Chapter Text
The girl next to Minho has been making eyes at him all morning and he’s been doing his best to both ignore it and not make it too obvious that he’s nursing a broken rib and what had been a dislocated shoulder. Minho had graduated college years ago but found himself back on the school bench with the sole purpose of uncovering a rather large drug operation led by (supposedly) a group of half-Dokkaebi kids dealing Bane. Harmless to humans but can turn anyone with were-roots feral. The Brotherhood had been made aware of the situation when only a few cases had been reported and sent Minho to investigate. What they didn’t tell him was that the professor who had reported the problem, the professor he would be working with, was Professor Bang Christopher Fucking Chan. Ph.D.s in Mythology, History, and supernatural histories, won an award for his barely-academic article “The Purge of Werewolves during the 17th Century Witch Trials in Europe; A study”. Sorcerer turned werewolf in a freak accident and coincidentally the man who publicly spat on Minho’s research on Dokkaebi with his most compelling argument being that Minho was a mere wizard, who couldn’t possibly understand or make “trustworthy literature” on supernatural creatures. Funny how that works out, seeing as Minho was sent on this mission because of his expertise with Dokkaebi.
“Lee Minho-ssi?” think of the devil and he’ll make himself rudely known, or however it goes. Minho looks up from mindless scribbles and tries not to wince.
“Yes, Gyosunim?” Minho asks, voice pitched. His sickly sweet smile had earned snickers if Chan was a shitty professor, but it seems everyone taking this man’s classes adore him. Likely they can’t look past the dimples, curly brown hair, or ugly sweater vests. They're all hiding something much more sinister.
“I was asking if you could tell me the difference between a Cham Dokkaebi and a Gae Dokkaebi?” Professor Bang answers Minho’s smile with a genuine one, but Minho knows he’s being poked fun at.
“Cham Dokkaebi, the true Dokkaebi is a mischievous goblin-like creature. They’re known to play pranks or punish humans for evil deeds whereas Gae Dokkaebi, literally dog Dokkaebi, are considered evil. They’re bringers of bad luck, wildfires, and contagious diseases.” Minho doesn’t know why he expected Chan to drop the smile. The man never stops smiling.
“Yes, Minho-ssi,” he says, “quite right.”
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Not all those who study magic are born with an affinity for it. Minho certainly wasn’t. Only through hard work and hours –no– years of practice had he reached a point where his abilities were considered worthy of hire. Wizards were rarely as sought after as a sorcerer. One of those arrogant fuckers had more magic in their little toe than Minho could ever dream of conjuring without the help of wands, amulets, and spellbooks, which had surprisingly worked in Minho’s favor. The thing about carrying around so much fucking magic in your bloodstream is that anyone with an IQ higher than a door’s can sense it. Or smell it. Or Whatever. So, Minho being born stale as bread in terms of magic was a benefit that allowed him to work with all the fun stuff. Nothing like accidentally falling overboard in waters infested with Inmyeonjo or getting lost in the woods waiting for a rogue werewolf, or a Gwishin, and especially nothing like being lured into a vampire lair. All on purpose and all with the purpose of “mowing the lawn” as Minho’s employer calls it. Familiar with the supernatural world and all its creatures, Minho was hired by The Brotherhood. A company, of sorts, that exterminates supernaturals that are a danger to the rest of the supernatural community by being too supernatural. Since Minho technically isn’t one, they’re not his politics, but he enjoys his work as a hunter. Sometimes a spy. Special operations agent. You name it.
Professor Bang Chan is widely known within the supernatural community and therefore couldn’t investigate the activities at his campus himself but demanded that Minho report all his findings back to him. So, despite feeling like he needed at least a week’s worth of sleep, Minho dragged himself to Professor Bang’s 9 am class and following office hours only to be sat on the cold, hard floor of the hallway outside, waiting for a gaggle of brown-noses to finish fawning over said professor. The girl who had sat next to him in class was there too, seemingly content with sitting on the floor and watching as Minho tried and failed to stay awake. The door to the office opens and closes a couple of times, the hallway emptying out until it opens one final time spitting out a heavy-footed ginger girl. She brings with her warm air and the smell of perfume far too sensual to be worn at 11 am.
“Minji-ssi”–the familiar rumble of Chan’s voice brings Minho out of his slumber–”are you here for office hours?” the girl, Minji, springs up from the floor to bow at the professor.
“Oh, no,” she protests, “I was just–” she waves her hand in the direction of Minho who merely raises an eyebrow in return. Both he and Chan watch as she opens and closes her mouth, bows, and then scurries down the hall, face the color of tteokbokki.
“Seems you’ve got an admirer” Minho ignores the hand Chan offers and struggles to his feet with a groan.
“I think you need to worry about your own admirers,” he replies. Chan lets his hand fall back to his side and smiles.
“What can I say, the kids love my class”
“Full offense, but I think they like your face better,” Minho mutters and allows Chan to hold the door for him as he enters the office.
“And what do you think of my face, Minho-ssi?” Chan’s office has every available surface covered in books and no walls are visible for the floor-to-ceiling shelves in dark wood. Walnut, maybe.
“I think of punching it pretty often”
“You think my face is pretty?” Minho grimaces. Objectively speaking, yes. But nothing can make a man as ugly as his personality.
“Faking bad hearing would be charming if you didn’t have wolf senses” Minho replies, eyes following Chan as he walks towards his desk.
“Are you capable of having a single conversation without bringing up the nature of my situation?” Chan asks over his shoulder.
“Nature of your situation? You mean the fact that the almighty sorcerer, Bang Chan the Benevolent, Christopher the second coming of Christ, contracted wet-dog disease?” Chan has taken the vest off and Minho can see the muscles of his back tensing through the cream button-up that hugs his upper body like a second skin. If he wasn’t so darn arrogant he’d be climbable.
“That answers that then,” Chan mutters and sits, gesturing for Minho to do the same, which he does, carefully. Chan’s eyes follow him like a hawk, undoubtedly aware of Minho’s ails. Thankfully, he says nothing.
“Not a werewolf,” Minho breathes out, “I suspected a bulgae at first but considering the lack of fire, I think it was an Ungnyeo.” Chan leans forward propping his elbows on the table and running a hand over his stubble.
“You’re sure of this?” Minho wouldn’t say it if he wasn’t but rather than pick a fight he nods.
“So either they’re expanding their trade, or this is another case entirely”
“I think it’s too random to be random if it’s a separate case - but what do I know, I’m just a wizard,” Minho mutters. Chan doesn’t reply and when Minho looks up to see his reaction he immediately regrets it. Chan is frowning. Or pouting. Minho isn’t entirely sure since he’s not used to seeing Chan’s face twisted in something that might look like guilt.
“I’d like you to prove me wrong,” he finally says, “tell me what you think.” It’s not the challenge Minh would’ve liked it to be. Chan’s voice is soft. Guiding. It’s likely the voice he uses with his students, which, had Minho been less sleep-deprived, he’d be fired up about being talked to like a kid. But instead, he takes a deep breath and leans forward.
“I think”–Minho starts, elbows on his knees–“ungnyeo, like werewolves, are shapeshifters that, like most other hybrid-type creatures, are more likely to go feral than, say, a wizard. Or a sorcerer. The animal is closer to the skin so-to-speak.” It’s a jab at Chan, but if he notices, which he does, he doesn’t show it. “Whoever is creating these drugs, also knows that.
“It’s like, biochemical warfare, or terrorism but using other-kind in a way that can’t be traced by human government because the drugs themselves aren’t considered harmful. Like wolfsbane. Or mugwort, as I suspect they would’ve used for the ungnyeo.”
“The question is,” Minho says, “whether their goal is to wreak as much havoc on the student population here until we find them, or if the goal is for us to find them. Either they believe they’re punishing humans or they may have priors with the Brotherhood.” Chan doesn’t reply immediately, his brows are curled inwards and his mouth hangs slightly open. Minho has learned that means he is thinking deeply.
“I agree,” he says finally. Minho, half-expecting the man to laugh in his face and call him unworthy again, barely holds himself back from reacting.
“do you have any specific reason to believe they have priors with the Brotherhood?”
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Minho just made it to his student housing complex when Chan called. Someone had informed him there would be a trade, and although Minho would really like to know how Chan got these hints, or from whom, he simply threw his bag in his solo dorm and waited to be picked up in the parking lot. Chan doesn’t say anything when Minho gets in the car, and although Minho is expecting to be there for a while they park soon after in another lot, outside the neighboring complex.
“They do the deals on campus?” This isn’t entirely surprising considering they believe all those involved are from the same campus - but doing it on campus grounds is risky business. No kinds of drugs or alcohol are allowed, and smoking is strictly within designated areas. Hard to believe campus police wouldn’t have noticed something while doing their rounds.
“From what I understand, all of them have, yes” Chan mutters and turns the car off. They’re thrown into darkness and Minho mourns not bringing a warmer jacket. He zips up his hoodie, stuffing his hands into the pockets, and looks out his window. It’s a waiting game from here it seems.
“So they live in the dorms?” Minho wonders out loud; “If that’s the case; do you know if all of the deals have been made sometime before curfew? That could narrow down our search.”
“Do you still think it’s Dokkaebi?” Chan turns to rummage around in the back seat. Minho was called to the mission because his boss believed it to be the rather large known population of half-Dokkaebi on the campus. But so far there’s been nothing incriminating towards them explicitly other than their kind’s stereotype.
“I think it could be them just as much as it could be anyone with knowledge of other-kind” It’s the truth and Chan knows it. The Brotherhood - although most protective of all types of other-kind, they’re not exactly fond of Dokkaebi and will at any chance scapegoat them.
Chan finally sits back up, a blanket in hand, which he throws over Minho’s lap. Minho mutters his thanks because he’s raised properly and wraps himself in the thick fabric. It smells nice.
“To answer your question,” Chan says, “I don’t know when the deals are usually made, but since the meeting place is here, half an hour before curfew, I’d think you're right about them living in the dorms”
“Which means it’s not the Dokkaebi - none of them are registered in the dorms.” they tend to prefer housing outside campus and the public eye. Like were-kind, they usually live near forested areas and with their families
“Right,” Chan replies, “If, and only if, they’re dorm-dwellers, we’re definitely not looking for Dokkaebi.” as he speaks Minho spots movement. He slaps Chan’s arm, who leans over the center console to look out Minho’s window. A slim figure wearing a short puffer jacket, hands in their pockets, is making their way from a dorm towards them in the parking lot.
“Is that?” Minho stops to look at Chan.
“Minji, yes.” He answers.
“That’s your contact?” Minho whisper-yells, “What, did you make her stalk me too?”
Chan, quite rudely, grasps Minho by the chin and points his face outside. “No,” he whispers, calm, “she offered to help because she likes you, that has nothing to do with me.”
Minho stays looking where Chan has pointed his face. Watches in silent shock as the girl makes her way to stand under a streetlight. Mere seconds later, the headlights of a car turn around the corner and onto the lane where they’re parked. Except something’s wrong. The car doesn’t stop in front of Minji. It merely slows down, and despite Minji being under a light an SUV that size completely hides her petite figure. When the car passes, Minji is on the ground.
“Fuck!” Chan yells, and before Minho can blink he’s out of the car and at Minji’s side. Minho, on autopilot, climbs over the center console and starts the car. It’s almost curfew and if the car wants to make it off campus before the gates close they’re in a hurry. Minho peels out of the parking lot, following the SUV through the dorm gates and uphill past the nursing buildings. Hopefully, Chan can get Minji to the University Hospital before it’s too late. Minho checks the clock on the dashboard. 23.43. The campus police should be all over, tryna stop two cars going this fast, but there’s no one. Not even a stray taxi is making its way down the winding campus roads. Minho doesn’t have a plan - he can’t apprehend what are at least two people, likely armed and definitely dangerous. They might be murderers. Minho steps on the gas. They’ve made it through the main gate and onto the big road. He crashes through the tollbar and swerves onto the road after them. Hard to find a black SUV in a country that loves black SUVs but he’s got his eyes on them for now. He doesn’t see the second one coming till it’s too late. He tries to avoid them, but they still make contact with his rear, spinning his car out of control. Luckily, there are trees separating pedestrians and the road. Unluckily, trees tend to total cars.
Minho sees the other SUV passing by, the passenger window down. A somewhat familiar smile. Sirens. Darkness.
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Minho sits through a painstaking examination with a doctor who refuses to let the police in to talk with him till he’s done. The doctor will, however, let his boyfriend in. Minho wasn’t aware that he had one, but he says nothing when Chan runs in to embrace him. He tells the police the same story Chan had. They were getting freaky in Chan’s car. They were doing it late at night in a parking lot because it’s not exactly legal to fuck your professor. They saw the girl. They saw the car. Chan tried to save her and Minho followed the car. The officer in charge explains that it is now a murder case and that it was reckless for Minho to follow the car - perhaps even more reckless for him to be fucking a professor, but he promises he’ll keep it to himself because apparently he knows Chan and is just a fucking champ like that. When it’s all said and done and he and Chan finally get some privacy Minho hits Chan so hard in the stomach that even with his were-strength and were-senses it brings him to his knees for a second.
“I can’t believe you told them we were getting freaky in the parking lot, what the fuck were you thinking!?”
“What was I supposed to say? That we were private-investigating the drug-dealing of completely legal substances that make supernatural creatures go feral and a danger to the public?” Minho grabs his things out of Chan’s arms and marches past him with a scoff.
“It’s the more believable situation if you ask me”
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Minho would love nothing more than to pass out in his bed, but when he gets to his dorm, the door is slightly ajar. He doesn’t have any kind of weapon or magical item on him, so he simply pushes the door open fully and tries to look inside before he slowly enters. His shoe rack by the door has been knocked over. A quick glimpse into his bathroom shows all his products and towels on the floor. A shuffling sound brings his attention back to the main room. He grabs a Doc Marten’s boot off the floor –not the best of weapons, but it’s all he’s got– and steps over the shoe rack into the room. A blurry figure springs at him, but before Minho gets a chance to attack or defend, he’s pushed against the wall, the figure fleeing out the way he came.
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Chan’s car is totaled. But apparently, Chan has more than one car and insists on coming to pick Minho up.
“I know this isn’t ideal for you, but I can’t let you stay somewhere that’s been compromised,” Chan says and looks towards him for a second. Minho’s tempted to yell at him to keep his eyes on the road, but only one of them got in a car accident within the last 24 hours and it wasn’t Chan. So Minho keeps his mouth shut. “Besides,” Minho isn’t looking but he can hear the smile, “I think you’ll like my pack.”
Pack. Right. Of course, Chan has a pack. Minho’s been so obsessed with mentioning Chan’s sorcerer-turned-werewolf situation that he’s never stopped to consider all that it might entail. A pack. His pack. Maybe even... A mate? The thought of Chan finding love shouldn’t bother Minho so much. He could honestly do whatever with his life and it shouldn’t matter jack shit to Minho. He tells himself he’s just petty that not only did Chan get everything else in life that Minho never did. He also had to go ahead and maybe get a destiny-assigned lover. Keyword: maybe.
Soulmates or not Chan’s pack is… wonderful. Changbin and Jisung are working adults like Chan. Changbin is another professor and Jisung is a lovely little weirdo who does conspiracy theory videos on YouTube and somehow makes enough of a living off it. Seungmin and Jeongin are both students. Seungmin double-majors English and History. Jeongin studies law quote-unquote “for some reason”. They all seem like a close-knit family. They greet Minho warmly and invite him to play games with them on the couch. They make an effort to ask if he’s got allergies or any dislikes when making dinner. They obviously adore Chan, Jisung practically jumps him when they walk through the door and it occurs to him only at dinner when they all wait for Chan to take the first bite that they’re not only his pack. He’s their alpha.
Minho demands they let him do the dishes and Chan is the only one who protests, to Chan’s dismay. Minho isn’t all that surprised in a house full of boys but in an effort not to leave him to it alone, Chan helps dry things off.
“I called the Brotherhood,” Minho says, elbow-deep in a pot, “They’re sending some agents to assist.”
Chan leans on the counter while wiping a plate. “It’s probably for the best.”
Minho agrees. He knows they’ll send Hyunjin and Yongbok, to which he has no protest. If the four boys here are Chan’s pack, then those two are the closest Minho has to one.
“This level of violence, I mean, slitting the throat of an innocent girl.” Minho takes a deep breath. “They could’ve simply chosen not to show up, but they killed her and they tried to kill me too, even ransacked my room for god knows what reasons. It feels bigger than just some Bane dealings”
Chan is quiet. He’s drying another plate that Minho is pretty sure has been dry for a while by now.
“That guy in your room,” he starts, “did you manage to get anything of his? Piece of cloth? Hair?”
“He ran past so fast I didn’t even see him, do you really think I wouldn’t have said something if I did? I know you can’t scent the essence of a presence when you’re not born Were” Chan arches a curious brow towards Minho.
“You’re specialty was in no way Werewolves but you seem especially aware of our abilities and shortcomings.”
“I’ve worked with wolves before”
“How many have you killed?”
“I–” Minho takes off the pink rubber gloves he’d found under the sink and throws them over the faucet. “I haven’t kept count, but it’s a low number.”
“Low?”
“Yes, Chan, low.” Minho glowers, “believe it or not I don’t go around killing as many people as I can, my job is to protect other-kind.”
“Why do you feel the need? You’re not exactly one of us.” That stings. Minho has only ever known other-kind. His family might not have been other, but he’s been part of this world for as long as he can remember.
“Fuck you,” Minho says, pushing off the counter and making his way to the front door. Chan grabs his arm before he can make it very far.
“That’s not what I meant and if you’d take three fucking seconds to think about it, you’d know that” Chan speaks under his breath.
“Oh trust me I’ve thought about it. For years I’ve slaved over it,” Minho hisses, “why is it that you’re so obsessed with reminding me that I don't belong with the likes of you?”
He tightens his grip on the crossbow. It’s strapped to his arm, but he holds on to it like a lifeline. The rain is pelting down. His parents said he’d likely not see any action tonight. They’d take care of the Dokkaebi inside and all he had to do was stand guard at the back door in case any of them tried to make a run for it. Dokkaebi usually don’t. They aren’t cowardly like most hybrid-type other-kind, who will flee to save their skin. Dokkaebi are of demonic descent and will likely see getting overrun by hunters as a challenge. So Minho clenches his jaw and tries to blink the water out of his eyes. His clothes are soaked through by now and he’ll likely have one hell of a cold by the time he makes it home. He’d have to sneak by Old Boram’s place to get a cold remedy. Mom and Dad won’t like him interacting with a wizard, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.
He’s brought out of his spiel by the loud clang of the door barging open and knocking over the metal pipes Minho had lined against the door. The cacophony of noise distracts the Dokkaebi momentarily. Long enough for Minho to get a good look at him. Although he wishes he hadn’t. He’s just a kid. He barely reaches Minho’s nose, limbs short and gangly, mouth full of braces, and messy brown hair quickly getting soaked through. He’s stopped moving and simply stands, staring at Minho. He doesn’t look frightened, but Minho knows he does. The kid tilts his head, like a curious puppy and Minho lets his arm fall to his side. He can’t do it. He takes a step to the side. Gestures for the kid to run past. He doesn’t look back.
The only good thing about getting thrown out is he wasn’t home when the rest of his family was slaughtered.