Title: Freakshow
Or: Mary Sue had a little lamb... I ate them with mint jelly (some fava beans and a nice Chianti). And everywhere that I went... they went... in my belly.
Author's notes, disclaimers, summary and potpourri: I... I think I've gone and done it... I think I've got another viable fan fic plot that won't let Mary Sue within a hundred miles of it. coughmarysueisthelazywriter'sfictioncough Geez, I better get an antihistamine into me...
Summary: This one's a werewolf story... What can I say? I love 'em. The Wolfman always kicked Dracula's ass. This will be sort of alternate universe... Think the strangeness of the Buffy verse and Anita Blake Vampire Chronicles crossed with WWE characters. Monsters, psychics, and magick, oh my! The story will be allowed to have its debauching way with kayfabe (seductive minx she is). For example: Mark and Glenn are blood relatives in this, while say, Jacqueline was never involved with the company. My fic, I'll do what I want. I know the pairings are the same as my last fic... I can't help it. They all seem to get along so well in my head. This story is more an examination of dealing with extraordinary circumstances and doesn't have the violence of my last one. Sorry if that's what you were looking for.
Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing, I make nothing. My attempt at fiction is a not for profit undertaking. My kitchen would make Old Mother Hubbard weep. My liquor supply would make her weep for joy... But you have to roe-sham-bo me for that. I get first kick, lemme go get my work boots. Also, the part of the story set in New Orleans was written in long hand well before Hurricane Katrina. Please don't get on my case for using it. I sent along half a paycheque for disaster relief, and I certainly don't mean to offend.
Feedback: Praise is expected, flames will be laughed at, and constructive criticism gets me wet. Okay... Figuratively gets me wet... But all feedback does encourage me to keep writing fiction I've found, so it is welcome.
Notation: All chapter titles are taken from Gordon Lightfoot songs... This works out well because I finished this on the man's 67th birthday... Creepy no? Anyway, who does angst and wild things better then Gordie? Who betta then Gordie? Oh, fair warning: I'm Canadian. I put the letter u in words that don't seem to need it. Colour, labour, and neighbour are examples of this. Don't bother telling me about it. I already know. The Canadian Press does it, so I feel justified. Most indentation used will be mental conversation. I will also put any sources I've used (read: stolen from) at the end of the fic. Pay attention, there will be a quiz on it later.
Chapter 1 Carefree Highway
"Now the thing I call living,
Is just being satisfied,
With knowing I got no one left to blame."
"Mark! Did you eat my girlfriend?!"
Mark cracked an eyelid. How Glenn had gotten into his hotel room he wasn't sure, but he would be punished for it. Later. When he felt like waking up. "Lemme alone. I'm tired." He muttered and rolled further into the pillow, ignoring his seething brother.
"Mark! Get your furry, dead ass out of bed!" Mark refused to move, and screwed his eyes as tightly shut as possible. Glenn tore off the covers and hauled Mark's limp weight onto the floor. "Get up and tell me where my girlfriend is!" Mark landed hard and cursed.
"Fuck! Ow! Shit!"
"Now that I have your attention, you mind enlightening me?"
"Fuck off Glenn! I don't know where that skank, groupie, ring-rat you call a girlfriend slithered into bed last night, but it wasn't here and it certainly wasn't with me. Besides, I was otherwise occupied last night, and your sloppy seconds from that damn dirty ape was not on my agenda!"
"Go to hell." Glenn punched Mark hard in the jaw. That was the last straw for Mark. He shot up from the floor and wrapped his hands around Glenn's neck. He used his superior strength to choke Glenn down to the spot he'd occupied on the floor.
Mark's rage built up in him and his vision washed out to black and white, but every detail was clear and sharp. "M-Mar-Mark... You're choking me..." Glenn rasped.
"You woke me up! Deal with the consequences!"
"Mark... You're shifting." He wheezed, and then brought a hand up to Mark's stomach. The realization that he was loosing it and the burning sensation on his stomach got Mark to let go. He peeled back and sat on the bed. He was always hyped up on the days around the full moon as well as the actual event. The fur and claws had started to emerge. Mark breathed deep. Glenn could always work him up like this. Why was he so concerned about Amy anyways? The only reason she had a job was because she could do a shoddy moonsault and let her thong hang out... That and she was a gutterslut. Mark just hadn't spoken out on the topic because he'd had his own questionable poontang in the past.
The main one being the bitch that had turned him werewolf, thinking she could control him. She'd barely been a beta wolf. Mark quickly learned he was a natural alpha. But he'd always been that way, really. Alphas not only had the strength, but the wisdom and control to lead. The thought sobered Mark somewhat. He didn't want to hurt, let alone kill his brother, despite Glenn tempting him sorely from time to time. He sighed deeply and the claws and fur retracted into his body. His colour vision returned, and the situation diffused.
Glenn was leaning against the wall, sucking breath into his lungs desperately. They glared at each other awhile. "You really think that about her?" He finally asked.
"Yes Glenn. I'm sorry, but it's just the way it is."
"Do you know something I don't?"
"I keep smelling Matt and Jeff's scent on her if you must know... Not just the regular exchange of scent... If you catch my meaning."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you would have chosen not to believe me. You don't want to believe me now."
"Fuck you, Mark."
"Would you quit with that?" Mark snapped.
"Quit with what?'
"Provoking me like this; and your infantile distrust of me. It's only gotten worse in the last three years."
"Three years ago you weren't a werewolf."
"And three years ago you couldn't speak a complete sentence. We needed each other then. We still do. I do appreciate you being around you know. Your power helps me fend off that which used to try and claim or attack me." This was true. Mark's control over the dark arts had suffered greatly after he'd been turned; especially the first few months when his mind had left most of its humanity behind and become wolf. No more tossing around lightening bolts. No more brainwashing servants at a whim. Here and there a connection reestablished itself and he could pull off something big. Usually only in defense of wayward spirits who thought a werewolf's body might be fun to try on for the weekend. Glenn however, still had all of skills, including telepathy and pyrokinesis at his disposal.
Being turned werewolf didn't mean that Mark lost power by any means. Now it just meant that it was converted to do different things. Despite the brothers' on again off again relationship, Mark, with the new gift of healing, set out restoring Glenn's scars to skin. Glenn respected Mark because Mark did it no matter how he felt about Glenn at the moment. The vocal chords had been the first, and the two of them spent much time talking when there wasn't much else to do but for Glenn to lie there and heal.
Mark had nearly died laughing when he heard Glenn singing in the shower for the first time, but it had warmed his heart as well... And at least it was 'Paint it Black' as opposed to something like 'I Feel Pretty.'
"I should go find Amy... And crush her skull under a big rock." Glenn said and started to get up. Mark reached out and caught Glenn's wrist. Glenn eyed him carefully.
"Stay, Glenn. Give me a minute and we'll go get breakfast."
"You're tired. You had the full moon last night."
"I've been tired before. It's nothing new." Mark found clean clothes, brushed his hair and teeth, collected his wallet, and put on his boots while Glenn waited by the unmade bed. To Mark he looked a bit like a kicked puppy at the moment. Mark laid a friendly hand on his shoulder as they left the room and set out on foot to find breakfast. Mark had given up on having security around him when he realized he could lift a garbage truck and move faster then people could see.
Glenn knew that strength and speed extended to him as well, no matter the circumstance. Glenn preferred it to actual security. It meant he didn't have to deal with anybody else. He knew Mark, and dealing with him could be awkward enough.
Mark had gone from a highly cerebral entity to a completely Earth based one; from a man that hated just about everything to someone who drank in life and the natural world. If his hotel rooms had balconies, he'd sleep out there. No matter the weather, and quite often naked. The change in personality from excessive Lord of Darkness to good old country boy practical werewolf had been nothing short of remarkable. He still retained his keyed up nature, but he had a lot more forethought, even prudence now. He also had had a lot of apologizing to do to former friends that he'd alienated. To his credit, Mark had done so with many of them.
Mark had actually become quite social. He liked the company of most anyone with a higher then room temperature I.Q. Before he'd only tolerate the Ministry, and only ever really confided in Paul. Now that pack instinct ran strong in him, and he was only as strong as the weakest person he knew, and how well that person was protected. Quite often Glenn was pretty sure that Mark considered Glenn to be that person. Not without justification mind you. Glenn still had a lot of issues to work out, but he'd come a long way.
Deep, deep, deep down, Glenn would admit he was glad for Mark's newfound willingness to help him. He would never be able to express his gratitude at having his voice restored to him, not to mention his face. Mark had also become openly affectionate of him when they were getting along, and touched him often. Another side effect of the wolf... A pat on the shoulder or back here, or a tussle of hair there... After so many years in physical isolation it was taking some getting used to for Glenn.
They popped into a small bistro and sat down. Their presence was noticed, but not questioned by anybody. The waitress was exceedingly polite, but not overly friendly.
"So, how did you get into my room?" Mark asked after coffee was served.
"I said that you were my brother, and that I had to get you insulin."
"Good one." Mark took a sip of coffee.
"Yeah, I thought so..." Glenn stirred the cream from its cloud like appearance into a solid caramel colour in his cup, no sugar. "What should I do about Amy?"
"Drop her like a hot coal." Mark said strongly.
"Shit, tell me how you really feel."
"I wanted to give you, and her I guess a shot. Look, I'm sorry if that means anything to you."
"It does, believe it or not." Glenn sipped at his own coffee cup. "Well, I guess I'm single again." He said, setting his mug back on the table.
"It's not such a bad way to be. By the way, you should probably inform her."
"I will. Maybe I'll just power bomb it into her."
"Just make sure to get it on national television. Vince would cream his jeans for that." Mark said with a grin. Glenn returned it.
"Well the girl can take a bump." There was a period of silence between them, and they looked out the window at the world going by. "I knew she was screwing around." Glenn finally offered. "I just thought that if no one else acknowledged it, then I didn't have to either. Maybe I should just take up with some cute fan girl and let her wait on me hand and foot."
"I think mom would resurrect herself and kick your ass for talking like that, you sexist pig." Mark smirked, and Glenn laughed a bit, but was reflective.
"I still miss mom." He said sadly and shyly.
"Me too" Mark replied. "I see guys our age taking their aging mothers out shopping or whatever, and try to fathom what it would be like. It's a stupid thing to do probably."
"You've done far stupider and far stranger things."
"True enough."
They separated on good terms when they got back to the hotel. Mark packed to leave and called his driver. His assistant dropped off his boarding pass and told him she'd meet him in the next city. She was taking a later flight because it was easier for her schedule.
Mark didn't mind traveling alone. It gave him a lot of time to think. He'd always been a deep thinker and a solitary person. He bought a copy of the New York Times and got into the back of the luxury sedan that was hired to take him to the airport. It didn't take long for Mark to notice that they were not headed in the right direction. As a long time traveler, he assumed it was someone trying to make an extra buck as opposed to a malicious purpose.
"Hey, I know where the airport is. I'm not paying you any extra, and you can forget about the tip." He said, putting on his best annoyed expression. The driver said nothing, just laid the accelerator down harder and took a sharp turn to the right. "What the fuck are you doing?!" Mark yelled. The car screeched to a halt. The door opened and someone grabbed Mark's shoulders. He reacted violently, but was met with the shock of multiple electric tasers and a noxious belt of chloroform as a cloth was smothered over his mouth and nose. It took some time to put him out, and Mark could see his bella clava wearing assailants. Covered faces couldn't hide scents. Mark knew every one of them. A final growl and struggle and all was blackness.
