As I've mentioned, they have a father/son relationship. You should see more of that here. It's inspired by a video game with a robot and human child who have a mother/daughter relationship.
"Other werewolves?" Grady gaped.
"That's where we live," admitted John. "Except when they pretend to live in the town to lure humans for their prey. They even kicked me out even though I'm one of them, so that's why I stay in my shack in the swamp." Grady gaped in disbelief. "They're out for revenge. They'll do something far worse to me than I did to them if I cross over." He let out a hollow laugh. "Either cross over to escape from humans and get killed by my own kind, or leave and get killed by humans."
Grady tried to offer his sympathies, but found it hard to keep his head up and eyes open. Exhaustion overtook him as he sank to the ground.
Despite his own predicament, concern filled John's green eyes. "You should get some sleep," he suggested.
"But we can't stay here," Grady protested, yawning. John looked guilty, before he added, "We're too close to the opening of the swamp."
John paused in surprise. "I'm not leaving," Grady insisted.
John must've realized he was serious. Grady felt him place his arms under him and lift him up. He jumped slightly, but didn't open his eyes. He let himself be carried deeper into the swamp, feeling comforted against his strong hold. He lifted him like he was a light sack. He couldn't remember the last time he had been carried like this, even by his parents.
After a while, John lay him down in a clearing in the swamp, under a large tree hanging over him. Grady felt the rough bark against his back. He tried to open his eyes, but they kept fluttering open. He sunk to the cold, mossy ground and lay against the tree, but he couldn't stop himself from shivering. The cold air of the swamp surrounded his trembling body.
Suddenly, he felt something being draped over him. Something warm and bulky. He buried himself into it, feeling comforted by its warmth. Then he poked his head out and opened his eyes. He spotted John lying against an opposite, thinner tree with his eyes closed, missing his jacket. Grady closed his eyes again, but started slowly shifting towards him with the jacket still draped over him. He stopped when he was next to him, feeling his body next to him as he lay out on the ground. Then John lay down next to him as well and put his arm around him. They were asleep within minutes.
In his sleep, Grady dreamed about his family. It wasn't a pleasant dream. He remembered the time his mother had hit him out of frustration, because he wouldn't stop going on about his sketches and theories. How his sister had seen him being bullied by the other boys and had cheered them on instead of defending him, calling him a wimp for not standing up for himself. Even his father had snapped at him and called him a loser for not having any friends. He still loved them, but they didn't understand him. He often wondered if they wished he wasn't a part of the family as well.
When Grady woke up, he caught a delicious scent wafting through the stiff, chilly morning air. He groggily raised his head and saw John sitting in the middle of the clearing by a fire, poking at a half-burnt piece of meat hanging over the low flames and blackened stones. The meat was lying on top of sticks put together to create a grill, held up on both sides by two large rocks that held it over the flames. It had cooked the meat very well. It was charred and emanating smoke.
John looked up at him. "Oh, you're awake. I thought you'd be hungry."
Grady shifted uncomfortably, not liking to feel John's warmth leave him. Maybe that was why he had woken up. He reluctantly got up and made his way to the fire. The meat didn't look appetizing, but smelled tantalizing. John turned it over with the stick, eyeing it carefully.
"Uh, what is it?" Grady asked, though John was right about him being hungry. He was hungry enough to eat it on the spot, without caring about burning his mouth or hands.
"Deer," John replied, cutting a part off forcefully with the stick. It was pale red on the inside, and more appealing smells emitted from it. Grady wanted to ask for it right then, but hesitated.
"How did you get it?"
John hesitated. Grady suddenly felt like an idiot for asking. How did he think he got it?
"I found a deer in the swamp," John explained, placing a piece of the meat onto a large slab of rock. It sizzled slightly, seeming to burn the rock. "She was grazing, completely vulnerable. Then I leapt at her and… well, you know. Then I cooked her - I mean, it." Seeing the look on Grady's face, he quickly added, "Oh, I wasn't in werewolf form. I was still human. I don't like hunting animals, but I'm not bad at it."
Grady shuddered at the thought. Even as a human, John still had some werewolf characteristics. He imagined the feral glint in his eyes as he crouched into attacking position and mauled the vulnerable deer.
"I didn't want to," John insisted, taking a large bite of the meat right off the fire. Instead of feeling disgusted as he should've, Grady found himself awed by how easily he ate it. He didn't even grimace. "I don't like hunting animals if I can help it. But I had to get food for you."
"I'm not that hungry," Grady lied, feeling his stomach grumble. The scent of the slaughtered deer wasn't helping."
"I thought about you while attacking it," John continued. "I thought about getting food for you. Uh, that probably sounds weird."
"A little," Grady admitted. He was a little weirded out by the thought of someone thinking of him while attacking an animal, but a part of him was also weirdly touched. "Well, I am really hungry. I guess I could take a little taste."
John passed the slab of rock over to him. Grady eyed it, waiting for it to cool, and John quickly remembered to hand him a stick as well, smoothing it out with his hands first. Grady stabbed it with the bare stick, lifting a piece and staring at it. He raised it to his mouth, and it smelled so delicious that he couldn't resist jamming it into his mouth.
He almost spat it out. It was very hot, almost burning his mouth, but he managed to keep chewing. It tasted as good as it smelled. It was crispy and juicy and slightly burnt-tasting, and had an appealing flavor as it slid down his throat.
"It's not bad," Grady admitted when his mouth had stopped burning. "But I think I'd better wait for it to cool down."
John laughed, taking another bite of his share. "I probably should've warned you about that."
Grady waited for a long time after John finished eating the rest of the meat. When he took the next bite, it tasted better than the first time, the reduced heat causing him to really taste it. The burnt flavor only made it taste better.
"It's actually really good," Grady admitted, trying to joke. "Maybe you should kill more deer for me."
John laughed. "I don't know about that. You're right about it being good, though."
"I'm thirsty now, though," Grady complained. His throat still burned slightly.
"I thought you might be as well," said John. "I found a stream."
He stood up, and Grady followed him through the swamp. While the morning air was chilly, there was also heat and sunlight poking through the trees, giving it a humid aura. There were little specks of light hanging in the air, giving it a magical feeling.
Grady stared at the stream. A patch of sunlight was shining on it all through the middle, making the water glisten and showing the fish swimming deep underneath. It seemed to sparkle, and it looked so refreshing that Grady ran over at once.
He dipped his hands into the stream and raised the water to his mouth. It was the most refreshing, cool water he had ever tasted. He took several mouthfuls, and John joined in.
"I knew you'd like it," John said. "It's very cold."
"It's great," Grady agreed, placing his hands into the water and feeling it run through.
"I'm still hungry," John admitted, taking another gulp with his mouth without dipping his hands in. "I know that sounds selfish, since I ate the rest of the meat. Uh, sorry."
"It's fine," Grady assured. "I'm full now."
"I have a large appetite," said John. Grady didn't have to ask why. "Maybe I should do some fishing." John stared down at the fish in the glistening, flowing stream.
John set to work making a fishing rod. He picked up a long, thick stick on the ground, smoothed it off again, and tied leaves around the end. Then he bent smaller leaves into a hook and attached it to the end of the makeshift fishing line. Grady watched in awe. He really was talented.
"Maybe I could help," he blurted out suddenly.
John looked at him, picking up his makeshift fishing rod. "Really?"
"I could help you fish," offered Grady. Truthfully, he had never liked fishing. His father had taken him on fishing trips before, and he always got annoyed with him and yelled at him for not doing it right.
"Okay, if you want." John bent down and created a smaller fishing rod for him. Grady tried copying him and tying leaves to the end of a stick, but they fell apart immediately.
"You're really good at making things," Grady remarked as John handed him his rod.
"Thanks," said John. "I had a lot of practice."
Then John showed him how to lower the leaf line and hook into the stream. Grady expected the fishing rods to fall apart the moment they touched the water, but they stayed together. Grady enjoyed the scene, instead of finding it boring like he usually did. He wouldn't mind if they never caught any fish.
Suddenly, John slapped a hand to his forehead. "I completely forgot! We need bait. We can't catch anything without bait."
"Oh," said Grady, removing his rod from the stream.
"I'm such an idiot," said John, scanning the ground. Grady did as well. He spotted several ants running over leaves, and reached down to pick one up. The moment he stood up, he let out a yell of pain and dropped it.
John looked at him. "What is it?"
"An ant bit me," said Grady, showing him his thumb. There was a long, red line down it.
"Are you alright?" John tried to touch it, but Grady held it out of the way.
"I'm fine," he insisted. "It's just a little cut." Actually, it was burning and throbbing fiercely. He tried not to wince.
"Be careful," John warned. "It was probably a poisonous ant."
"It did look red," said Grady, pressing his thumb to his shirt.
John suddenly bent down and picked up two worms he found right by the stream. He held tightly to them as they squirmed and attached them to the end of the leaves. To Grady's surprise, they stayed on, despite their wriggling.
"Here." John handed him his rod. Grady took it, but had to hold it in awkwardly due to the injury on his thumb. John noticed as they headed to the stream again.
"Show me your finger," he instructed.
"It's not that bad," Grady insisted as John inspected it in the palm of his hand.
"It must be hurting a lot," said John, dropping his rod. He bent his head down and Grady closed his eyes, feeling his saliva on his thumb. He wasn't even grossed out anymore. It just felt like a healing gel or ointment, soothing his injury. His thumb felt better almost instantly.
John handed him back his rod, and they headed back to the stream again. They stood for a while, staring at the flowing stream. Grady felt relaxed and at peace, not bored or irritated. Just being by John calmed him down. He felt he could stand there for hours, just enjoying the sun and sound of the rippling water.
"There! Get it!" Hearing John's yell, Grady tore from his lazy mindset and gazed frantically down at the water. Seeing a fish near his worm, he yanked his rod, but ended up shaking it wildly and hitting the fish instead of catching it. He leaned forward into the stream, focusing intently on the fishes, but leaned too far and gave a yelp as he fell in.
It actually felt nice, feeling his front being splashed in cold water. It was a nice place to swim and bathe. He just wished he'd taken his clothes off beforehand. He bristled as he heard John laughing, before hurrying to help him up. "You okay?"
"Fine," Grady shivered as he got up, wrapping his arms around himself. He relaxed as he felt John's strong arms around him, along with the sunlight, warming him down.
"Maybe I should fish from now on," John suggested, holding up Grady's broken rod.
"Yeah," Grady agreed, laughing as well as he headed out of the stream. Maybe he wasn't actually able to stand there for hours, but it was less boring than he thought it'd be.
Eventually, John managed to catch a fish, Grady turning away in disgust as the bare, wet thing wriggled on the bank, and somehow managed to bring it, writhing, to the fire. It had gone out, but John quickly lit it again. Grady sat near it, enjoying the warmth that dried his wet clothes, though the sunlight was already doing a good job.
"I'd like to try it," said Grady, smelling the fish cooking.
"Oh, of course," said John. "I won't eat almost all of it this time." He flashed him a grin.
Grady took a bite of the fish, and enjoyed it almost as much as the deer. He had almost finished when they heard footsteps in the distance, rustling the trees and accompanied by muffled shouts.
"Oh, no," John muttered, grabbing Grady's arm. Before Grady could move or even panic, he started dragging him through the swamp. It became a blur of greens as Grady felt himself dragged through the mass of trees, scraping against his hands and face. He tried to yell for John to stop, but the air went straight through his mouth. He tried to catch his breath, but could only let out a gasp as he opened his mouth. He wasn't sure if he was running, or if John was pulling him like a bag behind him.
When John finally slowed down, Grady fell to the ground, panting and catching his breath, his face feeling like it was about to catch on fire. John looked at him apologetically.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, bending down and placing a hand to his scrapes. "I just panicked. I could hear them coming, and—"
"Why did you do that?" Grady demanded, glaring at him. He wanted to explain things to the men.
John looked at him apologetically. "They wouldn't have listened, believe me."
Grady still felt annoyed with him, but didn't have time to argue. He grasped at the mossy ground, which now felt different from before. He glanced up and gasped. He could see the end of the swamp, an opening between the trees which were darker and denser than the area they had previously been in. Now that he looked around, he noticed the entire area was different. It was not only darker and quieter, but more ominous and threatening somehow, as if there was danger just around the corner, unlike the comforting, relaxing aura the other part of the swamp gave off. Probably because there was danger just around.
John lowered his head and applied saliva to Grady's wounds, despite his protests that he was fine. He tried to back away from him and swat his head away, but John shushed him, telling him he needed to be healed. Grady rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but be touched by how he fussed over him.
Once he was finished, Grady's body still ached and felt like he needed to lie down, but it stung a lot less. He smiled weakly at John, but it quickly disappeared as he heard returning footsteps approaching. His heart dropped, and John's eyes flashed with panic.
John's gaze trailed to the opening between the trees. Grady could barely make out what was beyond there. He had no doubt what John's intentions were when he grabbed his arm.
"No!" Grady tried to pull away.
"They won't catch us if we go there," John insisted. "They might come to the swamp, but they'll be too scared to go beyond."
Grady was too terrified to argue. He allowed John to drag him through the opening. It was too small for both of them at once. John went through first, and then reached his arm back inside and grabbed Grady's, dragging him as well.
It might as well have reopened the scrapes that John cleaned up. Grady gasped as he felt his body being forced through, and then felt the immediate contrast of the beaming sun beating down on him on the other side.
As his eyes adjusted to the new territory, they opened wide in both fear and excitement. Here he was. He was really here, in the land of werewolves. It was far more mundane than he expected. There were snacks and huts lining a dirt road, a large, unlit campfire in the distance surrounded by sticks.
"Welcome to my home," John stated with a hint of irony.
