(bit of preface: this au was my baby, my pride and joy! but for all i loved it, i feel like its better off as is, before i hurt it with my own lack of consistency!

so basically, this au is a weird cross between werewolf aus and persona 3, two of my favorite things! Basically blah blah witches, something about the moon goddess and inevitable doom, and of course the sky falling onto earth as it does in p3 ahaha. Pls note some of these were already posted, and they're pretty out of order!)
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“Brock, holy FUCK!” The door bangs open as Tyler stomps into the room. “BROCK THERE'S A FUCKING WOLF FIGHTING A FIRE DEMON OUTSIDE COME LOOK!”

Brock stirs. He groans, rolls over, then buries his face into his fuzzy pillow. Tyler can, really and truly, go fuck a bird or something like that. Brock wants sleep. He stayed up until midnight writing an essay that was due (at midnight), then began his character study for English. He wants sleep. Any form of speaking or writing, anything that even remotely involves words needs to go fuck itself and leave Brock alone.

So you know what Brock does? He gives Tyler the finger and sleeps. Only… he doesn't. Tyler refuses to let him sleep, so he leaps onto the bed and nearly crushes Brock.

With excruciating pain burning in his back, Brock rolls off the bed and glares up at his brother. “What. The. Fuck.”

“There's. A. Wolf. Fighting. A. DRAGON.” Tyler responds back with the same angered, pissy voice. It almost makes him sound believable. Almost.

He crosses his arms. “Fuck off! Let me slee-”

Thunk. Something slams against the wall harshly, a small whimpering sound coming from outside.

A loud, ear piercing cry is heard, then the faint crackling of fire. The room lights up faintly with a soft, golden glow. The exact kind that comes from, you know, fire.

Yeah. Brock's a little worried now.

“What…?” There are no words to describe his confusion.

“Fuck if I know. You wanna go look?” Tyler's lack of concern worries Brock greatly.

He gives his brother a slap on the arm. “No! I don't wanna die! If we go out-”

Tyler is running off before Brock can even finish his sentence. It takes all the strength Brock has to not scream in anger. He settles for getting up and, like the idiot he is, running after Tyler with a cry of, “dammit, Tyler!”
-fight-

It takes them a minute to reach the scene of the crime- apparently Brock has zero sense of distance or direction- but they indeed reach the weird wolf-demon fight. Tyler had run ahead of Brock, which is probably why he took so long to reach this area. (He got a little lost.)

Brock has to dodge two stray rocks that come flying out at him almost instantly.  The wolf, the poor thing, is growling up at the weird entity in front of it.

Tyler is also there, Brock realizes. Like the dumbass he is, Tyler is standing behind the demon. He has a stick.

Now, Brock's no expert on demon killing, but he's pretty sure that sticks aren't the most efficient way. But since Brock isn't in any position to stop Tyler, he is forced to watch as Tyler swings his stick and bashes it into the creature’s head. Part of the stick flies off in flames, the other part still sitting nicely in Tyler's grip.

The demon is mildly displeased, to say the least. It shoots out a sudden burst of flames erratically, some of them going off into the sky while others barely miss Brock. One of them shoots out and slams into the poor wolf's side.

Brock wants to go over and help, but a small, shimmery form pops out in front of him and effortlessly knocks him backwards onto his ass. He cries out in pain because ow, his ass. His head also hurts, though Brock assumes that's just normal for falling backwards.

If you were to ask Brock, he'd gladly admit he has zero clue as to what's happening. All he sees is a slender orange and red figure above him, and some kind of fire making him feel ridiculously hot. He tries to kick at the thing, but god knows where his legs are because they don't do jack shit to help.

No, no, his legs are useless. So are his hands. All four of them. And since when did the world start spinning?

Regardless of weird circumstances, Brock manages to wobble to his feet. He hears Tyler yelling something at him. Admittedly, though, Brock can't make out the words. He just knows Tyler is yelling at him, because who else would he yell at?

There's a woosh of air, and then something nice and cold against Brock's skin. It's ice. Brock is now touching a frozen fire demon, he registers somewhere in the depths of his brain. When did this happen?

The little magic bastard in front of him screeches horribly as it disintegrates in front of his eyes. He laughs dazedly at the sight. That can't feel very good for him.

The wolf is just staring at Tyler. His side is burnt, though, and that worries Brock. He tries to get over to the wolf, but none of his legs are working. Brock trips and falls again, but this time something manages to catch him. It's Tyler. Tyler caught him. Isn't that sweet? He does care.

The wolf moves. It comes towards Brock, and Brock smiles and holds a hand out. The feeling of fur under his hand is nice. It feels good and makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Then the wolf backs up slightly. There's a small blur of brown and white in front of him. A second man is here now, standing by them, and then Tyler is dropping Brock back onto the ground with a cry.

This time, Brock's head hits the ground for sure. His entire world blacks out instantly. Great, isn't it?

-awakening-
Brock opens his eyes. The world is slightly blurry, and far too bright, but it's there and so is Brock. He tries to sit up. His head spins and pounds horribly, making him groan and carefully lay himself back down.

He looks around. He's in an unfamiliar room, the walls a light red and teddy bears thrown in a pile on a chair next to Brock's bed. There's no way to tell where he is- the window is covered with curtains and the door is shut.

Speaking of doors, Brock realizes…

Someone is outside the door, speaking in a tiny, hushed voice. “...told you he..”

“Well, I said-!” A familiar voice- Tyler's- cuts off whoever was speaking.

“Shut up, dammit!” A third, new voice cries out angrily.

There's a brief moment where Brock wonders if he died. Someone yelled and it wasn't Tyler. That's actually really new to Brock.

The door opens. A lady is there, hair in a ponytail and a warm smile on her face. She turns to Tyler. “Told you he's awake.”

Brock has a headache. He tries to speak, to call out to the lady, but instead of his lips moving his hands move instead. Why is his hand moving and not his head?

“You need to lay back down, or at the very least stop moving so much. You're clearly still disoriented from the concussion,” she says, a soft British accent hanging on her words. “I'm Simone. Are you hungry, Brock?”

“Uh….” Oh, there are his words! He nods. “Yeah.”

Tyler doesn't hesitate to come over to the bed, a brown bag in his hands. “Alright, bitch, scoot over so I can sit and eat McDonald's with you. I got you your usual, nuggets, shake, and extra nuggets.”

Brock feels excited. Greasy, totally unhealthy food is the only way Brock knows how to enjoy life. He smirks like the greedy bastard he is, shakily holding out hands to grab at the bag of food.

He smiles at Tyler thankfully. The two of them end up patiently listening to Simone speak to them as they eat.

“We're very sorry for the… trouble that Brian caused,” Simone says softly. She taps at her phone, sighs, and then sets it down. “You've gotten a concussion and a few cuts on your back. We're waiting for Ryan to get out of work, and then he'll be here. Please don't move too much.”

She then brushes hair out of her face with a small chuckle. “weed

-home-

“Alright, guys, this is it! Welcome… welcome to home!” Ryan beams happily at them as they pull into the driveway of a simple, oak-colored house. The front yard is big and a lush green, with an old looking tree slumped over in the front.

It looks like a simple place. Brock exits the car, grabbing his and Tyler’s things. He slings both backpacks over his shoulder and follows the other two into the house.

Ryan lifts up a tiny dog, smiling brightly at them as he shows off the tiny pooch. “This is Buddy. He's a great boy. Come on, I'll show you your rooms. You guys must be tired after the drive.”

“I'm actually really fucking hungry,” Tyler announces. “Can we eat?”

“Of course! The kitchen is that way- you eat whatever you find,” Ryan hums, pointing down to the left. Tyler happily jogs off in the given direction, leaving Brock alone with his new foster father.

They look at each other awkwardly. Brock smiles weakly, a desperate attempt to diffuse the weird tension in the air. It only half works. Ryan leads Brock down a hall, the walls painted a warm green and the floors a rich brown, boards creaking under his steps. There's pictures up on the walls, though Brock doesn't get a chance to look at them. He assumes they're some kind of family, though.

“This first room here is a bathroom,” Ryan says, opening the door to reveal, indeed, a bathroom. “The one at the very end is mine. Your room and Tyler's are across from each other. I figured you two can pick one, and we'll just go from there…”

Brock nods attentively. “Yeah! That works fine. Thanks.”

“There's no need to thank me,” Ryan insists. “You guys need a place to sleep regardless. Tomorrow we'll go shopping for some clothes and groceries, alright?”

He nods again. “Yeah. Sounds good. I.. I think I'm going to bed now. Night!”

Brock is inside his new bedroom within seconds, and is closing the door almost instantly. He hears Ryan laugh from the other side, calling out, “Goodnight, Brock!”

-hurt-

There is blood dripping from his fingertips. He says nothing about it. Brock swallows down the fear bubbling up within him, blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes, and presses harder against his leg. It should hurt. It should be hurting him horribly. The blood is flowing out around his hand, and his palms are warm and wet with blood. His blood. He's breathing awfully hard too, is that normal?

He only feels a slight pressure on his thigh. No agonizing pain, no unbearable feelings ripping through his body like the bullet did, just… pressure. His hands feel weird.

It's scary. He's panicking. He can't move his body, Brock realizes, and his lungs are beginning to burn and his fingers are going numb and holy fuck he can't feel his feet or toes or fingers he's dying he's dying he has to be dying-

“Shh. Hey. Look up at me,” a soothing voice coos, tilting his head up gently. Brock vaguely registers the sight of big, worried blue eyes as the strange man strokes his cheek gently. “You're having a panic attack, and that'll only make you bleed out faster. I need you to move your hand, okay? Let me see the wound.”

It takes him a moment to process what's been said. When he does, Brock finds it in him to choke out a tiny, shaky, “can't, I can't,” and nothing more. His head is spinning. The world is dizzy. He's not sure if he can even tell what's happening anymore.

Before the man can comfort him again, Brock makes the mistake of looking down. He can only begin to process the bloodied mess that is his leg. He feels dizzy. Is he breathing? He's not sure. He really isn't.

-mother-

When he wakes up, it's to the sound of a baby crying and a gentle, soothing melody coming from something. It sounds… warm. Happy. Like an old friend, like something Brock can snuggle up in a blanket and listen to on a rainy summer day.

It's nice. His body is warm, laying on something soft and wrapped up in something even softer. Brock feels calm. He's content like this, not sure if opening his eyes is even worth it.

A hand lightly brushes against his forehead. Brock flinches, eyes opening and glancing about immediately.

He sees a pair of painfully familiar blue eyes. This time, though, they are much less worried. Strawberry blonde hair messily frames the man's face, a tired, warm smile on his (admittedly) pretty face.

“I'm glad you're up. You had me worried for a bit, you know.” The man sits on the bed besides Brock's legs, like a mother would, gently bouncing the small toddler balanced on his hip. “I took care of your leg for you. The bullet is in the trash, so don't worry about it.”

Brock smiles wearily. “Thanks…”

“Bryce,” the other answers. He then gestures to the little thing in his lap. “This is Jonathan. He's about two and a half. Jonny, baby, say hi!”

Jonathan looks at Brock with wide baby blue eyes that match his father's. He gurgles in some unspoken baby language, flails a little fist at him, then grins. “Hi-hi-hi!”

Brock smiles back at him. He waves, just to be polite. “Hello, Jonathan-”

“Stinky! Stinky stinky stinky!” Jonathan suddenly wriggles his way out of Bryce’s grasp and toddles away on shaky, chubby little legs.

This must be  normal, because Bryce is noticeably unconcerned. He stands up, holding something out to Brock- his phone.

“You should call your mom. I'm sure she's worried-”

“How did I get here?” Now that Bryce is standing, Brock is beginning to doubt that Bryce actually carried him out of the forest. Bryce looks so… tiny. Waifish. Like a particularly strong breeze could knock him out. Hell, he barely looks strong enough to carry his kid!

Bryce seems aware of Brock's concerns, thankfully, because he laughs. “I had a friend carry you here. My arms are no good when panicking,” he says, as if this hadn't been a life or death situation.

Speaking of death…. How's his leg? Brock nervously lifts the big, pink comforter back, glancing down nervously at his bare thighs. Which one was it that got shot again…?

He quickly realizes that it doesn't make any difference- there's not a single mark on either. No scars, no bandages, no blood or torn flesh, no sign that there was ever a wound in the first place.

It makes him uneasy. He glances up to where Bryce is, only to learn that Bryce has left the room. Looking around, he spots a pair of jeans folded neatly on a dresser across the room. Brock sighs to himself, walking over to it on surprisingly healthy legs and grabbing the jeans. He dresses himself, fixing his shirt and getting his phone.

The first thing he sees when he turns it on is that his phone is at 69%, and he giggles to himself. The second thing he sees is fifty three missed calls. Half of them are from Ryan, which makes sense,  but the rest are in near-even proportions from Brian, Tyler, and Evan.

He frowns. That's never a good sign. He decides to call Ryan first- he's Brock's guardian, therefore the most important-  but he gets sent to voicemail almost immediately. There's no point in leaving a message, but he does so anyway despite knowing Ryan doesn't bother checking them.

Brian is next on the list, since Tyler waking up before noon is a rarity. Unlike Ryan, Brian picks up.

“Brock! Where the fuck were you?! Ryan's flipping the fuck out and I've been tryin’ to fockin’ get you to answer for god knows how long and-”

“I'm fine, Brian,” Brock croons, smiling at the sound of Brian's voice. “Trust me. I'm a little wounded, but okay! I don't really know where I am, but I'll be home soon!”

Brock hears Brian inhale deeply, and decides to cut him off before he can go off on another tangent.

“You don't-”

“Gotta go, my phone's on two percent! Love you, see you soon!” He says, like the liar he is. Brock then hangs up before Brian can get another word in. He sets his phone into his pocket and begins to make his way throughout the house.

It's oddly reminiscent of Ryan's house. It feels homely, warm and happy, and yet…

Like Ryan's house, Bryce’s house is missing something. He can't quite figure out what it is that's not here, but it's something and that's all Brock needs to know. There's a bunch of pictures up on a shelf, most of them being Bryce or Jonathan.

Speaking of Jonathan, the little toddler is currently bashing his teddy bear against the couch. Brock quietly picks him up and sets him on the couch. This satisfies the baby, for he promptly flops down onto his belly and giggles hysterically. Bryce is nowhere to be seen.

Looking around, Brock notices the bathroom light is on and the door closed. He sighs. Hopefully whatever Bryce is doing won't take too long, because Brock wants to go home.

“Daddy bye-bye?” Jon twists his body around like a little dog and looks up at Brock with big, curious blue eyes. “New f’end?”

“Uh… yeah! New friend,” Brock echoes back hesitantly. “I'm Brock.”

“Bock! Bock up! Up!” Jon crawls over to Brock, climbs into his lap, and holds both arms up happily.

Getting the hint, Brock picks up the child and stands up, balancing Jon on his hip like he's seen mothers do in movies. It is now that Brock is thankful for his past foster parents signing him up for rugby. The weight training is coming in handy because wow are children heavy.

Brock entertains little Jon for a few minutes. He carries him around the house, spins him in a couple circles, and listens to Jon's slightly coherent story about… something.

“Daddy big boosh! Big boosh, big! Big big big! Teddy bye bye!” Jon flings his bear across the room to (apparently) emphasize something. What he's going on about, Brock has no clue. He listens intently anyways. “Good-good! Daddy good boosh!”

Bryce walks into the room, hair wet and in a new set of clothes. Brock nearly melts with relief when Jon notices his father and runs up to him, babbling something completely new.

“Was Jonny trying to tell you the story of the boosh?” There's an amused edge to Bryce’s voice, like this has happened a million times before.

He nods. “What's the boosh?”

Bryce smiles warmly, holding a hand out. “He calls my magic the boosh. Do you wanna see?”

“Uh… sure?” Brock places his hand into Bryce’s. Almost instantly a strange, sudden warmth comes over him. He notices the faintest of glows coming off of Bryce’s hand, and for whatever reason he relaxes.

The magic- whatever kind it may be- makes him comfortable. It's like being wrapped up in a big, fuzzy blanket fresh from the dryer, or sitting in the sun on a nice summer day. Warm, cozy, and like he could melt away right here and now with no consequences whatsoever. Like everything's okay. The regular world feels far off, and though he's not sure how long it's been since Bryce started his funky magic, Brock finds that he doesn't care. In a weird way, time has slowed for Brock.

Then Bryce pulls his hand away, and the world slowly comes back to life. If the way Bryce smirks at him is to say anything, it hasn't been that long at all. He stares up at Bryce in amazement.

“What was…?”

“Healing. I heal people.” Bryce smiles cheerfully at Brock, then holds a hand out. “This might sound a bit random, but can I have your name?”

“Hm? Oh!” Brock gasps. He never gave Bryce his name, did he? “You can call me Brock.”

Bryce laughs softly. There's an odd twinkle in his eye, like he's amused by Brock's reaction. He feels pretty damn safe, though. He wouldn't mind coming back here, if not to be healed or fed then only just to play with little Jonathan.

“You'll need a ride home, right? Where do you live?” Bryce is already moving to grab a small blue backpack, a unicorn printed on the front of it. “I promise, no distance is too far for me.”

Brock has to think it over for a moment, an attempt to remember his address. When he does (or rather, he remembers the street name), he looks up at Bryce and tells him where to go. “Somewhere along Larkspur, closer to the forest than the busier side.”

Something flashes on Bryce’s face, the briefest bit of emotion that Brock can't place. It's gone before Brock can think to really observe it any further than just seeing it. He nods his head. “Uh… At the end of it? Kinda by the creek?”

Brock nods. “Yeah. How'd you know?”

“Oh, you know... “ Bryce smiles and shrugs. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

Bryce then scoops up Jonathan from the floor, Jonathan giggling hysterically and wrapping his arms around Bryce’s neck. He motions for Brock to follow. They exit the house together, going to an old, well-loved looking truck. Bryce helps Jonathan in, the baby insisting that he can buckle himself up.

Brock catches Bryce mouthing, to him, ‘help him buckle himself’ and nods. He gets into the back with Jon and sits in the seat besides him. Jonathan happily sings some song to himself as he clacks the seatbelt against the side of his carseat. “Boosh! Yay!”

The radio is turned on. Brock smiles as he fixes Jonathan in safely, unable to stop himself from humming along to whatever was playing.

[>bryce gives brock a,ride home
>brian is wary around bryce but acceprs it
>cue uneasy ryan around bryce
>brock decides to ask later]

-revelations-

“You know, Brock, you're pretty calm for a guy who got shot in the leg,” Brian says. He walks into Brock's room with a tiny smile, his worry thinly veiled beneath his calm expression.

Brock rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I kinda had to be calm. I didn't

-memories-

“We… we had been married,” Ryan mumbles. He sips his coffee, a nervous sigh escaping him as he's fidgeting in his seat. He then looks down at Brock with a weary, faraway look in his eyes. “He was my husband. We… we got married right when he graduated high school, my second year of college. We adopted a baby, a baby boy, right as I started my job at the vet’s place.”

Ryan pauses, his eyes closed and a pained expression painting his features. “Bryce loved him. To death. I did.. I did too. His name… his name doesn't matter. What matters,” Ryan says quietly, looking at Brock, “What matters is that you should know that things didn't work out. Our… our son got sick. He was a little werewolf, like me, and… well…”

Brock notices the way Ryan glances out at the moon in the sky, ominous green light shining down on the forest surrounding them. He frowns. “He's dead?”

“I… yeah. He's gone.” Ryan gives a weak, half hearted laugh as he wipes tears from his eyes. “He would've been about your age, I think, if he was still here now. You're, what, fifteen? Maybe… maybe a bit older.”

Brock's frown deepens. He doesn't know how to feel about this. Ryan's not even forty. How does someone move so fast through life, then still be able to go about life so calmly after it all falls apart?

Brock silently decides that Ryan and Bryce are easily some of the strongest people he knows.

He thinks for a second, before looking up at Ryan curiously. “What was his name?”

“His name? Oh….” Ryan gives a tiny  smile, glassy eyes cast out the window. “His name was Luke. He was eight when he died, and he loved cars, coffee, and somehow inherited Bryce’s love for cats.”

Luke… Brock will have to remember that. His name was Luke.

“Do… do you ever see Jonathan?”

“Hm? Ah, I do, yeah. Bryce takes good care of my little man. He's doing well. Have you seen him try to sing the Ninja Turtles theme song? It's adorable.” Ryan's smile is bigger now, more genuine. It makes Brock feel better.

Ryan glances over at Brock. “You should be going to bed soon, you know. You have school tomorrow. I think Bryce would run over and kick my ass if I let you stay up any longer.”
Brock pouts. “Do I have to?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Ryan stands up, gently pulling Brock to his feet. “Come on now. Bed.”

Brock allows himself to be led into the hall. As they walk, a small realization comes to Brock's mind. He stops, gazing up at the lone framed photo up on the wall in the hallway. It's Bryce in the photo, Brock realizes. It's a much younger, happier version of Bryce and Ryan, the two looking like the highschool sweethearts they were. Their hands are linked, fingers intertwined with shiny rings on both their hands.

Ryan looks much happier here. His eyes are brighter and a big, cheeky grin is spread across his face. His hair is all over the place, and instead of looking at the camera Ryan is gazing at Bryce with hopelessly loving eyes.

He frowns. It's hard to believe that they got divorced. They look so in love in this photo…

“When was this?” The words slip from his mouth without him realizing.

Ryan sighs from behind Brock. He must've stopped when Brock did, because Ryan's sigh startles him. He hadn't expected a response.

“That's when I proposed. At his eighteenth birthday. He was pretty happy that day.”

Brock nods. “You look happy.”

Ryan gives a small huff. “Are you saying I don't look happy right now?”

“...Yeah, actually,” he admits. “You always look sad. And you smother me sometimes, but I don't mind that. I think you should- you should go talk. To Bryce. You look like you miss him.”

There's no response.

-unforgettable-

Oh my god, Brock thinks to himself upon walking into the room. I've walked into some kind of forbidden Soft Realm.

The room was rather bare- as are most rooms when you first move in- but regardless, the walls are painted a gentle, warm shade of green and the room is alive with sunlight. Buddy is sprawled out in a patch of sunlight, a happy, lazy cat on either side of him. There's a couple little plastic toys thrown about a rug on the floor, Jonathan nowhere to be seen.

He hears the faintest bits and pieces of music coming from somewhere else in the house. Brock takes his shoes off (to not track mud into the house) and quietly makes his way through the rooms, following the sound of music.

The entrance to the kitchen is in the hall, Brock learns. He peeks in, seeing Tyler and Bryce trying to cook. Bryce is chopping up vegetables, humming happily to himself. Tyler is staring down at a bowl in his hands, focusing intently on mixing his stuff.

He feels as though he shouldn't interrupt them. They look peaceful, nice and content with themselves as they cook. Bryce must've made Tyler help, because Brock knows that Tyler can't cook to save his life. The sight makes him smile. His heart feels happy and warm.

He's home. Brock saved the world and now he's home with his family.

A door opens somewhere else in the house. Brock's smile grows as he hears the soft thump thump thump of tiny, clumsy toddler feet hitting the floor. A small body appears in the hall, an equally small teddy in its hand.

Big blue eyes catch Brock's almost instantly. Jonathan squeals and begins to run towards Brock. “You're home! Home! Bwock’s home!”

Jonathan is lifted up into Brock's arms effortlessly, his tiny, squishy arms wrapping themselves around Brock's body as best he can. Brock holds him close, listening to Jonathan's emotional blubbering as best he can. There's a wet spot growing on his shirt, and Jonathan's little sobs make it impossible to understand his words. That's alright, though. Brock doesn't have to listen or understand his words to know what's going through his baby brother's mind.

He places a gentle kiss on Jon's forehead and smiles against wild black hair. “Yeah. I'm home, Jonny. I'm really tired, though… I think I'm gonna nap.”

Jon gazes at him intently, face still red  and wet with tears. “Uh-huh, yup yup! I go nap too? I help! Storytime!”

Brock can't stop the smile that appears on his face, or the warmth that floods through him at the offer. He gives an eager nod and begins to walk towards his bedroom. “Of course. You can pick the book.”

The eager giggles Jonathan gives him are all Brock needs to hear. He has no clue how… restful this nap will be, considering he's taking Jonathan with him, but….

It won't matter. He's just happy to be home.

-thought-

“You're awfully quiet for someone who just learned that werewolves exist,” Evan says, coming and sitting besides Brock.

Brock blinks owlishly. He shrugs. “I dunno, man… Considering everything I've seen, I think finding out my soulmate is some furry is actually the least of my worries.”

Evan laughs. “I like that. Don't blame you at all.”

Brock shrugs. He doesn't see why it should be a big deal to him- he just found out that his foster father is a fucking werewolf who dated what was pretty much an angel. Honestly? The big green moon every month is probably a much bigger problem than Brian occasionally having to get a flea bath or whatever.

Who would've known Brock would date a furry?

Something immediately comes to mind. Brock snickers, having to muffle himself with a hand. Evan gives him a confused glance. “What…?”

“On all levels except physical, I am a wolf,” Brock recites, almost automatically. He ignores the deadpan look Evan gives and continues giggling into his hands. He can't even make the little barking noise because of his laughter.

-inevitable-

“Well… the good news is that the green moon does not mean imminent death,” Anthony announces, sitting in the chair at the front of the room. He takes a deep breath. “However, it isn't good.

Evan speaks up next, an eyebrow raised and confusion. “So… what does it mean?”

Smitty is next to stand, a sheepish smile on his face. “Basically, with the coven having started the ritual, we have… roughly six months to try and take ‘em out. Uh… if the shit we found is correct, we're all pretty much dead by New Year's.”

A hushed wave of tension quickly settles across the room. Everyone is quiet, glancing around at each other nervously. Brock can feel Brian's gaze on him, and tries to diffuse the tension by offering him a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder.

It doesn't do much more than make Brian frown. Bad move on his part.

“What the fuck kind of ritual takes six months to go through?! Are they, like, shit witches or something?” Tyler crosses his arms, glaring out at Panda and Smitty angrily. “I don't care if I'm not a part of this stupid pack bullshit, I want answers!”

“

-greetings-

“Hey! I- Oh?! Brock! You brought friends!” Bryce opens the door for Brock and the rest with a smile. He waves sweetly at Brian, and then nods politely at Tyler. The door is opened wider as Bryce steps aside, allowing for the others to come in. “Be careful of where you guys step, Jonathan’s been setting traps up around the house.”

“Oh, really?” Brock laughs as he steps over a couple of teddy bears in a pile on the ground. “Why's he doing that?”

Bryce sighs, already wandering off towards the small kitchen. “We watched Home Alone together, because I like that movie and thought he would too. Turns out it was a bad idea all along. I think he means good though? Not sure, honestly.”

Tyler makes a face as Jonathan comes toddling into the room, gasping excitedly at the sight of new people. He immediately comes up to Tyler, throwing his squishy little arms into the air with a grin. “Up! Up!”

“... No,” is Tyler's response, smooth as always. “I am not picking you up.”

Brian rolls his eyes, then turns to Brock. He reaches out and gently squeezes his shoulder, a concerned expression on him. “Are you sure Bryce has what we need? I don't want you to stress yourself any longer, you know. We can always-”

“It'll be fine, Brian. We're gonna be okay regardless of whether Bryce has what we need or not.” Brock smiles reassuringly at his partner. “Worst comes to worst, we end up wasting our time here and have to spend the night without.”

Not to mention that Bryce will probably feed them, and he knows Tyler will love Bryce's cooking. Bryce is even in the kitchen right now, probably making them some chicken or something nice.

“Hey, Jonathan, you know where Bryce is?” Brock gently plucks Jon off of Tyler, squeezing his tiny hands with a smile. “We need something important from him!”

Jonathan’s eyes go wide. He nods silently, a determined look taking over.

-rainbow-
“Look. I don't care if it pisses you off, Brian. I have to do this.” Brock glares at Brian angrily, a hairbrush in one hand and gel in the other. “If I'm going to beat someone's ass to break some curse, I'm gonna do it in style.”

“But this is fuckin’ stupid, Brock-”

Brock tosses the brush to the ground, whirling around to glare at Brian. “Brian, I care! So many people have fallen into that stupid trap they've set up, including Tyler! They need an escape, dammit, and I'm going to give them one!”

“So?! Bryce knows how to break the curse-”

“But that could kill him if we do it like that! Why not do it the safe way, and free everyone else in the process?! Brian, don't you understand? We have to do this. I have to do this!”

Brian growls, crossing his arms and stepping closer to Brock. “So what if you die, huh?! You expect me to just sit here and pour my faith into you or something?”

“Brian, do you really think I need the reasons I won't succeed? I already know what I have to do, and how to do it. They have faith in me, Brian. You should give it a goddamn try.” Brock can feel himself shaking. He's never been so… frustrated before. He's shaking and crying and wants to either scream and bash his head on the counter or to kiss Brian with all his might.

He hates this feeling, whatever this may be.

“I… Brock. Look. I didn't mean to…”

“No, Brian. I don't care what you have to say right now, I have things I have to do,” Brock mumbles. “I have so, so much work to do…”

He pushes himself away from Brian without thinking, ignoring the pained feeling in his chest as he does so.   

There was always something scary about standing in front of someone much taller than you. Brock is used to being the small one, but this is an entirely new situation.