The Sharpest Lives
“So, there are real werewolves?” Bella asked. “With the full moon ad silver bullets and all that?” Jacob snorted. “Real. Does that make me imaginary?” “You know what I mean.” “Full moon, yes,” Edward said. “Silver bullets, no – that was just another one of those myths to make humans feel like they had a sporting chance. There aren’t very many of them left. Caius has had them hunted into near extinction.” (Breaking Dawn 745) You’re the one that I need, I’m the one that you loathe… ---JokesOnJane, you're AMAZING!!!1! Thanks for the banner!
*All publicly recognizable characters are the property of Stephenie Meyer. **All song lyrics in this story are from the album The Black Parade, by My Chemical Romance. The title of this story is also a title of a song from that album.
Rating 5/5 Word Count 1508 Review this Chapter
A drink for the horror
that I’m in.
For the good guys
and the bad guys…
for the monsters
that I’ve been…
…’cause there ain’t no way that I’m
coming back again.
His parents, those once kind eyes… They flicker now, in and out of insanity. They can’t help but question every truth ever told. He remembered how much it hurt when his father beat him. Never had he laid his hands on his son, not until now. It hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt…
Oozing in and out of consciousness, he was vaguely aware of his mother sobbing. In hysterics, she wasn’t sure if she should plead for her husband to stop or keep going. That thing was not her son, was all that she could say. It hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt…
Most of the night was filled with fretting and torture. The moon seared his skin in ecstasy. He never asked for this, he didn’t understand this. And yet, he was stuck with it. His parents alternated watching over him, talking in hushed tones. He couldn’t hear much of what was said. His ears were clotted with blood and it interrupted his hearing. There was a ringing in his ears from the pounding. It hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt…
Then they made the decision. They would dispose of him.
It hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt the most…
Flashes of scenes flew by. There was the trash bins and the heaving. The giant tin can was moving, being moved. The unsteady motion turned to a rhythmic vibration as transportation changed from walking to driving. It was in these quiet moments that Sloan discovered himself. The fur and claws, the teeth, the shattered bones…so many shattered bones. What had his mother said?
“What is that thing? What is that thing?! Where is my son?!!”
Oh, yes. That was it.
She had screamed and cried for a long time. They had found him in the bathroom. In his fear, Sloan had nearly destroyed the room and himself, tearing off tuffs of fur and chunks of skin, trying to find himself underneath the monster. There was no use. The self that he had known before was gone, changed forever by that one little mistake.
Why, oh why, did he venture off into the woods? There had been an animal there and he was determined to hunt it down. Fate was altered and the hunter became the hunted, returning home with what he thought was a normal dog bite. His parents never knew, never knew, never knew, never knew.
And it hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt.
Sloan flailed about in his dream, the memories burning. He was scratching at himself again, holding on to his skin and tearing at it. Edward was beside him, holding him steady. He was fascinated by the nightmares, the memories. It was one of the reasons why he volunteered to watch over the boy that night. When he was certain that Sloan wouldn’t harm himself for the moment, Edward slipped back into his mind.
The motion stopped. He was squirming about now, having just enough strength to get away. Voices neared and the trash can was lifted from the truck and tossed. Sloan was too late to climb away and he shuddered as the trash bin rumbled and tumbled down a steep hill and into a river.
The lid was sucked off by the current the bin was filled with water quickly. Sloan debating on which was better, swimming to shore or drowning and ending it all? He wasn’t the same person and knew he could never return to who he was. He had no family and no home… It hurt him to think of it. It hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt.
There was a howl in the near vicinity that set his teeth on edge. Was this a friendly being? He wasn’t sure. Right now his instincts were telling him to run.
Another howl sounded. This one was much closer and not as frightening. Sloan could feel that this was no mere animal that howled. He waited. The two companions followed the rushing river as it carried the trash can swiftly with it, Sloan bobbing up and down in the racing waters. Soon the large half-wolf half-man creatures were right along side him, howling.
“Ululavi, little friend. Ululavi! Let us help you!” the smaller one cried.
Sloan could only whimper. He had no energy to respond.
The larger one dove into the river, fighting the rapids easily. He grabbed a hold of the trash can and scooped Sloan out of it. Sloan instinctively wrapped his arms around his new friend’s neck as he swam to shore.
Once safe, the two companions took him to a clearing in the woods where they had made camp. Changing forms, Sloan found that they were convincingly human…
“Very convincingly human…” Edward mused. “It’s just as easy for them to blend in with humans as it is for us. Maybe even easier…”
“What’s your story, little one?” the smallest werewolf asked Sloan. Now that they were all in their human forms again, Sloan found it easier to be himself. He was discovering that none of his personality traits were lost. He still was very small for his age and he still hated spinach.
Sloan looked at the two men warily.
“He doesn’t want to tell it,” the smallest said again, leaning close to Sloan. “I’ll tell you what. I don’t think it’s safe for you to go home, okay? So…you can stay with us. Would you like that?”
Sloan nodded his head with enthusiasm. Then, thinking back to his mother and father and their violent reactions, he burst into tears.
“Hey, hey!” The biggest one moved closer to comfort Sloan. “It’ll be alright, little friend. No one else will hurt you, I promise. I know it hurts.”
It hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts.
“I know it hurts. It’ll hurt for a while,” the smallest one added. “And it’s alright to cry. There’s no shame in it, little friend.”
Sloan nodded and sobbed so hard he thought that his lungs would explode and his eyes would start bleeding. But they never did, he stayed perfectly intact as he cried.
There was a knock on the bedroom door.
“Come in,” Edward whispered.
Bella and Rosalie entered the room without a sound. They moved closer to the bed and stood behind Edward.
“How is he?” Bella asked cautiously.
Edward shook his head. “He’s been through a lot.”
“No dip, Sherlock,” Rosalie muttered. “We want to know if you’ve found anything out about him.”
He held his breath before answering. “I know who Runt and Pivot are.”
Sloan didn’t, or couldn’t, sleep for the remainder of the night or even well into the day like his new companions. The way they snored was comforting and the large stature of Pivot was even more reassuring that nothing more would happen to him. Nothing more could disturb his peace as he tried to recover from the previous night and understand what he now was.
Runt and Pivot were on their feet and in their werewolf forms immediately. In all of the lore, werewolves supposedly only change at night. But, then again, it’s only lore. The distant relationship that they have with the vampire species keeps them from confronting this belief even in the supernatural world.
“Ululavi, my friends.”
The gravelly voice reverberated off of the trees. A new werewolf appeared in the clearing. This one was gray with age and scarred with experience. His tongue darted out of his mouth and wetted his lips as he grinned a wolfish grin. He was larger than Pivot and focused his attention on the small boy hiding under a sleeping bag, his eyes milky white. Sloan knew he had seen this one before…in the woods…where hunter became hunted.
“Piss off,” Pivot spat.
The newcomer tsked in disapproval. “Is that any way to treat a guest?”
“You’re no guest of ours,” Runt seethed, taking a step backwards. He glanced at Pivot and shook his head. Pivot huffed in irritation, but knew that a fight would be deadly.
“You have something that I want,” the newcomer hissed, moving for Sloan.
“Fat chance you’ll get it!” the two shouted as they snatched up Sloan and bolted for the trees.
The enemy was close behind them, gaining with every step. But Runt and Pivot had the advantage. They knew the area better than he did and were determined to keep their promise to the small boy. They wouldn’t let danger come to him and were desperate for the upper hand in a battle with the notorious Crunch. He was a collector of people, hunting down the few werewolves with abilities and mounting them on his wall. He had a sixth sense for talents in others and sharpened it with frequent use. Runt and Pivot knew nothing of Sloan’s gift. Not even Sloan knew of Sloan’s gift. But Crunch could almost taste it.
So they ran and never looked back.
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