh?â
Ford had the grace to look a little guilty. He reached to take Stanâs arm, then hesitated before his fingers made contact. ââŠlook. Can I at least take you home? You shouldnât be driving in this state.â
Stan had to suppress a laugh. Sure, take the homeless man home. That had to be some kind of paradox, right? He spat a glob of blood into the snow to clear his throat before responding. âNo need, Iâm fine.â
Ford was staring at him in horror now. Stan blinked.
âWhy didnât you tell me you were badly injured? You could have internal bleeding!â Ford shrilled, making Stan take a step back and laugh nervously.
âSeriously, Iâm fine, I just broke a couple teeth on the-â
âYou broke a couple -â Ford spluttered. âIâm taking you to the hospital right now.â
âI donât need to go to the-â
âWe are going to the hospital now!â
âŠyou know what? Stanâs day couldnât get any weirder. He shrugged.
Ford grabbed him by the arm and started towing him through the car park, Stan trying not to limp as he followed. From Fordâs worried cluck he didnât do a very good job.
âArenât you gonna, like, try to study me or whatever?â Stan managed as he was pushed into a car. Ford dropped into the driverâs seat.
âOf course I am, Iâve never seen a werewolf before, but that will be after I know my brother isnât dying!â
ââŠfair enough. Can I pick the music?â
