Chapter Twenty-Six: Briefly Benevolent

Thanks to my amazing beta, Blythechild!

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She woke in a tent. It was a small orange thing with her laid out along the back end, several IVs in her forelegs and a small portable heart monitor clipped to her ear. Spencer's coat was firmly on her body, snuggly around her throat and warming the collar against her skin. Outside, she could hear voices.

Mama! came a cry as Riley realized she was awake, and then the tent buckled as paws struck the side. Emily watched groggily as the puppy shaped shadow threw itself at the orange wall again, caught midway by a tall humanoid. The tent unzipped, and the Ghost of Spencers Past leaned in. She blinked, narrowing her double vision to focus on the spectre. Clean shaven, dressed in clothes, and with his hair cut and washed, for a second she thought wow what a shit nightmare that was.

But then she tried to stand again to greet him and her legs folded out from under her.

"Antitoxins will clear out any traces of the toxin still in your system," Spencer said, sliding into the tent and sitting with his legs crossed and Riley wiggling in his lap, reaching out to lay a soothing hand on Emily's shoulder. The lining of the coat crinkled at his touch. "But it can't repair any nerve damage done. It should be slight—the doctor said it was in its early stages, so there may only be some slight weakness in your limbs and maybe, only maybe, some small damage to your speech when you're human."

Doctor, she breathed, shuddering, and looked around the tent. Ignoring the possibility of nerve damage. Where are we?

He couldn't hear her, but he knew her well enough to know what she was asking. Leaning to the side to let Oliver wiggle past and snuggle up to her, squeaking happily as she nuzzled him and breathed in his scent keenly, Spencer took a sharp breath. And she looked at him properly. Without the beard, their struggle to survive wasn't hidden at all. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken, his mouth gaunt. The short hair only served to illustrate how thin he'd gotten, no longer brushing over those visible collarbones or curling around the narrow shape of his face.

"I had to, Em," he whispered, laying himself out so his head was on her flank, his eyes still locked on her face, fingers threading through her thin fur. She breathed and felt his body shift with her as he cuddled tight. "You were dying. I couldn't let that happen. So I followed the train tracks. Found a settlement and left you just outside. Begged for help, said we've been wild, said you were sick. They think we're eccentric, but they sent a doctor. He's worried about us. About the kids. Left for a bit and then came back with glucose, food… they haven't seen this, yet, but I don't think they're with them. I think they're safe." He was babbling, a little overwrought, and she figured a lot had happened while she'd been napping. Fingers pressing on the collar around her throat, hidden by his filthy coat, and she shivered. "They… maybe they can remove it?"

But to remove it, they'd have to show it. And what if they were working with the cult…

They'd end up back there, when they'd come so far.

"Oh, she's awake!" boomed a voice, them all twitching with it. A man's head ducked through the flaps in the tent, beaming at them. The pups whined and tried to huddle under Emily away from the strange beast that was sort of like Dad but not really, Riley growling fiercely.

Bad cat, she hissed, and Emily soothed her gently. But not too much. That cautiousness might still save her life.

"How are you, ma'am?" asked the man, kneeling and revealing the rest of him. Stout and short with a woollen sweater and neat khaki pants, he was the epitome of trustworthy. Around his arm, he wore a red band with a white cross. Openly a doctor. Emily was silent. Spencer's hand moved quicker, patting her side feverishly as though trying to reassure himself she was still there, still tangible. "That was a nasty bout of sickness. You're lucky—usually botulism doesn't knock its victims out. They're usually conscious throughout, suffering the whole time. Probably the kindest thing your exhaustion and starvation has given you was to sleep through it." And he smiled, but his eyes strayed to the pups pressed under her belly. "I really must ask again—will you all come back to Junction and with me for proper treatment? You all need care, especially your little ones. We're not a cage. We're an outpost for this exact purpose—emergency care for a transient population. There are showers, proper beds, medicine, food. You'd do well to come, even for just a little while."

Emily snuffed him. Therian. Cat, from the scent. Healthy, male, mated, but that scent was thin and worn. She wondered if he had kittens, and if it was the thought of them that was driving his kindness.

She looked at Spencer, at his eyes locked on her. He'd brought her here. He'd carried her when she couldn't walk. Every animal instinct either of them possessed should have seen him leaving her there and taking the pups, away from the dangerous sickness and his failing mate.

But he hadn't. And he wouldn't.

Whether or not the tentative love they'd grasped cautiously at still remained, that dangerously hot feeling that had driven them to find each other what felt like forever ago… whether that remained or had been broken by their daughter's death, he remained by her side. And he always would.

She had to trust him again. Not these men, this therian doctor… she didn't trust them. Didn't think she'd ever trust strangers again easily. But if they turned on them, if this was a trap… she trusted Spencer to recognise that and stay by her side as they fought their way out of it one more time. This wasn't biology. It wasn't the wolves driving them.

It was all him. The same love that had bound them before all of this. Before the season and the pair-bond and the compound and the pups. And she trusted that, even if he didn't realize it yet.

She nodded.

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It was bizarre, to walk on legs that didn't seem to remember how to support her anymore. She trembled, constantly, even as the ravages of the illness faded and let her stomach rest again. She had to sit after even small bursts of activity. The pups fretted. Mama cold, Riley declared, and Oliver followed her endlessly with a blanket dragging from his mouth, trying to put it over her every time she stayed still long enough. They stuck close to her, wary of this strange new world they'd found themselves in.

Junction was a sleepy settlement consisting of a U shape of community buildings backing a smaller section of private cabins. The population was almost entirely transient, the majority made up of therians who were sick or struggling and coming for assistance. A small school to one side boarded teachers who ranged the entire area they were in, travelling to packs and clans of therians living in the wilds who refused to bring their children to the school but wanted their children to learn. Alongside that, there were shops, a hospital, a tiny post office. A bar with its side made up of an enclosed lean-to where therians uncomfortable with sleeping inside could nap away their intoxication. There was a playground. A library. Everything was either free to those in great need, or traded on a barter system that shouldn't run as smoothly as it apparently did. Emily watched from the window of the suite they'd been given in the recovery house—a strangely designed building that was a cross between a hotel and a hospital, allowing them the privacy of their own quarters while still offering medical assistance—as life went on in this strange place.

Strange because of how familiar it was. If it wasn't for that fact that people were just as likely to wear their fur as they were their skin, it could be any small town America. Children played together in groups that didn't seem to care if they were wolf or bear or cat, or even once a small gaggle of deer shifts who gambolled and kicked their immature hooves and absolutely delighted Oliver as he watched them.

Is people, he gasped, tail wagging wildly. Is food like people!

Not food, Spencer managed through his giggles. Good lord, no. Not food, Oliver. Children. Just like you. Would you like to play?

But Emily felt fear and sickness thrum through her at the idea of them being out of sight. With others. Strangers. Hackles up, she didn't say a word but he heard her tension anyway.

They're safe, he soothed her, and she frowned and huffed and finally let him lead them outside, noting how close he stuck to the strange group of young nonetheless.

The place was aptly named. It was a Junction—a junction of lives, intersecting momentarily. It didn't feel overwhelming because it was rarely the same faces from day to day, beyond those who worked there. She suspected every therian in the area wandered here eventually. It didn't feel enclosed because every building was open to the world. The windows were wide, the summers were open to the sky, and the doors folded back so the buildings became simply another section of the outside world. It was a place made for paws and for those who feared being cornered, and it was a place of rest.

After a week, she began to sleep deeply. The medication began to kick in. She felt better. The food began to taste like food again instead of bile. They could drink when they wanted. They could do what they wanted when they wanted. If they felt like sleeping, they could. If they were hungry, there was food freely available to all boarded wolves. Families ate for free whether they were admitted or not. She woke one morning to the blanket folded around her shoulders, the coat gone. Alone but for the pups. She didn't panic, just hunched under the blanket with one wary eye on the window—still unwilling to show the compound's mark on her—until Spencer returned with it washed and mended and replaced it on her with gentle hands that only shook a little.

They gave him clothes. He stopped shaking. The pups began to play.

They could heal like this, she realized. If they stayed.

He began to sleep with her again, human with her huddled against his chest and his arms around her. Heart thumping dully against her back. A cautious reconnection.

But that wasn't the best part.

Oh my god, she said when her traitor legs let her get up and move around more. Oh my god, Spencer, oh my god oh my god.

He was grinning, leaning against the doorframe as she walked slowly in. The pups peered around his legs, eyes wide as they took in the tiled room with one wall made of mirrors.

A hot shower, she breathed, the shaking returning. Oh my god. Hot water. Oh my god. She froze, for a second, transfixed by the sight of a black wolf staring at her from the mirrored wall. Not a familiar black wolf. This wolf was battered and thin, coarse fur hanging from a skeletal frame. Hollow, hard eyes stared at her from a greying muzzle, thin and suspicious and quick to snarl.

She was a stranger to herself. Stunned, she stared.

Spencer broke her transfixion. "Want me to wash your back?" he teased, stripping off his clothes and ushering the puppies inside before closing the door.

Oh my god, was all she could repeat, looking away from the mirrors. There was nothing she could do about that now. Oh my god again as he turned the water to warm and let her slowly sidle under, gasping at the luxurious sensation of the water beating down against her aching body. And again as the puppies risked the water and began to tumble under her feet, snapping at sprays of water and giggling to themselves. And once more as Spencer joined her, sitting under the water with her between his legs as he rubbed soap into her fur with clever, clever fingers and she tried not to make too many undignified noises. Practically melted into his lap with the lessening of every tension that had assailed her, she revelled in this. Soaking wet and silly, and feeling more than a little alive, she leapt up and shook and stumbled as her back legs collapsed. Yelping, Spencer tried to cover his face from the assault.

Get Daddy, she coaxed the puppies, who were delighted to do just that. Spencer vanished under a wave of waggling puppy tails. Riley overshot and landed on the tiles, standing with a yelp that turned into a shriek as she shifted upright, staggered, and fell over onto her bum on the tiles, eyes wide.

"Woah, Riley," Spencer said, catching her with a hand. She clung to it, patting at his fingers curiously. "There's a girl. Atta'girl. Look at you, such a big girl."

Mouth moving carefully, she tried it out. Emily watched intently. "Da'," Riley managed, and then laughed. Looked shocked to have laughed. Laughed again and then lost it completely at the strangeness of the noises coming out of her mouth, curling onto the tiles with her black curls soaked to her skull and her hands to her mouth as she cackled helplessly.

Spencer laughed with her, because the sound was contagious.

Rilly silly, Oliver declared her, shaking water from his own sodden coat. Mama, look how silly.

Very silly, Emily reassured him. Not a sensible lad like you.

Like me! he barked, rearing up onto his hind-legs and falling backwards with a yip. Oh no. Uh oh! I fell.

Screams interrupted them. "Oh boy," said Spencer, pinning Riley down and wiping soap from her eyes as she shrieked angrily. "Guess we get to try washing her hair for the first time."

Oh boy, Emily agreed, using her paws to help pin the girl from escaping. Better you than me.

It was a wonderful, timeless moment, and she refused to ever forget it.

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"Don't chew on your sleeves," Spencer scolded Riley, walking with her carefully down the street towards the communal food-hall. She was clinging to his hand, taking tottering steps with his support, trying to eat the jacket off herself that had taken Spencer almost an hour to get on. "Clothes aren't for eating."

Riley frowned, stomping her bare foot on the ground in anger. Furious she couldn't talk, furious that she'd had to have her hair—almost, they had given up after two hours of being kicked at—brushed and tied back, furious that they'd tried to put shoes on her. Emily could relate to her hatred of shoes. She'd hated them too when she was a pup. Oliver watched it all with an expression of disquiet, as though he was silently planning to never ever shift and expose himself to all this awfulness.

"Daaaaaaa," she whined, the only word she'd managed to get her clumsy lips and tongue around shaping. "Da Da Da Da Daaaa."

"I don't care how much you grump at me," he said swinging her up and letting her scramble onto his shoulders, fingers gripping his hair tight and peering around with fixed interest. "I'm not letting you eat your clothes. Cotton has very little nutritional value."

Want up too, Oliver whined, drooping with his tail between his legs.

When you get forced into clothes and shoes, then you get up, Emily told him heartlessly, nudging him back up with her nose. Until then, deal with it bucko.

The hall wasn't full, but it wasn't empty. The kids fell quiet, looking around at the groups of people with big eyes. Emily found a seat on the side benches that let her sit as easily as a wolf as they would a human, and lifted Oliver up. Spencer set Riley by her side, vanishing for food. Tense, her hackles lifted with worry, feeling like every eye was on their odd little family… Emily waited for a shout, a cry, a hey, we know that wolf.

None came. Just the scent of hot food, the crowded smells of so many strange people all coming together, chattering voices. Spencer returned with food—bowls of soup—and began showing Riley how to use a spoon. Emily ate and watched him getting covered with soup and she listened to the chatter around them, her attention equally divided. Just like keeping a wary eye out for danger as they fed from prey.

Why is food wet? Oliver was asking, poking his nose into the soup curiously and then sneezing it everywhere. Why ow? Why it ow? Emily went to help her son with his first hot meal, before pausing as a snippet of conversation caught her ears.

"Yeah, it's all they're talking about down South. Apparently, a pack crossed over two weeks back. Reckon it's war?"

"A whole pack across the border? That's insane. There's no way that happened."

"What if they're coming to force us back over? They won't let that happen right?"

"Bullshit that's gonna happen. I'll rip them apart before I get dragged back to fucken' America. Them and their black bastard of a leader."

"You gonna walk the whole way to Sanctuary Town to do that? Reckon if this pack of yours exists, they wouldn't have gotten past there yet. Not without a damn good reason."

"They think they have one. Think we've been snatching wolves from the States. Bullshit, if you ask me. Those city-slickers can stay over there."

Emily gasped, audibly. Spencer glanced at her, just in time to get the soup tipped into his lap and for Riley to scream in frustration and shift into a puppy once more, screaming again as she realised she was helplessly tangled in the hated clothes.

Mom Mom Mom, she screeched, thrashing and kicking and squealing. Emily lunged to help, right as Oliver slipped from the bench and landed heavily with the soup bowl toppling on top of his head.

Uh oh, he said, licking chicken from his paws.

They got their soup-covered children back to their rooms and as soon as Spencer pulled the windows shut, Emily lunged. Shift you bastard, she urged him, dancing around him. Shift!

He did. What's wrong? Nose to her muzzle, nuzzling close. Eyes bright despite how ragged his fur was. Not better yet. He still felt distant, Felicity's death still hovering between them, but she knew under that he was worried, anxious, startled.

Not better yet, no, but they would be now.

Aaron, she choked out, and gasped as a wave of hope slammed into her chest. Aaron's in Efisga. He's come for us, Spencer, he's come for us! We're going home!