You barely have to think about the possibility before you're in fur, instinctive like ducking into cover at the sound of a shot. It takes a little longer to untangle yourself from your clothes, panicky at the constriction, with Erskin helping and soothe-licking you along the way. "Hi," you say sheepishly when you remember that communication is a thing.
"Hello," you say gently, "It's alright, shh," finishing up with his face and sniffing along his ruffled back. His fur's all tufty, half-bristled. You lick it smooth. When he's looking a little more steady on his paws you help him gather up his clothes in your teeth and drag them upstairs to his bedroom. You drop the clothes on the floor, grab a corner of the bed's blanket, and squeeze under the bed with it. You huff invitingly. With a figure as large as Bel squeezed in, the den under the bed is magnificently cozy and warm. It consists of a solid mass, composed of approximately 60% blanket and 39% friend-fluff. You squirm around until you've got just the tip of your nose sticking out for air, and sigh in satisfaction. "Bad dreams," you say, more a condemnation than a question. "D'you, er, want to talk about it?"
"I don't know," you say honestly. "It's heavy shit. You can probably kind of guess. Stuff that happened gets mixed up with stuff that could happen and it's a mess." You lick his cheek gratefully. "Gotta say, 'blanket den under the bed' is a lot more helpful than anything the counsellor at the VA suggested."
"Yes, well, you may not have noticed yet but I'm extremely intelligent and good at solving in addition to being beautiful," you tease him, biting at his muzzle. "Anyway a lot of my mother's side of the family have this sort of issue, the, mm, the stalking fear, most of them are, are, you know, the only ones left of their litters. The american south's got no end of guns, and of course our bloodline tends to come out looking rather a lot like coyotes, and then of course there's always those god-fearing fellows who get extra excited to come after us once we're properly identified." You lick his nose a few times, calming your own self down. "And that, pretty boy, is why I want you remembering to wear all those lovely bandannas we bought. Er, sorry if I just gave you one more thing to fret about."
"You kinda did. Jerk." You say this very affectionately. "Wish those God-fearing fellows had gone after the God-fearing fellows who ate my best friend. Instead of. You know. Any of the things that actually happened."
You give a big sigh. "That would be one of the few fucking times a werewolf hunter came in handy, wouldn't it. " It's a little too cramped to lean on him properly, but you give it your best go. "Have you had wakes for the dead?" you ask. "Settled their ghosts? I forget how funerary rites go in this part of the world, I'm sorry."
You sigh a negative. "The funerals were over before I got out of the hospital. I visited their graves but it didn't help much."
Your ears go back in distaste. "Fuck, I can't imagine why! Small wonder you've got them still chewing your heels. Listen, it's several months' travel off but there's no end of necromancers and mediums around Calgary, and a few of them are our sort of people, if you care to track into the mountains off west. If it's inside a year and a day of their passing we could arrange you lot a proper farewell." You add, a little reluctantly, but wanting to be honest, "New Orleans might be an easier trip."
"Why's it several months' travel? It's not like I don't have a passport, I can drive us into Canada, we could be in Calgary in two days." You're not sure how you feel about his idea, but fuck, if Murphy's spirit's unquiet because you couldn't save him -- or because you can't let him go -- then you owe it to him to try anything that might help.
You blink. "Oh, well, I hadn't thought of that. I was intending to go on foot, you know, and go visiting all along the way, so I would get to Alaska just when the ice was right and wouldn't have to wait around so long I got tempted to just go by ship again." You whuff to yourself, a little conflicted, and guilty that there's even a conflict. Bel's bereaved and all you care about is that you'll have to try to walk the strait next year. "I can see how important it is to you, though. So we can skip all that." It still feels strange to say. There's efficiency— and with the dead there's certainly time limits— but the notion of just jumping into a machine and being anywhere you want, as soon as you want, feels as wrong to you as ever.
It's remarkable how much of his thought process shows. You're not used to being able to read people, no matter how much you care about them. You put your paw over his -- a human gesture, but the wolf one isn't coming to you. "How about something in between. We work our way there, visiting along the way, but we do the long bits of distance in the truck. I still want to spend the full moon in the Boundary waters. Calgary -- we could drive to the city, put the truck in long-term parking at the airport, and do the asking-around on foot. That kind of thing."
"That would work," you say, immensely relieved, and lick his face all over. "It's— it just doesn't feel right, I'm sorry, even though I know I can't just— send you off with a map, to get there soon as you want." You put your snout between your chin and try to think of how to say it. "Look, a lot of it is, is just me, is just my preferences, I like nosing about. But some of it, some of these people, some of way you have to move about in this world is like... say you had a, what are they called, the mazes made with the bushes? And you got from one end to the other by driving straight there in your truck, just drove it right over all the bushes. You'd, you'd be where the endpoint was, then, when you got out of the vehicle, but you wouldn't be at the end of the maze. Does that make sense? Some of the places I'll need to take you, you have to— hff. Subject yourself to it. Agree with it, and all the inconvenience of it. Once you ignore the walls, there's no maze, and you can't navigate somewhere you aren't." You lick his ear. "So. So that's why. I don't think you can just go hop on a plane, and get off at some of these places, and actually be there in them. You've got to come through in the way they set out for you. A lot of the parts of the world that have to do with the dead are like that." A thought occurs. "Hey, you're already starting off from a hospital, aren't you? That's a good solid departure point for this sort of journey."
"You're my guide to this kind of thing," you say humbly. "I trust you. I know my journey's going to Alaska because of my mother, I knew that as soon as you said you were going there. I'm not a mystical type, but, well, we're obviously real. So. I'm going to keep reminding you that human conveniences and devices exist, but if you tell me no, we can't do it that way or it won't work, then that's that."
"Well, I appreciate that," you say. "I've certainly been enjoying— all this." You lick his face again. "Your dad's nice."
Your tail stirs the blankets. Face-licking just never gets old. "Yeah, he's a really good guy. He's the kind of person I want to be. When I notice myself being like him, I know I'm on the right track. I... want to tell him. Sooner or later. But as long as you're with me you get a say in it too. I'm not going to out you."
You shrug, uneasy but not unwilling. "He does seem to be forthright and honorable, yes. I'll think about it? I can always just get out of range. You don't suppose he'll be..." you search for the right word, "...horrified? Reject you?"
"I know he won't," you say confidently. "He might be confused or fussy, he might be upset because his worldview is getting challenged, but he'd never reject me."
"Yeah," you agree softly. "Thanks for being here, Erskin." You make a snuggling motion, though it's hardly possible to get closer, and close your eyes. You feel safe here, just for now, and you think you could sleep a little more.
The next morning Bel's shuffled to a more confident distance, curled up and self-sufficient, his tail under his chin. Pleased to be awake before him for once you trot downstairs, pull open the icebox, find the goose leftovers, and bring them back up to him. You lick the tip of his nose. "Hey, wake up, it's breakfast! Breakfast in bed. The height of decadence."
