Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanza, or whatever you do or don't celebrate. For this holiday season, I present to you the long awaited chapter 5 of Bad Moon Hell Raisers. Thanks for all the favs, the reviews, etc etc, you're all wonderful. Thanks for being patient. Now I ask you to pay attention to this chapter, for everything you read, please keep it all mind for the future. This one is pretty long, but hopefully this should sustain you until chapter 6 is completed.

Three days before Fourth of July, and it was Desmond's first full moon here with the boys. Now, no one exactly told him when it was or what he should expect for it. Really, the boys went to bed perfectly fine one night, then woke up the next morning with giant fire ants in their pants. Ones that kept biting at their dicks because Altaïr and Malik came down to breakfast ready to tear each other's throat out.

Well actually, growling and snapping at each other, verbally and physically. They wouldn't even eat their eggs or toast, food the last things on their minds for once. Rather, they say in opposite corners of the room and nearly had a hissy fit whenever someone so much as breathed wrong. All this, completely and utterly new behavior to Desmond.

It just seemed incredibly unreal to have Altaïr and Malik at each other like this. They were like overgrown, moody puppies most of the time, following each other around, tripping over one another, curled up in a big pile when they napped in the living room. Puppyish stuff. Not "If you blink at me one more time I will fucking rip your eyes out". Desmond's guess, it was a full moon thing because this wasn't normal. Not that he really knew what normal was for a werewolf, but it couldn't be this.

Sure, they bickered a lot, and yelled at each other a lot, and generally got on each other's nerves, but not to the extent of literally wanting to kill each other. Full moon days seemed to amplify that, and it didn't look like they'd calm down any time soon. Not for being cute, or trying to bother him, or humping each other, or playing with their cannons. Normal things that would normally chill them out, but since they kept giving each other dirty looks for breathing,t hat didn't seem like it would any time soon at all.

But now Desmond still had at least eleven hours or so until the sun went down and the boys could wolf it up to their heart's content. Which he was possibly scared as hell about because he didn't know shit about this and he really needed to get a hold of Connor, badly. But the survivalist, for one reason or another, was making it impossible to get a hold of. Which was not helpful at all since Desmond needed to know what he was actually supposed to do tonight, and not, you know, cower under his bed and hope he wasn't bed until the sun rose the next morning. And since he was too lazy to vacuum underneath there, he sorta needed the advice now.

Actually now was probably what he needed to worry about. Like making sure there was a later to look forward to. That sounded a hell of a lot more important. Desmond was somewhat sitting between Altaïr and Malik but against the wall and pretty much out of the way should they try and jump each other right there in the middle of the living room. Here he was trying to call Connor, glancing between the two Syrians as he did, watching them flinch or wince at the dial tones they easily heard loud and clear.

He finally gave up around the fifth time he got voicemail, and basically the message left that Connor would hear later would be Altaïr threatening to smash the phone against Desmond' head if he did not stop fucking calling him. And Desmond promptly did so, shoving his phone into his pocket and hoping Connor would pick his own up soon. And then it came, that overwhelming fear being torn to bits and being stared at like a big, juicy rabbit practically begging to become dinner' That feeling he was being hunted by a powerful predator and he didn't have long to live because someone else didn't want him to. Probably not something an Assassin should feel, but he did nonetheless because he had no actual means of being able to beat the two werewolves in the room with his hands alone. And even then, he'd probably lose said hands.

So he would do his absolute best to not piss them off any more today with the real beast threatening to break free.

The rest of the day went along the lines of Desmond awkwardly napping upon the silver bar that Connor kept in the glove box. Somewhere between shoving his phone in his pocket and attempting to take a cat nap, the boys had finally reached a breaking point of sorts. Altaïr tackled Malik, and they rolled around the living room in a mass whirlwind of destruction behind (oh the poor pillows). Desmond somehow managed to get this ass out of there, and out of panic, ran to the truck, got the bar out, and ran back inside with it as a shield. The fighting had immediately stopped in favor of jumping away from him in absolute terror. Malik managed to spit a curse or two at him, but they seemed to the lack they normally held.

With this newfound power, Desmond managed to get them to completely separate. Altaïr was sentenced to their bedroom, and Malik banished out to the barn. He was absolutely amazed that such a small, stupid piece of metal had so much power over them. Something so insignificant to people like him was a big deal to people like Altaïr and Malik. Then again, any kind of silver would be the death of them, and Desmond would have to keep in mind to only hold this over their heads in extreme emergencies. Not that he was sure he'd have to do that again ever, he wasn't staying here permanently after all.

However, he still kept it around him after sending the boys off to separate corners of the farm. Because Altaï was only just upstairs, and if his wolf decided to come out to play early, at least Desmond would be able to hold him off. Though, keeping him up there all night long? Yeah no, he'd put the bar back in the truck long before the sun set.

But around five or so, Desmond was rudely ripped out of any sort of sleep by the ringing of his cellphone. Still groggy, he fumbled for it and flipped it open. "Hello?" he asked into the earpiece.

"Got your messages. Please tell me the phone is in your hand not lodged in your skull"

"Oh thank fucking god" Desmond sighed, slumping against a pillow. "It's in my hand, don't worry, Thank you, thank you, thank you so so sooo much for calling me back"

"Well you know, the five different voicemails weren't really convincing enough that you needed help, but that last one left me kinda nervous I just really called to make sure you were alive" Connor said. His voice was suddenly the more reassuring thing Desmond had heard in days. The answers to all his problems were about to be given to him, everything would now make sense and he could do anything after this.

"Well I am so…..Yeah, I could use your help here. Like….what do I do with killer wolves? How do I survive that?" Desmond started asking, hoping Connor secretly had a silver bomb shelter or a closet somewhere he could hide in, because that would be totally ballin if he did.

"Alright, I'll tell you what you don't do then. First of all, don't panic. Don't run away, don't scream at them, do nothing. If anything, they should recognize you, and they shouldn't hurt you. They might wanna play with you, but they shouldn't maul you"

"You saying 'shouldn't' a lot doesn't make me feel better about this…."

"Save all comments for the end, please. Alright, so if they don't hurt you, then you're good, obviously, and should go running with them"

"Running?"

"Running, hunting, same thing. What do you expect them to do? Howl at the moon all night? Yeaaaah no"

"Why though?"

"You're pack"

"And that means?"

"Wolves run in packs. You've been there long enough, you're part of the pack. So you run with them. And if you don't, they will make you. Trust me, they have ways"

"Oh that just sounds absolutely fan-fucking-tastic"

"Oh kid" Connor chuckled. "Look, just hang out with them for the night, they'll eventually pass out and turn back to normal. Okay? Can you handle that for a couple hours?"

"Suppose I can" Desmond mused.

"Greaaaat. You'll be fine. Listen, I'll be home in a few days, just after Fourth of July. Tell the guys that, and survive until then. Can ya handle that for me?"

"Yeeeeeees"

"Alright smartass, see ya then. Later" and Connor hung up. Desmond flipped his phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket. He sat back into the pillows, tapping his fingers against the silver bar next to him. Yes, go running with the bullheaded, assassin werewolves. How safe that sounded. But….he'd do what Connor told him to. Maybe Altaïr and Malik's wolves were far more pleasant beings than their human counterparts.

It was probably a good idea to put the bar back in the truck first though.

It was a quarter to eight and the boys were finally somewhat relaxed. Desmond was sitting outside on the porch with them, a Syrian on either side of him. Both men were oddly quiet, actually sitting completely still, staring up at the moon. They only wore loose pants.

The countryside around them was a marvel to behold. It was a beautiful sight, the full moon lighting up the sky. The whole area around them that Desmond could see glowed beneath the moonlight. Like it had been transformed, covered in a spectacular sheen of yellowy white. This, was country living for sure. So far away from civilization that you were practically in another world. No city lights to block out the stars, no cars covering up the drone of crickets and frogs, and no tang of smog in the air. Nothing but nature.

And then it was time. Suddenly, Altaïr let out a pained grunt and doubled over, as if he had been punched in the gut. A sheen of sweat broke out across his back, gasping for breath, and a deep growl rising from this throat. His whole body spasmed, and Desmond could see the skin rippling like a stone thrown into a pond.

"Get his pants before he tangles himself up" Malik growled at him, sliding off the porch and wrestling his own off. Nodding, Desmond carefully edged over to Altaïr, the latter on his stomach now, making it easier for Desmond to grab the cuffs of his pantlegs and tug them off. Now the skin looked ready to split open, the flesh bulging as muscles and bones began to reform themselves just beneath. His eyes the size of dinner plates at this point, Desmond could see a light fuzz beginning to grow atop the skin. Even Altaïr's face had changed; though twisted in pain, it slowly grew longer, more narrow, the very beginnings of a snout.

On Desmond's other side, Malik was suffering a very similar fate. Though he looked more at peace, more calm, but still in great pain as the transformation came. With Malik, every breathe was another transition to the next body. Limbs shifted, changed shape, longer, thinner, but packed with muscle. There was an obvious difference between the two and how their transformations came about. The way Altaïr twisted about suggested he was perhaps fighting it, while Malik's more calm approach was perhaps a more peaceful approach at it.

But Desmond couldn't blame his cousin, though. He was giving up his body for another form, a form completely separate from a human. To become something else, another being entirely…It was scary to think about and it was certainly terrifying to watch. How they did this every month, Desmond didn't know. It looked far too painful to be real, something that normal people should not have to go through. Even it was only for one night a month, it was just horrifying.

Finally, the whole agonizing process came to a close. Gone were the two men Desmond had come to know. In their place, two beasts lied. He had never seen wolves up close before, and he wasn't sure they were actually supposed to be that big. They were huge, bigger than him probably. And they were just lying on the ground. He didn't know what else to expect from them. They looked like normal wolves, not half-man, half-wolf creature that was from the old Wolf-Man movies. He had honestly expected something much, much worse, something more along the line of those bad movies Hollywood loved to make. No, instead, before him he had two gorgeous animals straight out of some painting.

One wolf was a creamy coffee color, lithe, lean, a sleek wolf that was made for running; Altaïr was an absolutely handsome wolf. The animal beside Altaïr was just as stunning. The only way Desmond knew he was there was thanks to the moonlight turing black fur into a silver color. He looked naturally bigged, stockier, but very powerful. It was just amazing how beautiful they both were, Desmond couldn't help but stare at them in awe.

Both wolves lay panting on heavily as if the process of shoving their human sides away was a tiring and difficult task. They looked so bone tired, so Desmond rose to get them some water at least, they could have that much at least couldn't they? As soon as he stood though, their heads immediately snapped up. Two pairs of gleaming amber stared up at him, and Desmond froze on the spot. The coffee colored wolf, Altaïr, shot up to his feet in one swift movement. Now he looked way bigger than before, scarier, the real top predator Desmond had feared when he first came here.

He couldn't help but shake more than a leaf as Altaïr stalked forward, easily closing the distance between them with one mere step. Desmond stupidly flinched away and closed his eyes, waiting for that big body to crash into him, for razor sharp teeth to start tearing away at his face. The porch creaked, something big brushed up against his leg. There was a loud snuffling along his pantsleg, and without any other warning, he was bumped into and sent face planting into the ground.

"Owwwwww" Desmond moaned, blinking his eyes open. A dark, wobbling leg was in front of him. Glancing up, Malik hovered over him, ears pressed at odd angles, brows pressed together. He could practically hear Malik's scathing voice in his head, "Stupid pup"

In any case, Malik's wolf was just as unimpressed as he normally was.

Desmond gasped as a tremendous weight settled on his back, and hot air blasted the back of his head. "Altaïr" he barely managed to breathe out, gasping again as the wolf sat his ass down on him. Oh Jesus he was fucking heavy! Like a weight he stupidly dropped on his chest while at the gym, a crushing force that defiantly kept him from breathing. So right off the bat, his first full moon, and he had a two-hundred pound animal sitting on him. Fan-fucking-tastic.

More hot air blasted the back of his head and neck, and he really just wished they would hurry up and eat him already. "They won't hurt you" Connor said. "They wanna play with you" he had said. Yeah, play with their food before eating it. Fuck that! He was going to die tonight. He was sent out here to be werewolf chow. Everything is permitted, including feeding Brotherhood members to each other.

A yippy, yappy howl split the air. A chorus of them rose up after it from the mountainside, then died down. Altaïr and Malik, wanting to let their neighbors know they were out and about, tipped their heads back and howled as well. Desmond had heard them howl before, but as humans. And their howls had sounded more human, but animalistic, a mad mimicry of the real thing. Their howls as actual animals though, sounded melodic, calming, but carried so much power in them. Despite being able to feel the song through his bones, and that he had a big wolf on his back, Desmond felt mesmerized. Just like its source, the song of a wolf held the same beauty as the one who sang it.

Desmond let out a cry when Altaïr leapt off him, and he was reminded that he could actually breathe, that the process of it actually existed. As he regained his breath, a furry head butted into his shoulder, and he yelped when his ankles were snapped at. Get up, get up the gestures seemed to say.

"Okay, okay, I'm up, I'm up!" he grumbled, slowly picking himself up. Altaïr practically pranced around him, tail wagging and tongue lolled out. Malik was already limping away and towards the the trees. He paused to look over at them, yipped, and continued on his way. Altaïr whined, head butting Desmond's leg before taking off after the other wolf.

"Go run with them…packs run together"

Do or die time then. As much as he didn't want to, Desmond took a deep breath and jogged after them, less they get impatient with him and decide to drag him along. Altaïr was running circles around Malik impatiently, as if he couldn't wait for the others to catch up and run with him. When Desmond did finally catch up to them, the coffee colored wolf took off into the trees. He heard a frustrated whine from Malik, the black wolf pausing again to catch his breath before continuing on. Desmond decided it was best to stick with him.

Chances were, he'd have an easier time keeping track of Malik throughout the night than their bouncier comrade. Malik didn't seem to have a problem with that, seemingly wandering around the woods without a sense of direction as to where he was going. He hobbled out curves and zig-zags and plenty of twists and turns, following some path Desmond couldn't see in the darkness.

Multiple times, Desmond thought he had lost the darker wolf, disappearing into the shadow of one tree and popping out from another a few feet away. Hard to tell if his black fur was helping him blend in better, or some Assassin techniques had carried over to his other form. Regardless, Desmond felt lost. He had absolutely no idea as to which way they were going, where the farm was, town, nothing! Several times it felt like he was following Malik uphill, then downhill, then up again.

And they had yet to find Altaïr.

Desmond wasn't sure how they were going to anyway. They had practically been all over the damn mountain by now, and there had been no sign of the lighter colored wolf. It bothered Desmond that they couldn't find him, one did not just lose a fucking werewolf out here. But looking at Malik, he didn't seem so concerned. He just hobbled along without a care or second glance, like he really did know where he was going.

Suddenly, the black wolf perked up, head high, ears at an angle; something had his attention. Then he bolted, nearly flew over the ground while Desmond barely managed to start running after. It was like all weariness in the wold had vanished and he could run like the wind, despite missing half of one of his front legs. It just seemed impossible to run like that, but then again, werewolves themselves weren't supposed to be real. Probably why it was called the supernatural.

He barely managed to follow Malik through the trees until they reached open hillside. The area was bathed in moonlight and the unnatural glow of the full moon soaked over it. Here Malik finally slowed down, limping up to what looked like a pair of boulders at first glance, until one of them stood up. As Desmond approached, he could hear the whimpers and whines, watching as Malik and Altaïr rubbed against each other, licking at each other's muzzles. They had clearly missed each other.

The other "boulder" turned out to be a big, dead deer, one that even Desmond was sure that he could never haul around. Both wolves dropped their long lost lover act to tear at the deer, skin easily tearing away, bones snapping, and the true meat being gobbled up. Making a face, Desmond turned away from the scene, trying to ignore the sounds that seemed to echo around the clearing.

Instead, he focused on the small cluster of lights from far off in the distance. He could see Aperton from here, the town sitting down below them. No, actually, he could see everything from here. The dark countryside seemed to extend on and on with no end. He saw no other towns or highways, nothing that would suggest any other sign of civilization. Just continuous, endless countryside and trees reaching out into oblivion. Now he could see why the Brotherhood moved the boys out here. Aside from Aperton, it was just nothing, nowhere, completely cut off and cast off into isolation. Perfect for Assassins turned werewolves to stay and roam free.

It was too easy to imagine just getting lost out here. Let the wolf side out, run and hunt forever. It was way too perfect, Desmond almost felt envious. Altaïr and Malik could stay out here for the rest of their lives and not have anything bother them. Virtually no one to give them orders, no one to answer to, just freedom. Almost freedom anyway. As nice as it sounded, they were still inflicted with terrible curses that dictated what they could and couldn't do with their lives.

'Freedom always comes with a cost' he thought bitterly. Their condition, this werewolfism, it enhanced their lives, but also ruined it. Any envy he had vanished.

Desmond had no idea as to what time it was when the boys finally led him back home. The moon still shone bright, but it seemed lower in the sky than it did before. Full moon was coming to an end, and so were the reigns of the wolf. The boys marched Desmond up to the barn, pawing at the doors until he slid them open and slipped inside once he did. They flopped down wearily on the dusty mattresses strewn about. Desmond carefully lowered himself down to sit with them, the boys rolling over to lie against him once he did.

They curled up into tight balls, their breathing eventually evened out as sleep overcame them. Desmond, finally feeling like he could actually relax for the first time that night, idly carded his fingers through their fur. Their fur was soft, silky even, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and use them as pillows. Even asleep they were still very beautiful creatures.

Deadly, but still damn gorgeous. Desmond felt completely wiped out , it was a hell of a hike getting back, and the adventure Malik had taken him on was exhausting all on its own. How in the world did Connor deal with this every month? All year long?

He stared at the ceiling, fighting off sleep as light soon began to creep inside the darkened barn. And then he realized he wasn't petting fur anymore. Glancing down, his hands rested upon bare flesh. Altaïr and Malik had returned to normal without him realizing it.

And that was the end of his first full moon.

So after this there's only two more chapters in this story.