Here ya' go, peeps! The next rendition of this little arc. I think, considering how long this has grown(compared to the, well, two chapters I first thought it'd be) that I'll add a short epilogue after this chapter. Enjoy!

Drabble 11: Moon's Light Madness (Pt. 3)

Sum:
The tune reminded him of something he couldn't quite put his finger on . . . .

Universe:
Mystery Trio
Werewolf Au

(The nameswap is in affect; in other words,
Stanford is Author and Stanley is the Grunkle
we've known for more than half the summer.)

A`N:
Hm . . .So . . .well, this is getting longer and longer, I'll say that much. Enjoy!

Ford and Fidds returned late that night. They'd had to pull over and fix a popped tire halfway to town from the farm, and were currently exhausted. The front door was unlocked. Odd. The two men tried to remain quiet as they went inside, not wanting to disturb Lee.

Ford was growing increasingly anxious over the case. They weren't getting any closer to catching and subduing the werewolf, and if the full moon really did make them crazy, then there could be a lot of hurt people come the next night or so.

Not to long after, he finally went to his bed to hit the hay.

The storm was brewing overhead. The air crackled with electricity from the lightning to come, and the air heavy with rain yet to fall. It was muggy and hot, yet cold winds blew, only thickening the scents, telling with pure verity of what was to come, but without any real way to tell when it'd actually arrive.

The brown wolfs fur stood on end. He felt lethargic and lazy, but the back of his neck prickled. He remained alert. Lying underneath a bush and panting from his thick fur, but alert.

Evening was falling. Night would soon follow, as well as the full moon. The dark clouds overhead seemed to leech out more and more light as the shadows lengthened.

A burst of lightning crackled through the sky. An echoing roar of thunder followed. The wolf lifted it's head. It was nearly night. Something, TWO somethings, were stumbling around, waving about a beam of bright light that remained constant and moved with them, slicing through the dusky darkness.

Curious, and hungry, the wolf rose and padded silently after them. He scented the air. It was people; humans. Something inside him told him to walk away and leave them alone; humans weren't worth prey and brought tons more after them if you harmed them. Something about these two compelled him, however. Something about them made him want to follow them and see what they did.

He was suddenly aware of a third presence. It was strong, it's scent nearly hidden beneath the stench of crazed sickness. It made his fur crawl, made him want to run as far away as possible, so he would not catch it himself.

But he stayed. And he still followed the two humans, who were now just going in circles. The sick thing was following them, too, sniffing along their trail and smashing it's head into trees and logs and boulders with low groans and moans, speaking of pain inside, not from crashing into things.

The wolf kept a wary eye and ear on both the humans ahead and crazed thing behind him. He knew that either could lead to trouble, but would prefer humans over whatever made his fur itch and made him want to run far, far away until it was dead and gone and couldn't hurt him any longer.

Large, fat raindrops start to fall overhead, soon coming down in a rushing torrent. As it had been dry and hot before, this is a welcome surprise for most. But, for the two traveling ahead of him, he can tell that they do not enjoy it at all. Suddenly, the humans halt up ahead and there is a cry of pain and surprise. The light they carried flies high into the air, arcing up and falling down, farther away from them.

The wolf crept closer, easily making them out, but they obviously couldn't see, hear, nor scent him. What with the rain, though, scenting anything was becoming a challenge.

The larger human was bent over, holding one hindleg and cursing under his breath. The smaller looked around worriedly, blinking through the rain and dark, one hand on the others shoulder as it tried to scan the surrounding area.

Something shifted and was passed from one to the other. Before the wolf could figure out what it was, he spotted the sick thing, foaming at the mouth and glaring at the men below it, from atop a boulder above them. He pinned his ears to his head, and crept forward silently.

Just as it roared and lunged, the wolf suddenly lunged, too. The smaller human shrieked and the larger one stumbled to it's feet. The larger human's movements made a nasty sound, like cracking a bone between his own sharp teeth, and then slipped in the mud. Head banging against the boulder, he slid down, unmoving, but probably alive.

All this the wolf took in distantly; for when the lion had lunged, he had lunged, too, sinking his teeth into the back of it's neck. It was slightly bigger than him, but clumsier and slow. He had caught it's scruff, rather than any sort of spot that would allow him to actually kill it, and he was struggling to stay on. If thrown off, it could lunge and either bite his own throat out, or worse, bite him and leave him to grow crazed and pained for days before death.

The thing beneath him was a mountain lion; that much he could tell. While unable to throw him off, it stopped thrashing and pawed and scratched him, catching him on the sides and forelegs, but he clung on, using his front paws to smack at it's eyes in retaliation, and scrambling his hindlegs to stay on as he kicked it.

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed overhead; in a moment of distraction, the wolf was thrown, the lion lunging and snapping at him. Barely managing to use his front legs to hold it back, he yipped and growled in pain, his chest getting torn apart. Throwing it off, he leapt to his feet and lunged, snapping his jaws over it's throat, but it twisted beneath him and he only injured it, rather than kill it.

It suddenly went for the unconscious human, and a sudden, protective instinct reared up, nearly sending the wolf reeling. Nearly. Instead, he snarled vicously and lunged, ramming into it, and then it was all fur and claws and sharp teeth. Throwing it off once more, and covered in several claws marks, he stood protectively in front of the human, panting.

Suddenly, a bright beam of light lanced from behind him. Something, like thunder, but not like thunder, sounded behind him. He flattened his ears and howled in pain, his left stung and burning. The lion glared at him, a hole in it's chest. Red gushed from the hole and it collapsed, eyes becoming glassy and lifeless.

Adrenaline fading, the wolf hunched over, panting, fur soaked from blood and rain. He turned slowly. The beam of light the humans had held was gone. He turned to the bigger one, lying limply in the mud. He sniffed over it's chest, it's face, and felt it's breath tickling his whiskers. Once he confirmed that the human was alive, he felt an odd sense of releif and victory, but he didn't know why.

Why had he defended these humans? Why were they so important? What had driven him to defend them from what he would barely be able to defend himself from?

He could answer none of these. Suddenly, the previous booming sound, so like and yet so unlike thunder echoed; right in front of him. He jerked back with a scream of pain, rearing up on his hindlegs only to fall on his back in the mud, stunned.

He could hear heavy breathing, and someone muttering, "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," followed by rustling and a groggy voice answering a higher-pitched, more panicky one.

There was more noise, and the sound of one or two somethings walking away. But he couldn't breath; or, he could, but every breath and movement hurt and his right shoulder burned and ached in agony. Eventually, he managed to roll over onto his side with a whimper. Rising shakily to his feet, the wolf limped slowly away, seeking shelter from the pounding rain.

He left behind a trail of blood.

It didn't take long to find the trail and get back to the car. And from there, it was easy to check one another over and confirm that they'd neither been bitten or sustained any other injuries. Besides a badly bruised knee, Ford was fine; the wolf had not bitten him.

Fiddleford had seen the lion, and he's done his studying before; it had been rabid. If he hadn't shot it with the pistol Ford had handed to him . . . he didn't want to dwell on that. As for the other thing . . . .

Fidds didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to go home, change into some fresh clothes, and go to bed. Ford insisted, however, so the man answered as well as he could, still shaky from the encounter. When he finished, there was a long silence.

"You killed the wolf?" he asked slowly, looking out into the rain.

Fiddleford was slow to reply. "I'm not sure." he finally said, starting to shake, cold; but mostly scared. "I'm not sure. It cried out and reared back, and it didn't move afterwards, but the flashlight gave out and I'm not sure if I killed it. I didn't hear anything that suggested it was moving around, at least." the smaller man admitted.

Ford dragged a hand down his face, rubbing at it and pushing his wet hair out of his ears. "So, either way, it's taken care of. We can come by tomorrow and see if we can find it . . ." he didn't say whether they would find it alive or merely it's corpse.

Fidds quietly started the car and turned into the road, heading for the cabin.

The heaviness in the air wasn't just from the rain, and both knew it.

Neither wanted to admit that they could've killed another human.

Then again, they might not've. But the heaviness didn't leave with the chance that it was still alive.

In fact, it only seemed to increase.

They weren't sure why.

The wolf limped, head low and tail dragging. He had no idea where he was headed. He focused more on putting one foot in front of the other. The full moon would be over after tonight, and only would he be in this wolfish form for the next day before turning back.

How he knew this, he wasn't sure. He just focused on breathing, keeping his cries as low as possible, and moving forward. For he felt that if he stopped moving, he wouldn't be able to move again. The rain eventually stopped, the clouds blown swiftly away by the wind.

The sun rose. The moon was gone. He remained a wolf. And he would remain that way until the next morning.

But now, with the full moon gone, a small flash of memory flitted into his thoughts, briefly breaking through the pain and sharp aches he felt all over. Two figures. One brown, one ginger. One his double, his twin. The other littler, and his friend.

He had a pack. He had others who could help him. He just needed to find them. And, just like that, he realized which way was home, turned, and limped as quickly as he could.

His fur was matted with clumps of dried blood, the scratches stinging or paining him sharply. It was nothing compared to the deep, burning agony in his left shoulder. Black spots were starting to dance in his vision when he limped out of the trees and into a small clearing. Lifting his head and waving it side to side, he managed to see around the dots and spot the cabin.

With a low whine, he started moving again, struggling against the pain. He had only just reached the wall when his legs gave out beneath him. He hurt to much and he'd had hardly any food the past few days. He simply didn't have the strength to keep moving.

That didn't stop him from trying, though. For several long minutes, he fought past the darkness encroaching on his vision, legs weakly scrabbling at the mud in an attempt to get upright again. Finally, however, exhausted and in pain, he went limp as darkness overtook him.

It's not that Fidds wasn't surprised and worried. He just felt a little numb to the situation, at present. Stanley had disappeared, again, and there were signs of a struggle in his room, which had been locked. Plus, they had confirmed that the mountain lion that had attacked them last night had had rabies, and the wolf had been no where to be seen, any signs of it erased by the rain.

. . . until they got back later today. They had been alarmed at the bloody trail, and even more so when they saw the wolf. Where Fidds reaction had been to freeze in shocked horror, Ford had walked right up to it, kneeling next to it and gently feeling it for breath or a pulse or something.

And now, here he was. Watching over the thing, wrapped in bandages and sprawled on the couch. Ford's explanation on the whole matter had been just a little too convincing.

Mostly about how the full moon was over, so it wouldn't have much initiative to attack anyone, besides injured so badly that he was surprised it had managed all the way to their cabin. The fact that it had come to the cabin twice seemed to convince Ford himself more than anything that it was seeking help, and that it's instincts were the only reason it had attacked them last night, or whatever it was doing.

There were still a lot of questions that they didn't have answers for. Like why it was still in it's wolfish form in the daylight, among other things.

Fiddleford was broken out of his thoughts when he saw it shift next to him. He froze stiff, watching as it opened large brown eyes. It's gaze wandered sluggishly before locking onto the small professor. It tried to get up, only to cry out and fall back against the couch, wincing and flattening it's ears. It looked to Fidds beseechingly, and with a clear, distinct look of recognition in it's eyes.

The scientist slowly got up, and offered a hand for it to sniff. The wolf snuffed and nuzzled his palm before giving it a lick. It's tail beat twice against the couch, and it pricked it's ears.

One, Fidds now noticed, had a bit of a hole torn through the side, scabbed over, but it still looked a bit raw. It looked straight, not ragged like most of the other wounds on the poor thing. It was easy to guess and assume that the wolf, for whatever reason, had decided to fight the lion.

The wolf whined and lightly nudged his hand, licking his lips and shifting it's head a little. Fiddleford would've sworn he saw it roll it's eyes. Tentatively, he reached down and patted the wolf between the ears.

"Well, I guess you're friendly enough." he mumbled, feeling the coarse softness of the fur.

The wolf barked quietly and tossed it's head, rolling it's eyes again. It left a distinct air of being exasperated.

Fidds couldn't help a small smile. "You're almost worse than my friend Stanley." he told the thing, giving it another pat.

The wolf stared up at him, then barked again, almost urgently, and tossed it's head, eyes locked on the man.

Fidds raised a brow. "Well, that's odd. What's wrong?" he asked curiously.

The wolf rolled it's eyes again, and stared hard at Fiddleford. He barked again, louder, rougher, and struggled as if to stand, nearly succeeding before Fidds gently pushed him back down.

"Now stop that!" he scolded. "You're injured pretty badly, so unless you want it to get worse and cripple yourself, then lay down and be still." he told it sternly, half-glaring at it.

The wolf only stared up at him, a familiar look in the brown eyes, besides anticipation.

Fidds sighed and sat next to it again, gently running a hand through it's brown fur. "I take it back, you're acting worse than Stanley . . ." he looked over the creature again, startled by the intensity of it's gaze.

'Brown eyes, brown fur . . . completely adamant about moving around when severely injured . . . OH MY GOD . . . .'

Fiddleford stared at the wolf, seeing it in a completely new light. "St-stanley?" he squeaked out in disbelief.

The wolf nodded it's head and yipped quietly.

Fidds eyes rolled up in his head and he fell limp against the ground.

Stanley watched this and growled in irritation, but remained still. His shoulder hurt like heck.

I just get the feeling that ol' Fiddles is/was in denial about it and the information was too much to process all at once. Especially considering that just the other night he was worried he'd killed someone, and it makes it worse that it was one of his best friends.

Okay, so, I'm deciding to replace the previous challenge with a new one. But first, here's the last one decoded:

"INJURED, BURNED, AS A YOUNG CHILD
THOUGHT TO BE CRAZY NONE~TO~MILD
PASSED FROM DOCTOR TO DOCTOR FOR HIS QUIRKS
BUT NOTHING EVER SEEMED TO DO THE WORKS.

BULLIES AND JERKS TO TORMENT AND TAUNT
AND HE DID HIS BEST TO IGNORE THE JAUNTS
JERK~TAUNTS, JERKHEADS, HE PREVAILED THROUGH
UNTIL HE MET THE CONMAN HIS PARENTS KNEW. . .

FROM HIM, HE LEARNED TO REPLICATE
AND HIDE HIS EMOTIONS FROM THOSE HE HATES,
BUT NOW HE HAS EVEN MORE TO HIDE
AND A CERTAIN ENEMY HIS ATTACK WILL BIDE."

Basically about Human!Bill in chapter five, "The Hand that Attacks the Sife-R." I'll post the next challenge in the next drabble. I have some requests to go fulfill now. :-)

Please review!