Continuation of this for shipimpala. I wish you all a Happy New Year, hoped you had a wonderful time during Christmas, and even if not, that you will find joy in the new year.
Based on this gifset by shipimpala
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It was the third time in a week that Q coughed blood. His body bent forward, doubled up with pain, hot tears streaming down his face while all James could do was wash his hands, clean away the red, little drops at the corners of his lips with the cloth in his hand. Around them, the night was quiet, dead, not a single animal, not a bird nor a cat making noise.
Nature held still. It listened. It felt James' pain, and reacted accordingly.
Q's condition had not improved despise the medication the doctor left him the last time he had shown up, and regardless of what James did to help him get better, it didn't seem to work. All the soup, all the fruits smashed to juice, all the hours spent on the beach, staring at the ocean with his arms wrapped around the shaking, weak body, all for nothing. Q was going to die. James felt it, deep inside his core, knew with his heart and his mind that Q was going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
His family cut ties with him once they found out there was nothing they could do. The doctor gave James, believing he was the new nurse the family sent, instructions on how to make the boy's death easier and then disappeared, the roaring of a plane's engine breaking through the silence of the night that day.
With no one but James to hold him while he cried, James made a decision. He didn't know if it was selfish, if he should have asked, explained, first, but Q didn't react when he talked to him, could only nod and shake his head, words moving in silent pleas James couldn't hear. It broke his heart to see Q this way; to see him lying in his bed, unable to move, unable to breathe, shaking underneath the blankets, all long limbs and messy hair.
A fallen angel knocking on death's door, waiting to die, waiting for the sweet salvation, the release from his pain and his body which never served him well. All the fear he felt was gone; he didn't cry out of fear, out of worry, he cried because he was in pain and because it wasn't over yet.
Squeezing the hands he was holding in his own hard, James decided that he couldn't let him die. That he wouldn't let him go like this, not when he could save him.
Leaving the house was the easiest part. He left behind the money, left behind the medication and the clothes, and carried Q to the forest. Sweet, hot blood left his nostrils, running down his chin and dropping on James' arms, his mouth hanging open. James didn't know if he was breathing or not. Didn't know if his heart still was beating, could only feel his warm, living body under his fingers.
Nuzzling the mop of Q's hair, James let him down on the ground in the middle of the forest, surrounded by trees and bushes covering them from the wind. It was surprisingly warm. The air tasted of salt, the beach close to them, the ocean and the water which they had seen so often before, had been at every evening in the last few weeks.
It felt fitting that Q's life would end here, and not in the house which served as a cage, not a home.
No more letters made by parents who didn't care about him. No more nurses going out for a smoke when her patient inside was nearly coughing his lungs out. No more pretending to be happy when his gaze went over to the window, a longing tugging on Q's heart. No more illness. No more coughing, no more crying.
Feeling fur breaking through his skin, James let go of his hand and let the shift happen, bones breaking, muscles shifting and teeth growing, hands falling down on the ground in the form of paws. He shook himself and leant down to lick over Q's lips, nosing down his chin and to his throat, trying to feel breathing, life, but nothing was there, only the feeling of dried blood on cold skin.
James couldn't remember what it was like to be turned. It had been so long ago, years before Q was born, long before James joined the Navy on his search for a task, something to do. All he knew was that it was the only solution, the only way to keep Q alive.
His teeth broke through his skin easily. He chose Q's arm, where it would hurt less than the shoulder or the collarbone, tasting blood on his tongue and flesh under his teeth. Hopefully, it would work. Hopefully, it wasn't too late already, hopefully Q wasn't dead and too far gone. James had no one else left. Without Q, he-
James threw his head back and howled, begged the moon and the stars to not take this boy from him. Sent his pleas to the sky, his paws resting on Q's chest, his tail brushing over his naked feet resting on the grass. Please, he wanted to say, please, don't do this to me.
Nature listened.
The turn happened in the night when James tried to sleep, still guarding over the body and growling at everything, even squirrels, daring to come close. Had he been motionless before, Q suddenly began to shake; he moaned, eyes wide open, staring up at the trees above them as his insides adapted, the poison spreading out inside him like a parasite. James tried to hold him down, but Q shook so hard, screamed and trashed, it was nearly impossible to stop him from hurting himself.
It took half an hour before Q's scream turned into a howl.
He was a small wolf, barely reaching James' shoulders as he stood up on shaky legs, failing to coordinate four legs when he was used to one. Black, curly fur, making him look like sheep, a furry dog, but not a dangerous wolf, and bright green eyes.
Full of life.
James gently nosed over his side and pressed close, tried to be there for the boy in a change like this. Instead of being upset, Q seemed content; he sat on his hind legs, lifted his head, and howled with all his might.
