Chapter Summary: Poland is attacked by wolves in the woods. Lithuania races to the rescue, but can he take down his own pack?
Ch. 19: Wolf's Bane
October 31, 7:30 PM
It's a beautiful night. The autumn air is cold, scented with leaves and a hint of something less tangible. It calls to Poland's blood, making him feel warm and filling his head with visions of the world as it was and will be. Through it all there is a steady hum of music, drawing on his very soul. He wants to go to his favorite spot in the woods, where the trees open in a circle and the full moon shines down. The urge is so powerful that he leaves behind his shoes.
When he reaches the place, Poland pulls off his clothes: coat, shirt, pants, all. His body runs warm on nights like this, and dancing should be done naked if he wants the visions to come in clear. It makes him feel closer to the earth, to the rhythm of the world around him. With a smile he lifts his hands to the sky and begins to move.
His feet are light, but wherever he steps he leaves wet grass and the occasional sprouting mushroom. Come morning, there will be a circle of them, and anyone who steps inside (besides himself and his sweet Liet, of course) will be cursed with bad luck. Poland does not notice, however. His eyes are on the moon, and the world spinning around him. It takes on a dream-like quality, full of fuzzy, half-formed shapes as he spins faster. They rush past him in images he can barely comprehend, past and present and future all mixed together. It's a wild, wonderful rush, and later he will take the time to sort the warnings and the blessings, to try and see if there's anything he can do to prevent future tragedies.
Tonight he sees an iron wolf running from the moon, a tentacle wrapped gently in fur, a black-robed figure sharing wine with a demon, a tomato with wings. There are three boys kneeling before an old man with one eye. One is made of stone, the other fire, and the last of light. Poland falls into old man's empty socket, and on the other side there is just one kneeling, screaming and tugging at his hair until a taint of darkness swallows up his light. Then they're in a bedroom, where the dark one is having sex with two demons, all teeth and claws.
The vision whirls away, on to other things, other places. Through it all, Poland dances.
XXX
The scent of him is not heavy, but it is powerful to those who can smell it. It is a beautiful night, after all, and a perfect one for hunting. With his sharp teeth bared in hunger, the white wolf turns toward the smell, followed by Estonia and Latvia. The wolves are moving through the forest in teams - Russia sent Ukraine, Belarus and Lithuania to the east while he and the others head west. He should wait for the rest of them now that prey has been found, but the smell is too enticing. Russia has never been known to resist temptation; he is Alpha, anyway, and he always gets the first bite.
As they get closer, Russia hunkers down to better stalk their prey, and his pups do the same. They can be nearly silent when they want to, although they are so much bigger than normal wolves - except for Latvia, who might be mistaken for a particularly large dog. From here the smell is overpowering, mouthwatering, enough to make their bellies rumble. Russia eyes the figure from the darkness of the surrounding trees. Blonde, pale, nearly glowing as he dances under the moon. A Wila. Russia licks his lips; fairy-types are a rare delicacy.
If Estonia or Latvia had any presence of mind, they would be trying to find some way to distract Russia. It's clearly Poland, after all, dancing naked in the moonlight. But both their minds have been lost to the wolf, and all they can see is a tasty-looking fairy.
The visions are still filling Poland's head. He is vaguely aware that there's something out there in the forest, but there are always animals. It is only when he hears the growl, low and dangerous, that he stops. It resonates badly with the music in his head, forcing the images to an abrupt halt.
He turns away from the moon, and then sees the eyes glowing in the trees. A wolf. His eyes adjust. No, three wolves, all baring their teeth. Most of the animals in these woods are friendly to him, but these clearly do not belong. Slowly, Poland backs away. "H-hey there doggies. Nice doggies."
Russia growls and snaps, prowling closer, looking for his vulnerable points. He does recognize that this is Lithuania's mate, but that's hardly important. This is prey, prey that smells absolutely irresistible. He could not stop himself if he wanted to. The Wila reaches for something on the ground, and Russia pounces.
Poland swings a broken branch into his path, thick enough to smack the massive teeth away from his neck. But waving a stick around is hardly enough to deter the wolf. Russia rushes forward again, knocking Poland back and snapping his stick in two. Poland scrambles for the nearest tree and tries to climb it, but the wolf is right behind him. He kicks it once as he struggles to pull himself into the branches. Then sharp teeth sink into his calf and drag him back to the ground.
A scream peals through the air. Lithuania's heart thuds inside his chest, and he raises his head toward the sound. That wasn't an animal; that was a man. That was Poland. He bolts, not caring about Ukraine or Belarus or anyone else - just that scream.
It's already too late by the time he gets close enough to smell them. The scent of his lover's blood is heavy in the air. He snarls, barreling towards it. Screw Alphas, Omegas, everything. This is his mate.
Meanwhile, Poland kicks out with his good leg, desperate to make the wolf release him. The jaw is locked so tight around his calf he swears the bone must have snapped. He makes contact near the wolf's eye and it finally releases him with a growl. Poland scrambles back toward the tree, looking for something, anything to defend himself. The smaller wolves are between him and his clothes, and his attacker laps at the blood on the ground. It's practically sneering at him.
Russia savors the blood on his tongue, a nectar made for gods. He knew this one would taste sweet, and now that scent is everywhere. Even Estonia and Latvia prowl forward, coming too close until he snaps at them. This is his kill to make. He looms over Poland and opens his jaws, ready to break his neck.
With a howl of anger, Lithuania leaps into the fray, throwing himself at the great white wolf Russia has become. He butts him directly in the side and slams him away from Poland. The blow knocks them both into a nearby tree, but Lithuania knows this isn't over. He has to shake it off - has to move. He rolls away, trying to get out of Russia's reach and just barely succeeding. There is rage in those violet eyes, anger at the defiance Lithuania is displaying, but he will not yield. He snarls and they begin to circle each other, resolved to fight.
Russia is absolutely livid that one of his pack would attack him. Perhaps if he was even a little rationale he would admit to Lithuania's right to fight for his mate, but right now he is hungry, caught by the scent of his prey and the taste of blood in his mouth. Pure, brutal beast. He snaps at Lithuania, offering him just one chance to back off or run.
For a moment, Lithuania freezes. He knows what he is challenging, what he is dealing with, and it would indeed be wise to back down now. However, his own anger is just as strong. That is his mate, his husband. That is not prey. He can feel Poland's energy in the air, smell his sweetness and fear. He will not let Russia touch him again. A low, rumbling growl escapes his throat, and he moves to stand in front of Poland, snarling with intense determination. He just hopes his mate can run before it gets any uglier.
The message is clear: Mine. For Russia, that claim is only as important as showing this little cur where he belongs. There will be no more warnings, no mercy. He lunges, a powerful swipe of his claws sending Lithuania to the side, but not down. He growls and goes after him again.
Lithuania knows he's in for it. But so is Russia. He can put up with a lot of his Alpha shit, but turning his mate into a snack is grounds for retaliation. He dodges the second move, then smacks Russia across the face, scratching him hard. He jolts back before tackling Russia to the ground and trying to roll him.
Poland watches the two wolves fight for the chance to make him a meal in a blur of teeth and fur, his mouth practically hanging open. He needs to get out of here while they're distracted. However, when he tries to stand he lets out a squeal of agony that seems to come straight from his leg. Okay, so, crawling. Crawling away as the big white wolf tackles the brown one and bites into his shoulder, and why the hell does the yelp that follows echo in his soul? He forces himself to move. There's a growl in front of him, and when he looks up there are two more wolves staring back. They're staying well away from the fight, but watching carefully. One has the biggest teats he's ever seen on a canine. Crap, does that mean they're trying to feed him to a whole family?
For a second, Lithuania is on his stomach and he takes a nasty bite to the shoulder. He doesn't care. This isn't about pain - this is about Poland. He struggles back and flips them again, slamming Russia onto his back and snapping at his throat. He'll die before he lets Russia win this.
This time it is Russia who yelps, Lithuania's claws digging into his ribs and the fangs ripping his fur bloody. It's not deep enough to kill, but it is enough to make him wary. This isn't how the fight is supposed to go. He's supposed to overpower the little upstart, to hurt him until he's too afraid to ever stand up to him again. This, however, is a real fight, and he's been injured. Snarling, Russia gathers in his legs and uses that power to throw Lithuania off of him. He's done playing. He'll kill the dog if he has too. With vicious intent, he lunges.
But Lithuania is fast. He rolls and lunges himself, tackling Russia back to the dirt with a loud, angry growl. No. Russia may be the Alpha, but he will not have Lithuania's mate. There is a struggle, another snap of jaws and heavy paws digging into his chest. Lithuania is thrown off, but he will not be deterred. His love is stronger than Russia. He throws himself into his next charge with enough force to knock the great white wolf off his feet, and uses the advantage to hold him to the dirt, a snarl of anger curling his lips up to bare his teeth.
Russia darts his head up, snapping his teeth into Lithuania's injured shoulder again while twisting beneath him. They struggle for a moment before he finally gets the other wolf off. They stand, both panting and bleeding, and Russia has to admit it's been a long time since he was in such a fight. It's almost exhilarating, except for the fact that he is not about to lose his territory.
They dance around each other, and Lithuania knows that Ivan will strike faster than he's playing. So he strikes first, head-butting him in the side and slamming him into the nearest tree. That's when Russia actually yelps. Lithuania jolts back, surprised to see the wolf stumble and half-limp away from the tree.
The impact sends bright, sharp pain all the way from Russia's spine to the space behind his eyes, so that at first he cannot localize it. He keeps walking, trying to find what hurts while keeping an eye on Lithuania. It's in his chest; something moving that shouldn't be, tight against his lungs. A rib. He tries to snap at Toris, but the move sends pressure and pain all through his chest. He falters and falls, panting against the dirt.
No, no, he cannot give up! Russia manages to rise again, but the pain is all over now, all the bites and scratches catching up at once. If he fights now, he could lose everything. However, if he gives in and lets Lithuania have his stupid mate, he can regroup and reclaim the pack when he is strong again. With a whimper, he lies down again and tucks his tail between his legs.
Lithuania comes closer and sniffs at him, wary. The white wolf growls a little, but Lithuania barks and shoves a paw against his ribs. Russia whines and rolls over, baring his neck and belly in surrender.
And there, before every wolf's shocked eyes, Lithuania leans in and nips at Russia's throat. More than a bite, it is a show of dominance, of victory. He has won this round. If Russia challenges him over his mate again, he will do so knowing that he was beaten once before.
Russia does not move until Lithuania pulls away to let him up. Belarus is beside him immediately. He growls at her, but cannot send her away. As if losing were not humiliating enough, he may need help. With a final, nasty look in Poland's direction and a bark that encourages the others to stay out of his way, Russia limps off into the woods.
Poland stares, not sure what the hell is going on. However, his leg is bleeding profusely, and it's definitely in need of treatment. He has to get out of here before the brown wolf decides to claim his victory prize.
Gripping a stick under his hand, he leans back against the tree. He hopes this stick is sturdier than the last one. Unlikely, but it's all he has. He brandishes it in front of him as the brown wolf comes closer. "Stay back. I'm warning you; if you come closer I'll turn you into a fur coat!"
The pack slowly backs up - all except Lithuania. He whines, his eyes going wide and puppyish on his husband. Then he sees the stick. His eyes widen even further and he gets up on his hind legs, paws in the air, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he pants for it.
Poland backs up further, wondering if there's any chance he can make it up the tree this time. This wolf is already drooling! He waves the stick at it. "GO! Get out of here! I'm totally not tasty!"
The wolf whines and follows the stick, its tail wagging. Poland blinks, and moves the stick slowly. The wolf's strange green eyes follow it. "You...want the stick?"
Lithuania whines, hopping up and down on his hind legs, his tail wagging, thumping hard against the dirt. Finally, he drops to all fours, mentally chanting ThrowitthrowitthrowitIloveyouthrowit... Somewhere in his mind he knows that now is not the time to play fetch. But... There is a stick. He wants the stick.
Strange as it is, Poland will take any chance he can get. He takes a deep breath, then throws the stick as far as he can. As soon as the wolf bounds after it he drags himself up against the tree. His leg is agony, but he forces himself to work through it. All he has to do is make it into the tree, and then maybe he won't get eaten.
Lithuania bounds after the stick at lightning speed. His shoulder aches, his stomach is scratched and bruised, but it's a stick and he has to have it. He snatches it in mid-air, yelping a little when he hits the ground again. But he's no worse for wear. He bounds back, dropping the stick by the bottom of the tree and looking up at Poland, tail wagging with delight.
Poland manages to reach the lowest branch with his hands and pull the weight off his feet, but that bark frightens him and he falls back again. The sudden weight on the bad leg makes him cry out, and he falls in front of the wolf. Just perfect. But now that he's looking at it closely, there's something familiar about the animal. There's something about the eyes that reminds him of... "Liet?"
Lithuania lets out a whine, leaning forward to nudge Poland's hurt leg. But when Poland says his name, he raises his head and meets his eyes, trying to show him - Yes, it's me, you see me... - even if he can't say the words.
Carefully, still half-afraid the wolf will turn on him, Poland reaches out toward the head. The wolf nuzzles against his fingers and rubs its ears against his palm. He takes the soft face between his hands and pulls it closer. Past the big teeth and the muzzle, the ears and the fur, there in the eyes...is his husband. Really, truly, not just a reminder of Toris, but actually him. "Oh my God. Oh my God. I mean, what...Liet! Oh God, Liet, what happened to you? Why didn't you tell me?"
Oh, if only he could explain in this form. It seems so far away: the bite, the day he woke up in Russia's house with a stinging arm and a painful headache. Back then, Russia made sure of his conquests this way. His clan once numbered in the dozens, but it was slowly eaten away. At least that last question, he can answer with the tilt of his head.
"Oh don't you give me that look!" says Poland, crossing his arms. "I keep telling you that we're together now, so we're going to deal with things together. That includes you being all...furry."
Lithuania wants to say, And you, being all... fairy? But he can only translate that into a three second look. Then he's back to nuzzling Poland's wound, whining at it, trying to convey that they need to seek special help. Norway. They need to heal this right, or Poland might be all furry himself by the next full moon.
Poland hisses, drawing the leg in. He's still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his husband is a wolf. Part-time, at least. He looks up at the moon, and that makes more sense until he recognizes the full implications. "Oh holy shit, that means those others were...?"
Lithuania gives Poland another look that he should be quite familiar with. Good job, babe. Then he sits back on his hinds, waiting for him to try standing.
"Ahh! But if it bit me...I DON'T WANT TO BE A FURRY!" There's another wolf-look, and Poland backtracks. "Not that it looks bad on you. You look totally adorbs. Or, ah, fierce I mean. You scared the hell out of me. Wait, you just took down Russia, didn't you? And he was going to eat me! That bastard...ohmygod, I can't even..." Poland stops himself, takes several very deep breaths in an attempt to regain some level of calm, and returns to the situation at hand. "Okay. So...um...clothes. They're over there somewhere. Could you grab them?" He points in the direction of the rest of the pack, who are watching quietly, apparently at a loss of what to do without Russia.
Lithuania's look reads: Opposable thumbs? But he wanders over to the pile, picking them up with his teeth and bringing them to his lover article by article; though he keeps the underwear, rubbing his face in it.
At that, Poland shakes his head. "This explains...so very much. I did kind of wonder who chewed up my-you know what? Not going to think about that." He dresses gingerly, then finally tries to get to his feet. Although he takes his time, careful with how he holds his weight, even the slightest pressure sends throbbing agony through his calf. He grimaces, holding onto the tree to keep himself upright. "Okay so, the walking thing is probably not happening right now. Oh, Liet! You're hurt too! Your shoulder's bleeding."
Lithuania looks up. Yes, he's hurt, but Poland is far more important. He bows down on his legs, nodding his head and silently telling Poland to get on his back. He can carry a lot in this form. He can probably get his mate to Norway without any issues, unless his shoulder is more fucked up than he thinks.
"Toris, no, I can't! You're hurt," Poland protests. The wolf does not budge. Poland stretches out his hand, brushing it over the soft fur. "Are you sure?"
Lithuania gives him a long, obvious nod, hoping he'll understand. He can get his mate to safety. His shoulder will be fine - and if it isn't, Norway will take care of that too. Norway always does.