Werewolfing. 11

Chapter 11

Seb watched Elliot squirm through the healthcheck with a raised eyebrow. Drama queen. Elliot sat on a recovery bed, leaning away from the stethoscope and the torch shining in his eye and the way she eyed his scars, whimpering at the blood pressure monitor, the reflex testing. Once the human things were over - the things Seb had experienced during his days in the care home -, Dr. Smith handed Elliot a big white towel and gestured to a pair of curtains. 

Change behind there. We’ve almost finished. One more thing, yeah?” she said, putting on a pair of gloves, turning to the chest of drawers behind her and picking up a ring that glinted in the light.

Elliot returned, wrapped in the towel. He looked skinnier and more fragile than ever, riddled with scars and bones that jutted with every breath. Seb shuddered as Elliot sat down and Dr. Smith pulled the towel away from his left shoulder. Seb remembered that particular procedure all too well - the scar on his arm had taken months to fade. The scars on his psyche hadn’t. 

Elliot caught on. “Wait, wait, please -” 

Seb covered his eyes as she pressed the ring into the skin on Elliot’s arm. He looked again once the short scream of pain had died down with a terrible choking noise. Dr. Smith watched Elliot intently as he shifted, seeming to be paying attention to everything. 

She’d told Seb about it afterwards, all those years ago. Silver, he’d learnt, was the only thing - aside from the gravity of the full moon - that would cause a werewolf to shift without will. No potion or petal had the same gunfire-quick response. He supposed it to be a survival instinct, but he wasn’t quite sure how on Earth it could ever be helpful. When it was over and Elliot sat there in wolf form, she handed him a blue surgical gown and nodded to the curtain again. 

"Change, and then we’ll go ahead with the surgery. You’re all healthy.” Seb sat at Elliot’s bedside half an hour later, waiting for Smith to return with the anaesthetic. Elliot lay in the crisp hospital bed and hooked up to countless machines measuring countless lifesigns, fidgeting like a schoolgirl queueing for vaccinations. 

"Do you think it will hurt?” Elliot asked, straining his neck at an awkward angle to maintain eye contact.

 “I don’t know,” Seb said. The question struck Seb as childishly afraid. “But you’ll be out for it anyway. It might hurt a bit when you wake up. Probably will, actually.” 

"....I’m scared. I hate needles. The… hunter had a lot of needles…"

"Elliot, it’ll be fine, I swear. Smith’s trained and everything. Plus, she likes you. You’re quiet and polite. She won’t hurt you.” 

Elliot lay back on the pillows, a frown creasing on his forehead. He looked sickly and sweaty and scared, like a pale demon about to be forced from its host. The dark circles under his eyes were worse than ever - had he not been sleeping well? Seb hadn’t noticed. Elliot gripped the sheets, knuckles flushed white. They got whiter as Dr. Smith returned, clutching a syringe.

“Just a pinch, yeah?” She said, sitting down beside Elliot and lying the non-tagged arm out flat. “Count to ten for me?”

“Wait…” Elliot’s attempt at resisting was no more than a low, terrified moan as the needle went in, stayed in, and came out. Dr. Smith eyed the machines as Elliot threw his head to the side to stare at Seb as if he was the only thing anchoring him to sanity.

"I am so scared.” Hushed panic was starting to rise like floodwater in his voice. 

“It’ll be fine. Just stay calm. Count to ten.” 

“No, no..” Elliot repeated, trying to get away. Every movement was flimsy and weak as the drugs took hold. He was barely able to lift a hand.

“Elliot.” Dr. Smith tried to get his attention, frowning when she got no response. “Elliot.” 

“Do not let him kill me…” Elliot’s words were barely coherent, more like slurred groans as his eyelids slipped shut. “I do not…”

Then there was quiet, corrupted by the humming and bleeping of the machines.

“Poor kid,” Dr. Smith sighed, ruffling Elliot’s hair, perhaps passing his ramblings off as nothing more than drug-induced nightmares. She wheeled the bed toward the door, turning back to Seb, “he’ll be fine.”

*

Fifty minutes passed. Seb’s phone ran out of battery long before Elliot’s bed was pushed back in. He twiddled his thumbs and stared at the ceiling, drinking in every little detail of the room, from the garish curtains to the way the blue-grey midday made the plastic-tiled floors lighten. My arse hurts. Damn chair. 

The squeaking of the wheels was the first thing that alerted Seb. He leaped up like a dog scenting a rabbit on the wind, lowering himself back onto the chair hastily as Dr. Smith caught his eyes. He craned his neck to get a glimpse at Elliot. 

"He’s fine. We got rid of that tag.” Dr. Smith said, leaving the bed sitting next to Seb, “he’ll come around soon, and you two can be on your way.” 

“Thank you. Thanks so much,” Seb smiled, almost sickened by the gratitude overwhelming him. 

“It’s fine. It was a pleasure. Wolves look out for each other, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Seb shook her hand before she left, shutting the door behind her. Seb could finally get a good look at Elliot.

His arm was heavily bandaged, and he looked a bit paler than before. His face was deathly peaceful, slack and devoid of its usual crinkled fear. Elliot looked young, innocent. Calm. Seb looked away. You’d better wake up soon. It’s getting late…

He must’ve drifted off - how else had his eyes gotten so full of sleep, so heavy? His neck ached. His throat ached. My throat? Shit. Acrid air stung his throat. It wasn’t just the sleep obscuring the room - it was haze of heat and fire and angry, angry smoke. Flickering, writhing red danced in the corridor outside. Seb scrambled up, falling forwards before he used Elliot’s bed to get to his feet again. He shook Elliot’s shoulders. 

"Elliot! Elliot, wake up! Elliot -” Seb fell quiet, remembering. “Oh.” 

He let Elliot go, stumbling backwards a few steps. Shit, shit, shit… Elliot, you bloody idiot! Seb stared at Elliot for a moment more, trying to dream up some way of waking him. He scanned around the room, spinning around once, twice, thrice. On the third way around, his eyes fell onto the little silver ring Dr. Smith had used before. Seb swiped it from the countertop, biting back cries of pain as his skin blistered and reacted, sprouting fur like spring glass.

Sorry, Elliot. He threw it towards the bed, onto Elliot’s neck. All he could do was watch it land like a bomb in the blitz, before he fell forwards, heaving, onto all fours. Seb transformed and clawed his way out of his clothes, too desperate to care about their preservation. A thud bought his attention over to the other side of the bed. 

Snorting, coughing, and retching on the smoke was Elliot. Shuddering to his paws, he stared at Seb with those big, livid eyes. Both of their clothes fluttered in tatters. The flames lapped further along the corridor, the blazing heat hitting them in waves. Elliot whined. Seb fought the urge to cower and tuck his tail between legs. 

He wasn’t going to die. He nodded once at Elliot, and sprung forwards.