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Nolan wasn’t liking what was happening, not at all. He’d been scared when he’d first heard the rumor that werewolves and a bunch of other supernatural creatures lived in Beacon Hills, his home and that of his family. He’d been absolutely terrified when he’d watched a giant beast with glowing eyes and blood-dripping claws and fangs ravaging the school. Nolan was only human, supposed to be graduating, but instead, he was being caught up in an unearthly war, unsure as to how many sides there were and which one was the right one to fight for.
Nolan wished he had the same kind of grim determination that was pushing Monroe to leading an entire army of hunters against the supernaturals, or at least Gabe’s anger at the world. For them, it seemed easy. With the unshakable trust that they were the good guys and a rifle to their chest, they didn’t care about the human faces at the other end of the barrel. ‘It’s simple,’ Monroe had told him, ‘pull the trigger and survive or die.’ It sounded simple, but the reality looked different.
Nolan had a bad feeling as he walked down along the dark tunnel. He had a small bag of ïmountain ash in his pocket and was on his way to the armory to choose whatever weapon he liked to have on him for protection. If he was being honest with himself, the thought of carrying a weapon around freaked him out completely. They’d shown him how to fire one, yes, how to best hold it and aim, but that didn’t mean he felt good about it. The only gunshot he’d ever fired still echoed in his head, and all that Nolan wanted was to never hear the same noise again.
He fished the key Monroe had entrusted him with from the pocket of his jeans and unlocked the door, throwing himself against it with all his body weight to push it open far enough to slip inside. With a bang, it fell shut behind him, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. Nolan hated the armory. It was cold and dark even with the lights on, filled with things he was pretty sure nobody should have access to in such large numbers. It smelled like steel and gunpowder and blood, even more so than usually. Someone must have been around since the last time Nolan had been there. Someone who wasn’t as scared as he was to actually make use of one of the weapons.
Nolan’s first instinct was to grab a gun like he’d been told to and leave as soon as possible. He wanted to go home and lock the door behind himself, wanted to crawl beneath the blanket in his bed and stay there until the world would be alright again. He was being childish, naïve, a coward. They’d called him all of those things a million times, and he knew they were all true, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Monroe was having an eye on him, Nolan was aware. Every time she looked at him he felt like she could see all his doubts and fears in his eyes. He had to make himself useful, or else he would have a problem sooner or later. Nolan decided to find the source of the horrid stench and get rid of it. If cleaning up blood and polishing blades was all he was good for at the moment, he’d have to make the best of it. He scanned the lockers and shelves, but everything seemed to be in order. For some reason, it made Nolan’s heart beat faster.
The armory seemed clean, but the smell became stronger the farther he went into the back of the large hall. Something wasn’t right. Nolan wasn’t alone. Someone was sucking in and releasing shallow breaths. Nolan froze, still not seeing anything.
If he went back to the door exactly the way he’d gotten where he currently was, he’d have a chance to make it out without being noticed, he thought. As silently as he possibly could, he turned around, but he stopped again before he took the first step in the opposite direction. There was a noise from whoever was in the armory with him, one that was different from what he’d expected, quiet, but full of suffering. A whimper.
With the gun in his hand and his finger right on the trigger, he moved ahead, searching for the person. Maybe one of the hunters had gotten hurt on a mission. Maybe they needed help. Maybe Nolan would finally feel like he was truly good for something. He rounded one corner and then the next, following the wheezing sounds until finally, behind one of the heavy cabinets, he found a figure crouching on the floor, so much blood pooling around them that Nolan wondered how they weren’t already dead.
“Hey,” he said, his voice shaky. He couldn’t tell who it was, couldn’t see the person’s face, just wet, bloody hair sticking to their head and a tall, lean body folded together, chest heaving and sinking in a way that looked painful to Nolan.
“Who are you?” He wanted to know. “Show me your eyes.”
No reaction came. Nolan had a feeling that that wasn’t necessarily a good sign.
“Hey!” He said, louder this time, almost shouting. He stepped closer, pointing the gun down at the bleeding body. He held all the power in his hands, and it made him feel sick. It was like he consisted only of a racing heart and the fingerpad touching the trigger. He silently begged the other not to give him a reason to shoot.
“I said, show me your eyes! Or else I’ll have to kill you!”
For the first time, it seemed like there was at least a reaction. The person’s body went stiff, one arm pushed it up and then the neck was moving. Nolan’s hands were trembling, but the gun was still pointed straight at the stranger’s face. He heard a growl first, and then he saw fangs, but as soon as they’d locked eyes, he couldn’t look anywhere else. They were glowing, bright and yellow. Pretty, was his first thought, which was not only stupid, but dangerous.
“Silver bullet?” The guy looking up at him asked. Nolan was too startled to reply. There were the werewolf eyes and the claws and fangs, but he sounded human, he looked more human than anything else. “Do it, then,” he begged. “Please.” Nolan took in the blood. The guy rolled to his back with a hiss. There was a broken arrow stuck in his chest. His pain was human, too.
He knew he should. He could pull the trigger and kill the wolf. He could tell himself he was ending his suffering, and it would be true. He could earn Monroe’s trust with this kill. Except really, he couldn’t. He stood there with the gun and all the power, with a dying werewolf at his feet and a chance he wouldn’t get again, but he couldn’t.
It wasn’t that Nolan wasn’t scared anymore, it was more like he suddenly wondered what exactly he was scared of. There werewolf he’d found was probably still a teenager, just like him. War had fallen over Beacon Hills and now he was dying. Someone had shot an arrow at him. His eyes weren’t like Nolan’s, they were special, but still, fear was as visible in them as it possibly could be. He was just a boy facing death, and Nolan could neither let him go nor leave him alone.
The claws disappeared and so did the fangs. He wasn’t fighting, he was only waiting for the end. Possibly, for Nolan to have mercy on him and make it quick.
Nolan tucked the gun back beneath the waistband of his jeans. It didn’t matter what side either of them were fighting for. What mattered was that he’d get the arrow out of the other one’s chest without getting anything stuck inside, or else there wouldn’t be anything at all to worry about anymore. He kneeled down beside the boy and put a hand on his chest.
“What’s your name?” He asked, closing his fingers around the splinted end of the arrow.
The boy underneath him flinched and bit his lip. He didn’t answer, but he looked Nolan in the eyes with an intensity that made his skin crawl. He was going to save this one, and he didn’t care which side that put him on.
“Okay, alright,” he said, nodding. “We’ll get around to that later. For now it’s fine if you listen while I talk.” He tugged at the arrow carefully to see how easily it moved and earned a cry. His hands were already bloody, there was no going back. “My name is Nolan. I’m a-” A hunter? No. “I’m a human, but you can probably tell. I go to Beacon Hills High. Do you go there too? I don’t think I remember seeing you, so you probably don’t. Which might be for the better, if you ask me. That school is messed up.”
Nolan wasn’t just talking to distract the other boy, he needed it for himself just as well, but there was no time left to waste, so he took a deep breath out and pulled.
Nolan pressed both hands over the gaping wound while the werewolf’s roar faded into the air, tension leaving his body. “See?” Nolan continued, trying his best to force a smile. “We got it out. Now we only need you to heal. I’m going to need your help with that, alright? I don’t really know much about werewolves and how this works, so I don’t know how to help you.”
The other boy let his eyes flutter shut and for a moment, Nolan was afraid that he’d been too late, but then two hands came to wrap around his wrists, keeping his hands where they were on the guy’s chest. “Just… stay,” he pressed out. Nolan nodded.
“Is there anything else that you need? Is there anyone I should call? Anything that accelerates the process?”
“Keep talking,” the boy whispered, eyes still closed, breathing still uneven, but Nolan felt like there was less fresh blood coming from his wound.
“Okay, so, what else is there? Do you like sports? I play lacrosse. It’s pretty new, actually. I used to play football, but Beacon Hills’ football team sucks so bad, it’s honestly not bearable. So I tried lacrosse and it was actually fun. I wasn’t too bad at it either, I guess. I want to be captain, you know. You look like you probably play sports too. I bet you’re great at whatever you do.”
The eyes remained shut, but it almost looked like the werewolf was trying to smile. Nolan released a sigh of relief. He wasn’t yet sure if the boy’s condition was getting any better, but it wasn’t getting worse. As he was searching his brain for some more random things to say, the other suddenly spoke up.
“Brett,” he said, “my name is Brett.”
“Brett,” Nolan repeated. “Well, I wish we’d met under different circumstances, but it’s still nice to get to know you.”
Brett squeezed both Nolan’s hands at the same time.
“Are you healing?” Nolan asked. “Am I helping you at all?”
Brett nodded. “Just takes a little longer than usually.”
Nolan was glad. In the middle of a war and a million fears and an existential crisis and life-or-death situation and crushing guilt and enough other things tearing at his soul, he’d found a moment of pure, silent gratefulness. He could have killed Brett. Monroe would have expected him to. But he was glad that he didn’t. He could feel a heart beating against his palm and for a moment, one beating heart was enough to fight for.
The relief lasted only a few seconds before there was a noise that came neither from Brett nor from Nolan himself. “Shit,” he muttered, “I think we’ve got company.”
Brett struggled to get up, but he winced in pain and fell back down. “We have to hide,” Nolan whispered. There were at least two different voices speaking, currently still far enough away from them, but Nolan knew they weren’t safe, and Brett was a werewolf. There wasn’t going to be a discussion about whether or not he needed to be killed. “Tell me what to do,” Nolan begged. Brett was way taller and heavier than he was, and he wasn’t going to be able to carry his weight.
“Listen to me,” Brett said. His eyes were on Nolan, not in bright yellow this time. They were a pale blue, soft and beautiful. “You can heal me.”
“I can’t.” Nolan shook his head, desperation getting the better of him. “I’m not like you, I don’t have any special powers. I can’t-”
“Shhh,” Brett made. “You can. You’ve been doing it all this time. You’re already healing me. We just need to hurry up a little, okay?”
Nolan didn’t follow. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t doing anything, was he?
“You have to lie on top of me,” Brett said.
“What?”
“You heard me. We don’t have time. Do you trust me? I need your heartbeat close to mine. It’ll work. I don’t know how, but I know it will.”
Nolan didn’t know how supernatural healing worked, and he doubted he could provide anything to it, but there was nothing else they could do, and Brett was sure, so he tried. The wound beneath his hands had stopped bleeding, so he took them away and let Brett pull them up to his neck. It was awkward, but he still felt calm as he lowered his body onto Brett’s, the boy’s arms coming around him, holding him. He waited a second and then laid his head down, his face tucked against Brett’s neck.
If they hadn’t been in the armory in that moment and in immediate danger to be found, it would have been nice. Nolan would have enjoyed it, the warmth and proximity of another body, the arms closed around him, the breathing and the beating heart and the skin on skin contact.
“Is it working?”
Brett let out a breath against Nolan’s forehead. “Yes. Give me a minute.”
Nolan nodded and pressed his face against Brett’s skin. The feeling was almost good enough to make him forget about anything else in the world, but not quite. They listened to footsteps and muffled words that Brett could probably understand but Nolan couldn’t.
“They’re coming our way,” Brett whispered into his hair a moment later. “We need to get out. Now.”
Nolan got up and pulled Brett to his feet, laying on of his arms over his shoulders and holding him steady around the waist. Compared to the state he’d found him in, Brett looked excellent, but moving silently towards the door was still a struggle. Brett strained his ears for whoever else was present in the armory, stopping them when necessary and giving signs to move a head again. That way, they made their way to the front and outside, back into the tunnels first and then up to the street.
“I’m going to find my way home, thanks,” Brett said after they’d resurfaced and fresh air was blowing through their hair.
“I live right around the corner,” Nolan pointed out. He wasn’t simply going to leave Brett now. He’d promised himself to save him. To make sure he’d be alright. Not dying from an arrow was a start, but it wasn’t good enough.
“You don’t need to-”
“Shhh. Do you trust me? We don’t know how many hunters are out here somewhere right now. And whoever shot you, they won’t be looking for you at my place.”
Brett looked at him, still holding onto him. “Because you’re one of them, right?”
Nolan shook his head. No, he wasn’t. He hadn’t known before, but he was sure of it now. He wasn’t one of the hunters. He wasn’t one of those who wanted to kill each and every single one of the supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills. He wasn’t one of those who didn’t care about the lives they ended. He wasn’t innocent. Perhaps he wasn’t one of the good guys. But he wasn’t one of the hunters either.
“You can tell when I’m lying, right?” Nolan asked. Brett nodded. “I want you to come with me, because I want to make sure you’re alive and safe. If I leave you know, I won’t know when the next arrow catches you, or a bullet, or whatever. I don’t want that. I want to survive, but I don’t want to stand alone at the end of a war with blood on my hands.”
Brett waited for a moment, thinking. “Good,” he then decided. “Because I don’t want you to run into battle with a gun in your little hands. I’ll trust you. But just for the record, it’s not because of your sensible life choices.”
Nolan guessed he had to live with that. “Why is it, then?”
“Nolan, do you understand why you were able to make me heal?”
Nolan shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I did wonder, but I have no clue.”
“You will,” Brett replied. “Don’t worry. You will.”
And with that they went ahead, together, a werewolf who owed his life to a human and a hunter who’d laid down his weapons. The war was far from over, and some wounds would leave scars on both of them, but there was a shimmer of something worth fighting for, a shimmer they could see only by each other’s side. Everything else was for the future to show.