Shay sighed deeply, rubbing his face and leaning his back against a box of cargo. He could hear the clicking nails of the wolves as they paced the metal floors of Serenity, and the heavy footfalls of his older brothers in their wolf-like forms. Like a good boy, Shay had read stories of things that go bump in the night, and so his brothers were not inexplicable abominations to him; they were werewolves.

In fact, he was having a worse time with what was currently happening than he'd ever had with his brothers' forms, his mother's power, or his own power. It all felt like a dream; his father, Korbin's death, and perhaps finally a chance for salvation. But all that would come later. Right now, he could feel the storm gathering.

Mal came charging out of the med bay, boot heels clicking angrily against the metal grating and thunder in his eyes. He stomped to a halt before his son, who was near River and Inara, and he glared down at his offspring with anger fairly crackling around his frame. "OK, no more games. I want answers," he growled, glowering down at the boy.

At the captain's hostile approach, one of the werewolves nearest to the boy curled his lip as a snarl rippled from his throat. Inara paled at the sound, but River seemed completely nonplussed. The other ­­­­wolves spread out across the room raised their heads in intense interest, their own hostility projecting out like heat waves.

Shay's head lifted, gazing into his sire's face without alarm. "Silas, please," he said quietly, touching the animal's huge bicep. Glancing down, the creature stopped snarling and lowered his lip. The boy then gestured to the other side of the ship, but Silas refused to budge. Instead, he crossed his massive arms and stood to his full height, towering over Mal. But the captain of Serenity was too incensed to be afraid, and tilted his head back to stare into the monster's face.

"I want answers," he repeated, voice tightly controlled, eyes not leaving the golden pair that fiercely returned his stare.

Shay sighed. This rage was expected; at least, if Malcolm Reynolds was even half the man his mother had claimed him to be. He hoped that warmth could grow between himself and Mal, but now wasn't the time. "I can't tell you the whole story," he began, "I was too young to remember most of it."

"Don't care how much or how little," Mal countered, finally turning to look at the boy, "but I want information."

"How about you ask questions, and I'll answer them as best I can?" he suggested as peaceably as possible, glancing around at the group that had gathered around him: eight people, including his long-lost father, who were waiting with bated breath for a much-deserved explanation.

Inara smiled at him. "That will be fine, Shay," she said reassuringly.

Mal barely spared her a glance, before crossing his arms in a mirror of the creature in front of him and focusing all his attention on his progeny. "Shiny. So, let's start off slow: who are these..." his eyes darted around the room to the wolves and werewolves prowling through his hold, "boys? Your brothers?"

"They were with us on the last slave ship we were on, the one that crashed here. They're not actually my brothers," Shay added, correctly interpreting Mal's eyes. "I've just always called them that since we're a family; have been since the day Mother and I met them."

"Brothers, like Simon," River agreed emphatically, a broad grin spreading across her face.

"Why are they like that?" Kaylee asked in a hushed, fearful whisper. "Why are they...stuck?"

He smiled to try to assuage her apprehensions. "Don't worry, Miss Kaylee, it's not catching. The change happened after we'd been here for about three years; they've been like that ever since. The werewolves are the older boys, the wolves are the younger ones, but they're all older than me."

"But why?" she demanded, hysteria edging around the corners of her voice. "Who made 'em like that?"

Wash stroked her shoulder reassuringly, and asked another question quickly, to get Kaylee's mind off the situation of the boys. "Why can't we leave? In fact, why did we crash in the first place?"

Shay smiled ruefully, chafing his hands against each other almost in embarrassment. "Are you the pilot?" he questioned back. Wash nodded. "You have my admiration then, for landing your ship so well under such unusual circumstances."

Wash blushed slightly under the praise, but cleared his throat and continued to look at the boy pointedly.

"But I haven't answered your question," Shay admitted. "Well, you crashed here because this planet has an extraordinarily strong pull of gravity. It pulls everything in that happens to come too close. It's how we got here. The slaver piloting the ship, however, didn't have your skills," he said, gesturing at Wash, "so instead of landing, we crashed. My brother Acario died in the crash, along with Mother's friend Eara."

"Eara—?" Mal choked, throat closing up on him. Rhoswen's best friend. He couldn't help turning and looking toward the med bay, where Simon worked to stitch up the horrific gashes in his wife's back. "Who did that to her?" he whispered finally, pain in his eyes.

Shay looked into his father's eyes, and saw his thoughts around his head like a haze. Fragments only, though; with training, his father would be able to block a mind-reader almost as good as his mother could. Funny, how power surfaces randomly. The fragments, however, were clear enough: pain, fear, rage, uncertainty…and above all love. Shay knew he could not do this man who loved his mother the injustice of sugar-coating the truth.

"She was attacked last night. There were three slavers who survived the crash. They spread out into the jungle. The other two are dead, and she ran into the third last night, and couldn't defend herself." He closed his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath. "If it wasn't for Silas and Tristan," a werewolf across the room lifted its head at the sound of its name, "she'd probably be dead, and we'd be in Hell."

"Why would you be in Hell?" Zoë demanded sharply.

The boy regarded the first mate through narrowed eyes. "Ah, there it is: the priceless question."

"So answer it," Zoë ­retorted, her voice low and stern.

"You're not going to like it," he warned.

"I've got no time for games," Mal snapped in a brittle tone.

"With that, I'll agree," Shay retorted, shooting his father a glare. Then he breathed deep, briefly closing his eyes. "This planet, Psyche, has an...awareness. That is why I can read minds, why my brothers look as they do, why my mother is losing the last shreds of her sanity," he paused, and then let his eyes lock with his Mal's, "and why you can't leave. Psyche controls the gravity, and she doesn't plan on letting you, or anyone, leave until she has what she wants." He gave a nervous laugh at the looks on their faces, and let his arms drop in helplessness. "And we're not exactly in a position to argue with her."