"My dad has been a one man army since before you were a one man anything," you point out, but you're scared too. It's one thing to know he gets up to all sorts of dangerous things, all the time, and another to know he's out there right now, fighting off whatever organization nearly killed your Bel and Pancho. Oh, plural possessive. That's new. You put your chin on Bel's chest and regard her. "You're my sister," you say, this particular aspect of the situation falling on you all at once. She's certainly inherited the family line's dramatic tri-color patterning, dark cape and bright bib and profoundly saturated ears and everything, even down to the leg stripes and tail spot. Everything about her, paws to whiskers, says 'family'. "Weird."
"So weird," Pancho agrees. "I'm seeing double," you say. "What happened?" "I'd like to know too," your dad says, "But let's prioritize. Do I need to be trying to find an emergency vet?" "Good point. How messed up are you guys?" "I've got blood in my lung still but I'm pretty sure it's closed up," Pancho says. "Lycanthropy: good for what ails ya." "Jesus god," you mutter.
You don't exactly want to fess up to Bel— Pancho can report it, Pancho has already apparently forgiven you, and you are not so principled that you won't hide behind a lady. "I've still got the bullet in my leg," you announce. "Arm. Above the elbow. Shattered everything pretty well, feels like. One of you lot with hands, if you could get it out, I'd be obliged, it currently hurts like an absolute motherfucker. I don't think we should be going to a vet, any of us, I think we should be staying right here where there aren't any maniac exterminators running around trying to put more holes in us."
You translate, and add, "I agree." Erskin's mirror image gives an affirmative huff. "So does Pancho. No civilians. If they'd shoot at folks in a public park, they'd shoot a veterinarian. Or impersonate one. Or take one hostage." Dad thinks it through, and gives a slow nod. "I only have first aid training, I'm not confident of getting a bullet out of nonhuman anatomy without making things worse. Maybe we should wait for Reginald. Do you think he'd do a better job?" That at Erskin.
You shake your head. "He's not getting his hands back, the moon's too close, and today was too hard. He's changed, like Bel and— and, er, Pancho, so he could have held out till the night of, but it's hell getting back. Especially after this sort of, er, event." You lick your nose doubtfully. "He might manage if he really tried, but I wouldn't want to ask him over something like this. Just get some tweezers and fish around in there, I'll bite a pillow." At getting looks ranging from dubious to appalled, you huff through your whiskers and elaborate: "It's silver, I can feel it. Take a fucking axe to the hole and it'll do less damage than just leaving the damn thing in any longer than it has to be. Fucking take the whole limb off and sew it back on, just get it out, it hurts." As an afterthought, you add, "And don't fucking shave me again. My ass already looks like a bad lawn, I don't need that now."
You take a deep breath and reach for Mission Mode. Try to see Dad as a teammate rather than a protector/authority, try to see Erskin as a teammate rather than your darling boy whom you want to protect. Seeing Pancho as a teammate isn't hard, of course, you've been down that road before. When you snap out of deferring to your dad, you notice he's twitchy, keeps glancing at the door or turning his head like he's listening. He's thinking about all the big plate glass windows on the ground floor, you realize. He's thinking about how locking the door basically does jack shit to keep someone out of this house if they don't mind making noise. And -- "I don't know if Aspera can ring the doorbell. Maybe you should watch for him, and keep an eye on the downstairs. Tell you what, bring me the bag from on the chair there, and Pancho can talk me through getting the bullet out of Erskin's leg." Dad nods decisively and hands you Pancho's doctor bag. "Stay away from the windows," he cautions, and goes out, taking Logan's leash on the way. Logan resists, looking back into the room, but Pancho says, "Go with him, baby. Go patrol. Watch for bad guys." And the dog gives a proud tail wag and goes, head high. "Right," you sigh, rummaging in the bag. "Promise you'll forgive me if I give you a really weird scar."
"If you carve a cock on my arm I will probably break up with you," you tell him frankly. "If you just do your initials I suppose I could let you off with a warning. Which pillow can we sacrifice?" Fluffy victim selected, you fold it in half and chomp. Thus secured against taking anyone's face off by reflex, you wag your tail bravely at them to give the go-ahead.
"Okay, Pancho, tell me what to do." When she doesn't reply right away, you have a panicky moment thinking she's passed out, and you're going to have to try to do some kind of emergency lifesaving medical thing while lying in bed and fighting your own exhaustion. But it turns out she's just thinking. "Put a folded towel under it, it's gonna bleed," she says. "Then you want the scalpel case, local anaesthetic, bottle of disinfectant, gauze, forceps, sutures... lay it all out before you start." She's good at explaining, and you're good at following instructions. By the time you're actually digging for the bullet, you feel like your hands are just an extension of her will. She licks Erskin's ears soothingly between sentences. With the lidocaine numbing most of the area, he only chews the pillow and whines when you get well in there, and it doesn't take long. You set the bloody bullet on the towel so you can all see and deplore it, then let Pancho walk you through cleaning the wound and closing it up. Your hands are shaking pretty badly by the time you're done with the sutures. "Sorry, it's crooked," you mutter as you fall back in exhaustion. "But it's closed. Pancho, do you need...?" "No, I'm not even bleeding anymore," she says. She licks your hand. Then she licks Erskin's stitches. "Good job, both of you." You dig your fingers into the thick fur of Erskin's ruff and smile.
"First change," you mumble, thumping your tail. "Don't expect to shrug off a killing shot so handily next time. But. Pretty good, isn't it? You just watch, we'll all be down for breakfast tomorrow." You lick your own stitches. It tastes terrible. "Wrap everything in that towel and dump it over the side of the bed," you command. "I need cuddles. You too, sergeant." You're lying on your side, so you can't even paw at her with your good foreleg, but you get your mouth over her snout for a good hold and figure that gets the point across. You desperately want to huddle up and feel safe, even for just a few minutes.
You obey clumsily, ignoring Pancho's grumbly noise when her bag hits the floor. Then you scoot down a little so you can get an arm around each of them and bury your face in their fur. "I'm having a hard time not changing," you admit. "But I feel like I should keep having a trigger finger until the danger's past." "Just another hour or two," Pancho guesses. "Either we'll be neck-deep in cops, or y'all's dads will have called in the cavalry, or both." "Tell me what happened. I mean, I have a guess. But tell me anyway." Pancho bleps at you. "What do you think, genius? I got shot, he changed me, I'm not dead. S'all good."
"I'd love you to be back in fur with me, but we really need you to play translator for your dad as long as you can. I don't know morse, and anyway he's rubbish at asking yes/no questions when he's in a hurry. I don't think any of you lot want to stand around drumming out one letter at a time, anyway, when we have so much planning to do..." You blow out a long unhappy sigh through your teeth. "I wasn't expecting any of this," you say sadly. "I thought, just the one fellow, and then I thought, well maybe his gang was a long way off, or would shrug and move on, and then— I don't know anything, clearly. It's... I think... it might be that they're trying to squeeze us on the full moon. We're. We mostly— we're hardest to kill but easiest to outmaneuver then, you remember how it was last month, you don't want to think, just run. I've heard of, of, of whole families. Lost. Traps, ambushes." You whine a little to yourself in fearful misery, and tuck your muzzle more firmly under Bel's arm. "I can't do any of this, I'm already hardly clever, what are we going to do?"
"We're going to stick together, love. And watch each other's backs. And trust our dads." "So how come Erskin's dad is a one man army?" Pancho says sleepily. "He's some kind of superspy, I guess. My dad worked with him way back when, but the details are apparently classified."
"I think he's more of an agent...?" you venture. "A secret agent. Technically he's an independent paranatural intelligence and defense contractor. Maybe he can call in his colleagues and they can sort this mess out, with hands and guns and, and spells, and cars, and we can all stay in bed."
"Christ, I hope we can all stay in bed, I got shot through the spine an hour ago!" Pancho grumps. "Through the spine? Oh shit, do you --" "It's fine. Wolfing fixed it." You sigh. "God, what a day." After a while you add, "So do you want to come to Canada with us?" "Huh?"
"I was going to Alaska overland before I met this great big lump," you put in. "The trip's sort of been on hold due to, er, various recent events. But I think Calgary's still on the docket." You nose his jaw. "You've still got a few months, right?"
"A few months for what?" You've lost the thread a little bit, and are just struggling to stay awake and human right now.
"Before the year and the day. Er. The time limit. We were going to Calgary to find someone for your ghosts, weren't we? We can skip it if you're not up for it, anymore, I suppose what with everything that's happening now, you might not be the most keen to, er, keep... focusing on death." You lick your whiskers, feeling awkward and tactless.
"Oh. No, I definitely want to go to Calgary. Pancho might too. She knew them." "Ghosts?" She sounds apprehensive. "Fuck. You're talking about Murf and Calvin and... they're ghosts now?" "No, not literally, I don't think. Just, I can't let them go. I was responsible for them." "You were their captain, not their big brother," she reminds you. "I know, but." You grimace and look away. "You weren't there, Pancho." "And thank fuck for that. I'm sorry, but... I miss them, but I'm not still carrying them. If you are, though, then yeah, let's do what you need to do." "Thank you." You ruffle her neck fur gratefully.
"So you're sticking with us, then?" you ask, pulling on one of her ears. "I mean, for awhile?" Your tail thumps at the thought. You've gone from lone wolf to having an entourage.
"Makes sense, right? I don't know how to do this. Hell, I haven't even really processed it yet. How will I tell my mom? Though honestly I'm more concerned with the 'I am being shot at on American soil' part where she's concerned. It might be hard to keep her from wading into the fray with a truck wrench."
