Author's note: This story is my contribution to the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer. It's been brewing for a long time; this project gave me the push I needed to actually write it. However, this story comes with a LOT of warnings. It tackles some dark themes, violence, non con sexual encounters and other things that could be a squick or a trigger for some people. I'll post more specific warnings ahead of each scene, but I wanted to let you know now, so you have an idea of what you're getting into. If you choose to keep reading, you've been warned. That said, this is ultimately a hopeful story. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Nope.

Prologue

London, England

It was late. Far too late to be running, but Killian forced himself. He was determined to prove Liam wrong. Killian loved his brother—once upon a time, he'd worshipped the ground he walked on—but he was getting too old for blind hero worship. They shared a flat, a business, a determination to overcome their orphaned upbringing. But Killian was his own man. He needed Liam to see that.

Running was a small rebellion, but it was enough for now.

The area around Hyde Park was quiet. Killian loved this time of night. The full moon lit his path, a stiff fall breeze whispered over his sweaty skin. He wasn't cold, however. It was during his runs that he felt most alive.

His only company was the music in his ears. His feet pounded the pavement; he wasn't overly concerned with speed. He ran to clear his head, to work out the restless energy that built up as he worked at his drafting table. The brothers worked hard, designing ships for various concerns, both foreign and domestic. It was hard work but rewarding. Killian enjoyed it. He spent so much time at the office that he didn't have much time for a social life. Killian and Liam grew up not far from here, abandoned by their father, with a mother who died too young. They both were obsessed with the boats and ships that sailed up and down the Thames, spending much of their youth exploring the ship yards.

Killian always had an artistic bent; it seemed natural to turn it toward design. Liam was more practical, but together, they worked well. They'd built Jones Deisgns from the ground up, working out of a small office near Whitehall.

The album ended; Killian jogged in place while he dug out his phone. He flipped through his music, trying to decide what to listen to next.

He never saw it coming.

One moment, Killian was upright, the next he was on his back. Pain lanced up his back and arm, something cracked as he tried to break his fall. He screamed in anguish, a large heavy furry beast landing square on his chest. Killian struggled and writhed, the animal's claws digging into his flesh, ripping his damp shirt, scratching his skin. Sharp teeth snapped in his face; he screamed. He must have scared it, because in the next breath, the animal was gone.

Killian gasped for air; his lungs burned, his body felt like it was on fire. Pain like he'd never known pulsed through him, centered on his arm. He moved it experimentally; he nearly passed out from the stabbing ache. Cut, scratched, bruised, his head swam every time he tried to rise. He needed to get up. At the very least, he needed to get to a hospital.

Christ, Liam was going to kill him.

That was his last thought before he passed out.


The scent of antiseptic greeted him when he woke up. Killian blinked against the too bright light. It took longer than he expected for his eyes to adjust. A lump sat in a nearby chair, dozing. "Liam?"

His older brother stirred, looking exhausted. "Killian?"

"How long have you been here? And how did I get here?"

"Someone found you in the park. Killian, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I could have been mauled by a dog and that's all you have to say?"

Liam leaned on his knees, running his hands through his unruly curls. "Sorry, brother. You scared me, is all."

"It scared me too, brother." It felt a bit like a dream, the animal—had it been a dog? He couldn't remember—heavy on his chest, those jaws snapping toward his throat. Instinctively, he reached for his neck, but he was brought up short by a cast. "Ow."

"Are you in pain? Nurse!"

"Of course, I'm in pain, you bastard." Killian cursed. He was angrier with himself than with Liam. But his brother was a convenient target. He sagged against the bed, hurt and tired.

The nurse came and tended him, upping his morphine drip. Liam tried to question him some more about his encounter with the animal, but it didn't take long for the drugs to take effect. Against his will, Killian fell back into a deep sleep.

The next time he woke, Liam was gone. It was the middle of the day; he probably had to go into the office. Killian didn't blame him; he was more than capable of looking after himself. He ate the passible hospital food; he watched telly. He hoped to be discharged soon, but he'd yet to see a doctor. He wondered why. What he could remember of the attack didn't seem that bad, looking at it from the light of day. He must have frightened some poor dog—albeit it a large one—on his run and it lashed out at him. It was unfortunate, but ultimately no lasting harm had been done. He would live.

He had no way of knowing then, just how long that would be.

Three Weeks Later

"Killian, where are you going?!"

Killian ignored his brother's call. He needed to get out of there. The office was too constricting, too confined. He couldn't breathe. He was hot all over; it felt like his skin was too tight. It had been like that for weeks now, ever since he got out of hospital. He'd been to over a dozen doctors; none of them seemed to know what was wrong with him.

He marched down to the gym; it was only a couple of blocks from their office. He changed out of his work clothes and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. People stared as he strode through the gym; he ignored them too. He didn't like being surrounded by so many people, not anymore. But he was trying desperately to hang onto the threads of his life. It felt like everything was slipping away from him.

He hated it.

Killian hopped onto a treadmill, setting a punishing pace. Or what would have been a punishing pace, just a few weeks ago. These days he could run longer and faster than he could have ever dreamed of before. His arm was even healed. No one understood why. Less then two weeks after his accident, his cast came off, the ortho unable to explain why the bones had knitted together so quickly. Not only that, but he'd needed next to no physical therapy. It was baffling. And frightening.

The stench of sweat and deodorant accosted his nose; he had to fight not to gag. For some reason smells affected him more strongly than they ever had before. He could hear better too. The pounding of feet on treadmills, the clang of metal…he could even hear the yoga class going on two corridors away. When he first described his symptoms, the first doctor laughed in his face. The second did too. Everyone ran the same tests; there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary.

It just made him so angry.

Frustrated, he hopped off the treadmill and headed for the punching bags. He didn't even bother wrapping up his hands; he didn't need to anymore. He barely felt it as he punched the bag over and over; each punch scared him as it invigorated him. He felt stronger, more alert, just…more. He didn't want to be more. He wanted to be Killian Jones, ship designer, a man who was still finding his way in the world. A man who still sometimes fought with his older brother but still loved him fiercely. A man wanted to find love and a family of his own.

Not an angry bastard who alienated everyone around him.

The next few days were more of the same. He'd come into the office, work for a few hours, then need to leave. He argued with Liam. He got testy in a design meeting with one of their clients and nearly jeopardized the whole deal. Liam was furious. After it was over, Liam scolded him like they were children. It took all of Killian's control not to punch his brother in the face. He spent Thursday and Friday away from the office, working remotely from their flat.

What was happening to him? He was barely sleeping; he couldn't focus for more than an hour or two at time. But he didn't feel tired. He should have been exhausted. He should be sick as a dog. He was keeping a tally of his symptoms; his internal temperature hovered around one hundred degrees almost two full degrees higher than normal. Something like that should put him on his ass, not make him superhuman.

This wasn't a bloody comic book. He wasn't Superman.

He ordered some takeaway; he was starving. Near constant hunger had been his companion these last weeks too. His old healthy diet had gone out the window; he was shoveling in carbs and protein as fast as his body could consume them. Tonight, he ordered steak—nearly raw—potatoes and vegetables with a side pasta salad. It would fill him up for a few hours. His local Chinese place would be expecting his call around midnight, as had become his habit.

Even after he'd eaten, he still felt restless. Like ants clawing under his skin. He couldn't shake it. He couldn't sit still. Frustrated, he changed his clothes; he needed to get outside. Once more the moon was bright in the sky, sometimes obscured by clouds. Killian didn't wait to find a running trail; he started the moment he got to the street. Weaving in and out of pedestrians, he wasn't going anywhere in particular. He was just running.

But as he ran, he couldn't help but notice a strange sense of calm wash over him. It was almost peaceful. Killian pushed himself, harder and faster, waiting for the feeling to go away. It only got stronger. For the first time in weeks, Killian found himself smiling.

He ran for so long; he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. Killian was surprised to find himself back at Hyde Park. He hadn't been there since the accident. Attack? It was difficult to call what happened to him anything but an accident. He'd startled a dog. Probably some poor pooch that had been outside for too long, in need of rescue. Killian liked dogs, though he'd never been in a position to own one. Growing up, they hadn't been able to take on such a responsibility. Perhaps that could all change.

It was late; strictly speaking the park wasn't open. But he wanted to run through it. He needed to know it was just a park and not some boogeyman. He was fine. Killian hopped the chain and plunged inside. He ran, the sounds of the night in his ears. Birds, the breeze in the trees, it all felt soothing. He looked up, the moon peaking out from behind a cloud.

Killian froze. He stared at it, mesmerized. He didn't understand; his heart beat faster. Shaking himself out it, he started to run again. Perhaps he was tired. One more lap around, then he could go home. He started back down the path, his feet on auto pilot. He wasn't thinking, his head was blissfully empty.

Then everything changed.

It started in his spine. A spasm made him come up short; he reached for his back, grunting in pain. It was so intense that he dropped to his knees. It felt like every cell in his body was screaming, coming apart at the seams. He screamed in agony, holding his head, rocking back and forth. Bones snapped, knitted themselves back together, broke again. Muscles tore, his head felt like it was splitting open.

He must have passed out.

When he woke again, he simply started to run. He didn't question how he could be running after enduring so much agony; he must have dreamt it. He ran as fast as his feet could carry him, covering more ground than ever before. The breeze rushed through his hair, his eyes could track the individual blades of grass as he ran. It was exhilarating.

A squirrel crossed his path; he barked.

Wait, barked?

Petrified, he sniffed the air. He smelled water nearby. He ran in that direction, skidding to a stop near the edge.

Blue eyes stared back at him, peering out from an unrecognizable face. Long snout, black fur, pointed ears. A wolf.