Canine shifter!Dennis who grew up being told that shifters are inherently sinful, are demons that walk in the earth. Dennis, who shifts for the first time in the quiet of the barn in the dead of night and knows that if anyone in Broken Bow finds out about him he'll be ostracized or killed so he keeps it a secret while praying every day to be "cured" of his disease.
And so he shifts only when it becomes physically painful not to, and always out of sight of anyone else. He manages to graduate high school, and then college without anyone finding out. He starts med school and meets other shifters who seem... comfortable with who they are. Proud even. But not Dennis. He knows that being a shifter is a death sentence for him, even if it isn't for these other people.
When Dennis is called home for the summer to help with the farm, he doesn't think twice about it. He returns to Broken Bow and keeps his head low until one night, a rustling on the front porch wakes him up, and apparently his father as well. The two of them are greeted with a fawn, splay legged on the wooden beams of the porch, panting and scrambling against the slick surface. Before their eyes, they watch as the fawn shifts into a young girl. Dennis' heart lurches as he hears his father rack the shotgun in his hands, the barrel coming up in his peripheral vision as his father recites verses from the Bible.
It's instinct rather than conscious decision that causes Dennis to shift right then, leaping at his father and knocking the gun out of his hands. Dennis doesn't hurt him, no he would never- he's still his father. He just meant to distract him for long enough for the girl to get away. And he did, the tell-tale white flag of a retreating white-tailed deer fading into the forest across the field.
But now, he's on his own. His father wrangles Dennis onto his back, and he feels the cold metal of the shotgun’s muzzle against his belly. He knows he only has one option. He throws himself away from the gun and across the porch, leaping off as soon as he’s on all four paws. He hears the shot gun go off, and somewhere in his mind registers the searing pain in one of his ears where the edge of the cone of bird shot clipped him.
And so Dennis runs. He spends more time as a dog than a human as he flees, riding in open train cars for as long as he can before being spotted. It's been months, maybe even a year at this point. It gets harder and harder to shift back into being a human; his body knows that it's safer for him in his canine form, his reflexes are quicker, his senses sharper. It's those traits that allow him to hear the group gathered around the park benches before he sees them.
It's late, the sun had gone down hours ago. The darkness didn't faze Dennis anymore, it was easier to move in the dark, especially in the city. The park he was in had been a nice reprieve from the cement and asphalt of the rest of the city- Pittsburgh, if the ambulances and cop cars were to be believed. The group had settled down onto the park benches, passing cans of beer around as they decompressed.
Dennis couldn't help himself as he laid in the shadows, watching as he laid his head on his paws. They looked exhausted, but there were smiles too. Laughter. His heart ached; he hadn't felt that closeness, that friendliness with another living creature since he had started running. It was too dangerous.
Dennis was startled out of his thoughts as he realized that the group had broken up, and two of the men were walking his way. He scrambled up from his spot under a nearby tree and weaseled his way under a bush.
There was nothing particularly stand out about the men that passed him, but Dennis swore that the taller man's kind eyes had locked with his as they walked by. He felt his heart thumping in his chest and for some inexplicable reason, found himself slinking down the path behind them.
"I think we have a stalker," the shorter man whispered to the taller man, casting a glance back at where Dennis was pressed to the ground following them from a distance. He froze as the taller man turned to look as well.
"Well shit," the taller one said, crouching down and looking directly at Dennis before making a clicking sound. "C'mere pup. What're you doin' out here?"
Dennis slinked forward, his tail wagging behind him out of his control. There was something about the kindness in the man's eyes, in his voice that made Dennis think maybe, maybe, he could trust him.
When he approached, the man stuck his hand out for Dennis to sniff. He smelt sharp and metallic; Dennis recognized the smell of blood underneath antiseptic from his days of med school. It made sense, the entire group had walked out of what Dennis assumed to be a hospital about an hour before hand.
Dennis licked at the man’s hand tentatively, earning a grin and a scratch behind the ear.
“He doesn't have a collar,” the taller one mused as the short man approached cautiously, extending a hand to Dennis as well.
“Probably a stray,” the shorter one responded.
“Looks too well kept to be a stray. We should call the shelter, see if anyone's missing him.”
“Or,” there was a lopsided smirk on the short man’s face as he set a hand on the other man’s shoulders, “We bring him home for the night and call in the morning.”
The taller man sighed, looking up from where he was knelt down. “You have a serious savior complex, Abbot.”
The shorter man, Abbot, laughed before pulling out a bag of something that made Dennis’ mouth water. He stood up slowly, inching his way closer as the man took a piece of beef jerky out of the bag.
Dennis could have screamed. Yes! He was starving. The last meal he had was a pizza crust from the dumpster this morning.
Abbot offered up the piece of beef jerky and Dennis took it as gently as possible before moving back a bit and scarfing it down. He didn't see Abbot hand the bag off to the other man while beginning to dig through his back pack.
Soon enough, Dennis was being led through the streets of Pittsburgh with a rope tied loosely around his neck while the taller man - Mikey, he had deduced - snuck him pieces of beef jerky. And then, they were walking up porch stairs and into a warmly lit house.
Mikey bathed Dennis and wrapped him in a towel, cooing at him while taking pictures of him wrapped up. It should've been embarrassing to have these men dote on him - he was a twenty seven year old man for God’s sake. But Dennis just felt warm. Cared for in a way that he hadn't felt for long before he had run from the farm.
Abbot had given him a bowl of water and some white rice, which he devoured gratefully. His eagerness had made Abbot chuckle and ruffle the fur between his ears. It felt nice.
He was put into the guest bedroom and Dennis couldn't help the sigh that left him as the door clicked shut. He'd have to escape tomorrow somehow - he couldn't let them bring him to the shelter. But for the night, he could hop onto the bed and curl up with the heaps of kindness he'd been given.
“I'm gonna check on our guest,” Robby sighed, untangling himself from his husband. The bright light of the sun shone through the gaps in the dark curtains as the morning dragged on. "Probably take him outside to go to the bathroom before we call the shelter.”
Jack made a noncommittal noise, not releasing his grip on Robby until the other man pinched at the skin below his arm pit.
“Ow. Asshole.” Jack grumbled, turning over and taking the blankets with him.
Robby laughed, shaking his head as he made his way across the hall to the guest room. He opened the door slowly, expecting the muzzle of their little stow-away to peak out at him as he cracked it open.
Instead, he was met with a person. A boy, specifically, sprawled out on the guest bed where Robby had left the stray the night before. The door creaked slightly, causing the boy to jolt awake, immediately locking eyes with Robby as he frantically tried to cover himself up.
“Oh- oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. I swear- I can explain,” the boy stuttered.
Robby blinked at the situation in front of him as he felt the familiar warmth of Jack behind him.
“Huh, well this is an unexpected turn of events.”
Robby nodded half-heartedly, his eyes fixed on the boy in his guest bedroom. “That… that is an understatement.”
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