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Warnings: Canon-typical violence, body horror descriptions when John is shifting into a werewolf

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42002985

Pack And Other Four-Letter Words

Day One: Firsts

There rarely comes a time when all four of them are in the subway at once, considering their day jobs and their night jobs and how much care must be taken to ensure they’re not spotted coming here, but at the moment, the subway is blanketed in a comfortable sense of companionship. John is going through his arsenal and ensuring everything is clean and ready to go, Shaw is eating a sandwich from the nearby deli while preparing Bear his own dinner, and Root and Finch are politely arguing code at one another using words that John can’t even hope to comprehend.

It’s good. It’s great, even, closer to what the beginning was like when he would lounge in the library and hope Finch looked up from his screens for long enough to give an opinion on whatever book Reese had yanked from the shelves that day. All that’s missing is the scent of fresh tea and pastries- the smell of old sweat and dust has permeated this place too thoroughly for the time being, but maybe one day.

A sound is pulled unbidden from low in John’s throat, a sort of contented growl, and Shaw looks at him and laughs with her mouth wide open.

“Man, is it really that time of the month for you already, Reese? Sounds like the wolf’s coming close to the surface.” John blinks at her.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to eat with your mouth closed, Shaw-”

“Oh, dear, it is getting close to the full moon, isn’t it? Do you have any preparations that must be made, Mr. Reese?”

John blinks at Finch too, giving them both a disbelieving look. “I’m not shifting, guys- just had a tickle in my throat.”

“You sound pretty sure of that, considering the whole mindless beast thing,” Root chimes in, “But if not today, then tomorrow, right? Hope you’ve requested time off work, because I’m pretty sure She didn’t include your status in your cover identity.”

John sighs, putting the gun in his hands back together a little more forcefully than what’s probably necessary. “I won’t be taking off today, or tomorrow, or the next day, Root. Never have, never will need to.”

Finch gives him a dubious look. “Mr. Reese, I’ve always given you off the full moon and simply sought help elsewhere in the past- surely the entirety of the NYPD will manage without you for one or two days.”

“I took the time off so I didn’t kill any numbers on accident, Finch, not because I-” And then there’s the sound of something cracking, the feeling of his back spasming without his say so. John somehow looks more startled than anyone else in the room.

“Shit, Reese, we have to get you out of here- what’s your usual patch of woods?” John just shakes his head, not sure how to answer that. “Okay, you got a pack you run with?” Another shake. “Jesus, well, how many days are you usually out for?” John looks up at Shaw wordlessly as another bone starts to get restless beneath his skin.

“I- I’m not- I mean, I’ve never-”

Shaw’s eyes go wide, a look of bewilderment shared by everyone else in the room, including John himself.

“Sorry, but what the fuck?”

“I think what Miss Shaw means to say, Mr. Reese, is how is that possible?”

John takes in a breath. “Joined the army because I got turned- it’s either that or training, when you’re 18 and older and you’ve just been bit. They’ve got… don’t know, some kind of drug that allows you to take advantage of the strength and the heightened senses but keeps the wolf docile, prevents it from ever coming out if it’s never done it before. That’s why they try to catalog and catch bites as soon as they happen.” He shrugs. “CIA kept it up and even when I left the service and stopped taking the shots, the wolf stayed asleep. Full moon gets me restless, but I don’t actually-”

He’s interrupted by a set of claws tearing their way out of his skin, and he grunts with the rawness of the sensation, a new kind of pain to learn and internalize.

“Okay, shit, we’re losing time to get him out of here,” Shaw starts to move towards him, to try to usher him out of the subway or even knock him out, but John’s body is warping in front of them faster than she’d ever seen when she was still a doctor and assisted in supernatural cases.

“The gun locker,” John grunts, “Bottom shelf, towards the back.”

Harold looks put-off by his words. “Is this really the time for firearms-” Shaw cuts him off by yanking the cabinet open and pulling out a case of silver bullets.

She looks at him like he’s crazy. “Seriously Reese? How long have you had these? And why?”

But Reese isn’t answering now, hunched over as his gut pulls at itself and twists, his spine cracking as his body realizes how small it is and decides to amend that.

“Just- just shoot me,” he pants out, “If you need to. And get Finch out of here.”

Root is already moving, trying to gather up any sensitive electronics and drag Finch from the subway, watching as Shaw starts to load her gun up before she tosses the rest of the rounds to her. Harold is stammering, unable to look away at John’s peeling and raw skin.

He’s going to hurt them, and Harold is not leaving, and this was always going to happen but John had hoped he’d be dead before it could.

“No, absolutely not, we are not shooting or leaving Mr. Reese here to- to suffer through this-”

Root loads her own gun and makes sure the subway car doors are firmly shut; she digs her feet in, ready to protect the Machine if necessary. John has just a second to smile at her- at least she gets it, what he could do, what he is. She’ll kill him before he does any real damage.

His teeth are shoved out from his mouth by fangs, his face contorting and twisting into a snout, his clothes torn from his body as brand new muscle and sinew and bone make their way into being. It's terribly painful- it’s also horrifically invigorating, a revelation, a freedom. Shaw and Root and Harold all stand and watch as John’s form abruptly grows to three or four times that of a typical wolf, his body massive and hunched and snarling.

“Finch, you need to get out of here, Root and I will cover you-”

The beast that was and is John Reese steps forward at the same time Harold does, his hand outstretched like when one approaches a stranger’s dog. John’s teeth are bared, his bright yellow eyes piercing, and behind them both, Bear whimpers. John’s snout lowers to sniff Harold’s hand, and nobody moves- nobody even speaks.

And then John’s panting, nosing at the proffered hand, his massive tongue lolling out to lick almost the entirety of Harold’s torso in greeting. His ears perk up in recognition, an oh, I know these people! I know this place.

Shaw lets out a startled laugh, beginning to tuck her gun away as John bounds back and forth for a couple moments, familiarizing himself with them in this new form of his, circling around his family with a body large enough to encompass all of them. His tail wags, claws skidding along the subway tile.

“Holy shit,” Shaw murmurs, “He’s just a big puppy dog.”

Bear runs forward to join them, and John settles in a crescent shape on the ground, front legs and tail keeping everyone huddled in a little circle. Root scoffs, eyes wide with something similar to disgust.

“Oh, no way, I am not doing this-” She starts to move out of John’s protective form but a growl leaves his throat and his tail swats at her shins before she can go any further.

“Ms. Groves,” Harold says, voice light with shock, “I don’t think this is something you or any one of us is getting out of quite that easily.”

John lets out a contented sigh as Shaw settles in against him and begins to dig her hands into his fur, petting him as best one can a massive wolf. “Who’s a good ex-government assassin? You are! You are!”

Root looks like she doesn’t much like the shift in Shaw’s focus, and she settles down next to the other woman, one arm stretching across John’s spine like he’s a couch as she snuggles in next to her.

“Why don’t you ever tell me how good I am, Sameen?” Root purrs, looking annoyed as John’s tail thumps against the ground.

“Because you’re not,” Shaw replies, her voice blunt.

Slowly, Harold manages to lower himself down, John lifting his head up to be used as a support. The sheer warmth emanating from his body helps ease some of the ache in his hip, and Finch sighs. John noses at his hand once more until he’s getting scritches behind his ears, and Bear settles in on Root’s other side.

“I suppose- I suppose a nap wouldn’t be out of the question,” Harold mutters, “It is a Saturday, and it’s been a busy year. Besides, it seems as if Mr. Reese doesn’t intend to let us go any time soon.”

John gives a happy bark in agreement, wrapping a little tighter around all of them. And then there’s no choice but to sleep.

--

They end up sleeping far longer than what could reasonably be considered a nap.

Throughout the night, John has shifted to take most of Harold’s weight, the other man’s arms wrapped around his neck with his glasses smushed against his face at an odd angle. Root is also half on top of Shaw, who it turns out sleeps with her mouth open and tends to snore. Light doesn’t quite filter into the room considering they’re underground, but morning hits and they each begin to shift, muscles stretching and eyes slowly blinking open, Bear softly barking to be brought outside for his morning walk.

“Shit,” Shaw mutters, stretching one arm up high as she yawns, “What time is it?”

“According to my watch,” Harold murmurs, face still pressed into John’s fur, “7:21 in the morning.”

“Looks like the helper monkey’s still our helper wolf for the time being,” Root notes, nuzzling into Shaw’s neck.

Shaw lets out a grunt. “Considering how big he is, I bet he’ll be shifted for the next couple of days or so. We should steal a truck and get him into the forest while he’s docile.”

“Is that- we can’t monitor him from here?” Harold is finally readjusting his glasses and smoothing down his vest, letting out an embarrassed cough.

“No? Finch, he needs to run and eat and shit. He’s basically an animal right now- he needs fresh air.”

“Ah. Yes. Of course. I suppose… well, let’s get to work transporting him then.”

It takes a couple hours for the three of them to discreetly procure a moving truck, back it up as close to the entrance of the subway as they can, and then maneuver John through the vending machine entrance and into the back of the truck. He’s rewarded for his cooperation with more ear scritches and some of Bear’s dog treats, and within no time Harold and Shaw are back to their day jobs and Root is driving up to the Adirondacks to drop him off for the rest of his shift. John looks reluctant to separate from them, but he’s bounding after a rabbit quickly enough.

Harold calls Fusco and lets him know John will be out sick for the next few days, who abruptly connects the dots to his status as a werewolf and the time of the month and laughs at their misfortune. But at least all the loose ends are tied up.

--

Of course, their next number goes belly up.

Helen Anderson, fourth grade math teacher and mother of two, is also apparently hoping to kill a Brotherhood lieutenant for landing one of her students in a coma. The situation escalates so quickly that Root and Shaw are left crouching behind a garbage can and counting their ammo while Harold desperately tries to procure an escape route for them.

His breath caught in his chest, he listens helplessly to the sounds of gunfire, until it abruptly ceases and Shaw lets out a pleased “holy shit.”

John has come sprinting into the scene, snarling at the danger surrounding them. He doesn’t even blink as bullets thud into his flesh, teeth gnashing and ripping into throats and torsos and hands that don’t move away fast enough. He sits on his hind legs in front of Shaw and Root, panting at them as if awaiting further instruction- blood sluggishly flows from some of the wounds he’s acquired, but they’re already healing, the bullets harmless when not silver.

“Good boy,” Shaw murmurs, petting him while keeping one hand pressed against the knife wound on her side. “John’s back, more or less. Nearest safehouse, Finch?”

“Ah- oh, just a couple blocks to the northwest- are you injured?” A grunt in confirmation from Shaw. “I’ll meet you all there, just to be safe.”

By the time Harold actually gets to the safehouse, John’s muzzle has been cleaned of blood and Shaw has patched herself up. Root is smiling when she opens the door.

“Hi, Harry. Come to collect your guard dog?”

“I- no, I’m just here to check in on how everyone is doing. Ms. Anderson and her family are safely in another state with new identities to start over, and their assailants have obviously been… taken care of. The number, at least, is wrapped up.” Harold begins to walk inside, blinking at John laid out in the living room. “How much longer will he be in this form?”

“Shouldn’t be long now,” Shaw answers from where she’s rooting around for food in the fridge, “Full moon’s passed and then some, and his heart rate seems to be getting closer to that of a human being. I bet he’ll be back with us by morning.”

Harold glances at the sun just beginning to peak over the horizon. “So, now?” he asks, voice dry.

“Oh.” Shaw blinks at the morning light. “Guess so, yeah.”

As if on cue, John begins to stretch out, yawning as his skin creaks and groans. It’s a strange thing to watch, his body compressing, not without a little complaint- claws retracting reluctantly, tail ceasing its wagging as it curls up, snout shaking and then drawing back in.

Eventually, they’re left with a buck naked John stretched luxuriously out on the carpet, his yawn finally finishing. John blinks up at them; Harold blinks down at his bare ass.

The room is quiet, until Shaw whistles in appreciation of the view and Root groans.

John slowly moves into a crouch, and then stands, wobbling a little on two legs as Harold abruptly turns away from him and clears his throat.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Reese?” John doesn’t really reply, just moving into the kitchen still-naked to rinse his hands in the sink and grab some deli meat out of the fridge.

“I, ah- there’s a spare set of clothes for you in the bedroom down the hall-”

“Finch,” Shaw interrupts, “After a shift like that, he’s probably still gonna be a bit… bestial for the next couple hours. Just relax.”

True to form, John inhales the cold cuts with his bare hands and then gazes at the rest of the group with eyes that are still reflecting the light when they catch it. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat, akin to a growl, before walking up to Shaw and resting his hand gently on the now-bandaged wound.

Shaw raises an eyebrow at him, but John just huffs. “Rest.”

“Jesus, your breath smells like dogshit- literally, might I add-” John frowns, starting to push her towards the bedroom, one hand reaching out for Root as they pass by.

“Rest.”

“Oh, no, absolutely not, we are not doing this again-”

“At least the bed is rather large in this safehouse, Ms. Groves,” Harold mutters, following after them wordlessly, tired himself from staying up all night working.

Shaw gives Root a shrug. “Doesn’t look like we have much say in the matter, Root, might as well get in some shut-eye before work.”

Root is still groaning her annoyance, but she sits at the end of the bed and removes her shoes and her jacket before finally getting under the covers and leaving room for Shaw to wedge herself in on her left. Harold takes off his tie, his jacket, and even his vest, before carefully settling his glasses on the end table and laying down with a sigh.

And John- John curls up at the end of the bed, still naked, giving them all a pleased look as he keeps one eye on the door.

“Pack,” he mutters, drifting off to sleep, and everyone else in the room is really too tired to protest.

--

When the sun gets a little lower in the sky and everyone begins to wake, it’s to the scent of bacon and scrambled eggs and fresh coffee drifting through the safehouse. Shaw is up and padding out of the room, Root trailing after her in search of some caffeine. Harold takes a moment to straighten himself out and regain some decency before following.

John is, of course, finishing up the last of a stack of pancakes and brewing some tea when he walks in. He’s once again suited up, looking more man than beast and deeply embarrassed.

Once they’re all gathered in the room, he clears his throat and gives a sheepish grin.

“Hey, uh, just wanted to say- sorry. For... y’know.” It’s clear John hasn’t had to give a proper apology in a long time.

“Don’t worry about it, Reese,” Shaw slaps him on the shoulder as she passes by to grab a plate, “Most wolves get more comfortable coming out when they feel safe. Or when they feel like they’ve got a pack to protect.” There’s amusement clear in Shaw’s voice, and a flush spreads up from John’s neck.

“Come now; Mr. Reese just saved your lives. This is hardly the time to tease.” Harold clears his throat, eyes fixed on his tea as he speaks.

“It’s okay, Finch,” John murmurs, “Just- glad I could be there. If I’d realized how much being in wolf-form would come in handy, I would’ve tried shifting ages ago.” A shrug. “Guess I was always just a bit worried I wouldn’t be... enough of myself when I did.”

“Wolf or human, you’re still a convenient piece of muscle,” Root comments, her voice sweet, “Really, I didn’t see much of a difference between the two forms. You were just as gross before and after.”

John gives a vaguely sarcastic grin. “Always knew you cared, Root,” he rasps out.

“Oh, shit, Reese, are those cinnamon buns in the oven?” Harold perks up at Shaw’s exclamation.

“Oh, it has been awhile since you’ve baked those… how much longer do they have?” John’s grin turns pleased.

“Should be done by the time you finish your eggs, Finch. Why don’t we sit down?”

The embarrassed tension finally seems to leave John’s shoulders as he finishes making sure everyone’s been seated and served- deep inside his chest, the wolf gives a satisfied murmur and curls up to wait for next month.

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