Sooooo verse where Seth is a werecat (he turns into a North American Cougar, LOOK HOW PRETTY) because Scorp and I just love making Seth turn into apex predators, and um, he still goes to prison, but he ends up eating the guards and escaping, good times.
Richie almost shoots him; he misses, shaky shot, but he still took it, the sound bursting in Seth’s ears.
It hurts, growing from the pit of his stomach through his chest, ripping out of him in a roar, jaws bared; it ends with a whimper, harsh soft sounds that makes Richie approach, finally seeing him as Seth shifts from fur to skin, naked in the leaves.
Richie drops to his knees beside him, lays a hand on him that’s dirty and it trembles in a way Seth had never seen, jittery and erratic–he smells different, not just the dirt and grime and day’s old sweat, but there’s a fear poisoning his scent, making Seth queasy. He relishes the feel of Richie hand, though, steadying when it makes contact, touching the back of his neck and stroking down his spine to his flanking, repeating the motion, petting him like he still had fur; it tingles just the same, makes him purr deep in his throat.
“Sorry, brother,” Richie gasp out, and falls against him, burying his face against Seth’s neck; his tears are hot splashes, making Seth’s eyes prick.
Seth watches Richie shave away his beard that night, open blade to the heat soften hair from the shower they had shared–it had been cramped, narrow space with an overhead spout in Richie’s shack, the one modern convenience besides the woodstove, but Seth had liked being close, pressed to Richie’s skin, needing the contact after years of being away.
His skin is pink underneath, baby smooth like Seth remembers–strange how Richie could just shave the time away, become the brother he remembers, neat and clean, smelling of Irish Spring soap.
(It was a lie–a nice one, but Seth knew there were scars on his body that Richie would have to ask about later, Richie with his own marks, secrets that would come forth, but Seth wanted the lie for now, and would let the truth rest.)
The cot is too small for both of them, but Richie says it’s sturdy and Seth believes him, crawling on top of Richie like he had never left, like Richie hadn’t moved out to the wild to make his own prison out in the open and curls against his chest, head over his heartbeat, listening to the thump-thump-thump rhythm, purring as Richie strokes his damp hair.