"Thwackum was for doing justice, and leaving mercy to Heaven."

- Henry Fielding (Tom Jones)

A/N: This is the last actual chapter of TSoTB, though there will be an epilogue. The epilogue isn't likely to be as long as a standard chapter has been, but as it's still a wip that remains to be seen. Feel free to let me know your thoughts.

Please take note: This chapter is fairly violent and a bit graphic. Not that this fic has been sunshine and rainbows, but...

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It rose gingerly, shaking all over: breaths regulated to shallow, noisy pushes of air as broken ribs shifted with the adrenaline fueled movement. Focus never wavered from the pack-killer. Swaying on his feet, it approached the snarling wolf. Narrowed dark-fire eyes glowed in the gathering murk; the air thickening tangibly even while the mixed scent of decay and earth and ozone permeated the park. It gripped tightly to everything it, itself, was, and found the very human threads of everything Peter woven within. Strange how here, in this moment, it found it didn't mind and did its best to keep the pain removed from their immediate thoughts. To keep the harm from Peter as they faced down the cause of so much suffering. Justice. Death. Here united into one final act.

All things living ended the same way. They were going to introduce this brief creature to that end one piece at a time. Unmindful of the wolf's attempt to crawl away, they reached out and unceremoniously ripped out the knife - only to throw it back down with such force that they could hear bone fracturing as the blade passed through mauled flesh. A pleasant little smile appeared upon hearing the howl produced from the inferior animal, but their advance didn't halt in enjoyment: one booted foot shoved hard and quick, pushing the creature onto its back before shifting upward. They leaned forward, applying pressure to catch and pin the wolf down by the throat. Snarls faded to bare whimpered exhalations as airflow was not quite entirely cut off.

A peculiarly emotionless grin formed as they crouched down, taking distant notice of grinding bone within their own body but refusing it relevance. They were above pain. Above life, as the source of all Death. And yet… they shook their head to clear the pulsating sensation that was an auditory equivalent of clumsy claws pressing at their brain, trying to sink into their mind. Their whole body winced in reaction, but they persisted.

Looking into orange eyes, they reached out with their uninjured hand, settling fingers into the long, soft fur of the animal's exposed belly in a mimicry of the affectionate petting given to a beloved pet. A high pitched keen pierced the night air, originating from the weakly struggling wolf beneath, as those same fingers slithered deeply into flesh once more, like worms in soil. Tearing through hide and muscle to get to bone… beyond bone. With agonizing slowness blood slicked digits moved toward delicate organs, as though possessing all the time in the world in which to impart life's final lesson:

Everything living must one day face Death. It was never a good idea to piss it off.

With a near blissful sigh, inhuman eyes closed to better savor the heady aroma of blood and exposed meat and the feel as the body began to shut down in shock, nearing the point of finality. Slipping into that last embrace that only Death could-

"Peter!"

Fingers dug in more, non-gently this time, and they enjoyed the change in pitch it provoked in the intermit wails still produced from the remains of what was once their tormentor.

Peter, stop! Words formed clearly from the previously random pulsations, pulling directly at their attention even as they were knocked sideways off their prey. A solid form hit them hard before rolling heavily over them, sending the air from lungs that suddenly refused to take in more.

Kid, this isn't you. Wake the hell up! The voice tugged at the human in them with a ferocity that should have been impossible, and brought that half welling up, causing a tear in the weave of who they were.

Griffin. No.

And the dam broke.

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It hurt. Oh, it hurt. It gripped his head between both hands, though the injured one remained in the rigid, semi-fisted position in which it had been left when the knife had been jerked free sometime prior. Struggling to rise without letting go of the tight hold on his head, unsteadily it crashed back down. Between the broken ribs and resulting possible punctured lung, the countless tears and deep lacerations from teeth and claws, blood loss and shock from the trauma were settling in over Peter's body. Still, that wasn't what drove it to his knees. Disallowed the courtesy of dealing with the grief and despair resulting from Caroline's death and Peter's inability to prevent it, the emotions had kindled until they'd caught fire and now the inferno roared through its shields. What a human had a likely chance of overcoming given time, it was left to the feeling of drowning in liquid fire. Trapped, with no way out -

It screamed.

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If there had ever been a moment in his life that had rendered Kermit Griffin speechless, this was it. It was brief, but all-encompassing, shutting down his thought processes altogether even as he gained his feet. Watching the extreme pain that wracked his friend's body left Kermit feeling simultaneously numb and shattered in a way that witnessing what Peter… and company… had done to the mangled wolf really hadn't.

It took the unearthly cry that tore itself wetly out of Peter's throat to drag Kermit from that nothingness back into reality. Back to a sound that he was grimly certain no other living creature had ever heard before, a sound that reverberated through his body, through life itself, and ripped away vital bits of self. The worst part was in knowing that he was only getting a mild backwash of what was inundating Peter, and he couldn't do anything to help. He couldn't even move at speed, as each attempt felt like he was trudging through molasses; the putrid odor of death heightened, hanging thick as over the decomposition of thousands, and Kermit fought in vain to keep lunch down as his stomach turned.

Blackness, more a feeling than a visual actuality, entered the space and spiraled out. As the energy touched the grass, the green rapidly faded as it withered and died, leaving a growing circle of unlife with Peter at its nexus. Kermit flinched when the first tree began to break apart, limbs cracking and crashing to the earth. He barely noticed when the second went. He tried to reason a way out of what was occurring, a way to stop it, a way to do something other than simply watch, but he failed.

When the shot was fired, it echoed in Kermit's ears and left a ringing behind. The bullet tore through Peter's midsection, a growing wetness already spreading through cloth before he had even crumpled to the ground in the eerie silence following. Kermit turned in what felt like slow-motion, drawing his gun and firing once he had a clear visual lock on the assailant. The man went down, but Kermit could hear there were others. He spun back around in time to see three break cover and head toward his fallen friend.

No, toward the wolf. And even as his mind caught up, breaking through the buried alive feeling that had descended upon him, he felt teeth tear and shred at muscle. A sharp scream escaped him as pain caused him to lose focus temporarily. However, resulting from years of dealing with physical pain of that level, and worse, he worked through it enough to place the gun against the animal's head and pull the trigger.

The spray of blood and organic matter barely registered.

Unable to quite get his leg under him to support his weight, he half stumbled over to Peter, half crawled. The wolves, for he recognized them for what they were, and had taken their leader with them. Peter lay motionless: features peaceful and pale. A marble sculpture, cast in a full moon's light, that would have been preternaturally beautiful in such serene repose if not for the fact that Kermit could make out stains, like a heavy wine, liberally marking the spectral flesh. He knew the saturation of the ground, of the knee of his pant leg, wasn't condensation from the cooling of the day. Blood on Peter's hand had caught in the folds of skin at the knuckles, drying there. Somehow Kermit knew it wouldn't wash away.

"This is Detective Kermit Griffin. I need an ambulance…"

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"How many times do I have to tell you, I don't know what the hell happened!" It took a lot for Kermit to lose his temper, but all the asinine questions were quickly wearing on the vestiges of frayed nerves, made worse due to his inability to follow Peter to the hospital. Medics had cleaned and treated his leg, which miraculously wasn't as bad as it had felt. He would have sworn it needed surgery, and yet an unknown number of stitches later, and he was mobile, if not pain free, and that seemed beyond the realm of reality itself.

He was still trying to make sense of everything and failing miserably. Having figured out so much of the bigger picture, he'd thought, and still at the end he was left stunned in a way that nothing had ever managed in his life. Kermit had seen a lot since coming to work at the 101st; most of the weird courtesy of Peter. Heat-transference. Visions. Gateways to Hell. Werewolves. He'd never considered meeting something as old as life itself.

Death. And what did that even mean?

"No, I don't know where the weapons went. I was busy trying not to die," only Kermit could manage to sound so aggravated and convey it in a level tone as dry as the Sahara. "Why don't you talk to the Feds. They're the ones with all the information." He couldn't explain why or how the Feds had found their killer. Kermit suspected that the wolves simply hadn't been able to move very far or fast given the condition he'd last seen their boss in but that was just a guess. He'd only been told that the man had been caught. Which is intriguing as it means he'd changed from his wolf form. Why would he do that? Easier transportation? A hospital? I can't imagine that human medicine would heal everything that Pet… that was done to him. Maybe changing wasn't intentional. Trying to figure it out was frustrating, compounded by the fact that Kermit was past exhausted.

The cops with him had been more interested in trying to pry from him the reasons for the state of the park, the dead trees and plants, as well as the condition of Peter, in the beginning. They'd quickly learned the error of that route in questioning and settled for asking the more mundane queries.

"I've already told you, there were multiple assailants. I'm not sure how many, clearly it's dark out, but I saw three other than the man in charge. Four if you count the dead wolf," which Kermit most definitely did. Would have even if the thing hadn't damn near taken his leg, but then he knew a lot that these cops didn't. And thank whatever power there is that the damn thing stayed a wolf after I shot it. Trying to explain a head shot at point blank range to a human would have been a nightmare and IA hates me the way it is. At least they don't care about how we take down killer wolves.

Kermit also knew he was tired of the fumbling attempts at comprehending what had happened that he was being forced to deal with. "Look, from what I understand the Feds have taken possession of both the case and the prisoner. Apparently it was linked to one of theirs originally, anyway. They know where to find me if they have questions." Acknowledging nothing more from the police on the scene, Kermit turned and limped away to his car, grateful for the shield that even his watered-down reputation provided him from other officers who most definitely would not be following him.

He knew Peter was alive, could feel as much through the bond established between them. But where before he'd reached out and touched Peter's… the other's… thoughts, everything now was muted and somber. Like… well, he'd say that it felt like death, but that was too bad of a pun for anyone to make. Then again, it wasn't a pun if it was literal.

Kermit knew he wasn't being allowed entry into Peter's mind. Whether it was by intent or happenstance, he couldn't get any information beyond a certainty of life that way, which meant another trip to the hospital.

More waiting.

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Over a month of waiting had worn on everyone: Kwai Chang Caine more so than some. As he sat cross-legged on a mat in his son's hospital room, he sought out balance in order that he may once again try to touch Peter's mind. He had attempted the same thing every day since his son, and whatever he housed within his mind, had fallen but had met with failure each time. Lo Si had aided him the first time, but then abruptly declared that Peter would awaken when he and darkness had found their own equilibrium. The old man hadn't tried again since, and refused to elaborate.

If that wasn't annoying enough, Caine also knew that Kermit had been able to get closer to his son than he had been. He knew that the two possessed a friendship, but the new depth to it just didn't make sense. Kermit had never shown any signs of being able to connect to anyone on that level, much less to Peter. If he were being honest, he'd admit to jealousy. It was yet another person who had been given a part of his son that Caine had lost long ago, and could never truly reclaim. He'd lost other pieces to the Blaisdell's, and the anger that festered at knowing that Caine battled with daily. He knew that Peter had never felt his rage. Knew that Kermit only suspected, but the man was too observant by half. Lo Si knew, he was certain, but had yet to ever do more than look at him speculatively.

Lo Si had said there had always been something else within Peter. Caine had believed he meant because of all the pain in his childhood, but now he recognized the errors in that assumption. He still didn't know what that meant, though. This wolf within his son, Caine understood that Peter had inherited it from his mother. Whether she had known what heritage she carried, he wasn't certain, but it was clear that Peter had had no clue until recent events. Even so, Caine didn't think that was what the Ancient meant.

With no other recourse, he meditated and tried to find a way back to his son.

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The Feds were here, kid. It would seem that the agents in charge of Laufey lost him. Guy had needed a lot of medical attention – as I'm sure you're aware. Agent Sigrun, she's a wolf apparently, she said that even though wolves heal faster than humans the damage had been too severe. She figured Laufey's pack took him away to prevent us from killing him, and intentionally let the Feds find him to provide the necessary medical attention. When they were transporting him after he healed enough to be moved, the guy slipped out. Guess they didn't know he could shape-shift. Apparently Stone and Sigrun weren't allowed to take charge of him, orders as per some higher up. If I ever find out who… Kermit trailed off. He wasn't one for talking, and certainly not to someone in a coma, but the doctor had said that Peter had shown every sign of waking. It was just a waiting game, now. Though there had been no answer in the link to anything Kermit had said, he could actually feel Peter now. There was still something else, intertwined with Peter, but his friend was there.

It felt weird to only think of Peter as a friend after everything. The kid was family. Maybe he had been since the first time Kermit had met the scrawny but scrappy youth that had become Paul and Annie's newest stray: much like Kermit had been years before. In some very real ways Paul Blaisdell had given Kermit a life back, something the man seemed adept at doing: like he could see the hidden potential in even the roughest stones. Whether a blessing or a curse, Kermit hadn't yet decided, but Paul had also given him a brother.

Wake up already, kid. I'm getting tired of talking to myself. The thought was sent with more force than he meant, but frustration was eating away at him even if he looked calm to the outside world. Maybe he needed a break. As soon as the kids parents got back, he'd…

Eyelids flickered briefly before parting, revealing hazel eyes. There was no hint of confusion when that gaze turned toward Kermit, glinting slightly in the muted interior lighting of the hospital room. What a couple of months ago would have had Kermit reaching toward his gun, now felt welcome. Familiar. With no storm of light and darkness raging within those eyes, it felt like his friend. Slightly different, perhaps. Changed, definitely, and those changes had yet to fully be realized even now. But it was Peter, regardless of everything else, and that had Kermit up and off his feet.

"Paul! Annie!..."