Chapter Text
“Doc…I’ve got a favour to ask.”
You didn’t need to know who was on the other line, as you recognized his voice even if it was muffled by the faint roaring of winds from afar. You didn’t know what it was, but it sounded like there was either a storm brewing or the line was cutting out almost as if he were calling from a veiled place, somewhere far past the world you knew.
You sat up, your quill almost clattering onto the desk as you braced yourself.
“John? What’s wrong?”
On the other end, you could hear John panting. He wouldn’t call you unless it were an emergency. Pressing the phone closer to your ear, you steadied your breathing, trying not to panic.
“I might need your help.” He says, his tone gravelly with a bit of strain to it.
“It’s late — a-are you alright?” You stammered, your saliva thick in your throat.
“Still in one piece,” he deadpans, a hint of a smirk in it despite the strain you could hear.
“Still?” you repeat, a bit in disbelief at what he meant, “What happened?”
“Got tossed around a bit. Soul we were fetching didn’t want to come quietly,” he growled. The tempest swelled for a moment, causing his voice to cut out.
Your serpentine hair hisses with restlessness as you scramble to close your notes, putting your quill in between to remember where you left off for later.
“You’re hurt?” you asked, though the question was a bit foolish. It was clear he was injured, but you didn’t know how bad it was.
The way he sounded told you it wasn’t good as he huffs, a wheeze slipping between his words.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
Before you could fuss even more, he spoke first: “Listen. Adam’s still in Ghoulcare. Won’t be back before midnight...or later.” He said this as if he were forcing the words out but nearly failing.
“I hate to ask, but could you pick him up? Keep him with you until I get there?” You were already gathering your things before he even finished his request, “Of course. I’ll bring him here to the clinic.” You responded matter-of-factly. It wasn’t even a question in your mind; of course, you’d help him.
He grew quiet again, and you could picture him weighing his next words. You get one arm through your jacket when you hear John take a deep breath.
“Sorry for the trouble, Doc. Hope I’m not asking too much.”
You paused, your heart sinking. You knew men like John: indomitable, stubborn, unwilling to burden others. But in that moment, you sensed he’d finally found the courage to let his guard down. It tugged at something deep within you; sympathy wasn’t quite the word for it, but it came close.
“You don’t need to apologize, John. I wasn’t planning on heading home just yet anyway.”
You heard him sigh in relief, followed by a soft chuckle, probably to ease his nerves and also to keep the tone light despite his current condition. “You’re a lifesaver, love. I owe you one.”
Your heart skipped a beat at the word he said, love, a term of endearment you’d heard many times before, but only one of them had been sincere: your grandfather. The others were just empty words.
You shouldn’t be thinking about it too much, but the way your cheeks reddened betrayed your feelings.
You tried to sound casual, try to brush it off. “No bother at all, John. Just focus on fetching the soul — I’ll fetch Adam,” you say, a slight, amused smile tugging at your lips, hoping to ease his weariness, which earned you a low, gravely chuckle rumbling from him.
“Thanks again. I’ll call Ghoulcare and let them know you’re picking him up.”
“Alright.”
—
Even after he hung up, John’s gaze lingered on the screen, focused on your name until it disappeared. He pocketed his phone and staggered back to his team, where several members were partially shifted, flames billowing from their skin. They all looked rough, but none of them was as injured as he was.
John winced as he peered through the crypt's window, noticing a dark mist pooling from the distant steps that led to an underground tunnel. Struggling to stay upright, he turned to his team, trying to conceal his injuries.
"Not exactly the clean job we hoped for," John muttered, glancing at his men, whose faces reflected the same exhaustion he felt.
"We go again,” John growled. His eyes ignited red, his fangs bared, as fire crept over his body and the flames slowly enveloped him.
“Everyone on me."
—
The drive wasn’t far as Ghoulcare was only ten minutes of travel from your clinic, a modest building tucked near the Main Citadel, where most working parents left their children.
From the window, you could see a few employees still out and about. Once inside, you were immediately greeted by a carer who had already brought Adam and his bag.
“Hey! Just saw you pull up, I’m guessing you’re here for Adam?” The carer asks as Adam reaches his arms out toward you, absolutely delighted to see you.
“Mumma!” Adam exclaimed, his little voice ringing with excitement. The worker’s tone softened as she echoed him, “Yeah, your mumma’s here.” She whispers, brushing his serpentine locks from his eyes.
You blinked, caught off guard by the word. Mumma, you repeated in your head. You were in no way related to Adam, other than someone mistaking you for his mum because of similarities, which floored you. Your cheeks burned from embarrassment, and something warm fluttered in your chest at the thought that he would call you that.
Both father and son had left you speechless in a span of moments.
You chuckled, shaking your head gently as you stammered, “Oh, I’m not Adam’s mumma,” you said, still completely flustered, “I’m just a family friend. John called ahead to let you know I’d be looking after him tonight.” You added as you rummaged through your bag, pulling out your ID. “Do you need me to show you this?”
The carer’s face paled. “Oh—sorry! I didn’t mean—”
“It’s alright,” you said quickly, offering a small smile as you handed over your ID. “Easy mistake.”
She checked it, nodded, then handed Adam and his things over to your care. Adam wriggled happily in your arms and immediately tried to grab your pince-nez, making you crane your neck and turn your head from side to side as you laughed.
“Come on, bud, your Da’s a little busy right now, but he’ll be back soon.”
The heavy wooden doors slammed shut, silencing the blustering winds outside and dimming the crypt’s entrance. Only the soft crackle of torchlight echoed through the room, each flame flickering along the walls and casting a faint glow down the narrow passage that led deeper underground.
The faint light barely reached the floor as five imposing silhouettes — John and his pack of Soul Fetchers — descended along the walls, their massive forms swallowing the light. When they reached the bottom, shadows deepened, stirred by a sudden flurry of motion.
Several pairs of red eyes gleamed, sharp and alert, as they focused on the chasm that slowly opened at the center, causing the earth to groan and rumble.
They howled in unison, their backs arched and claws extending like swords, baring their teeth at the towering figure emerging from the deep void, bathed in vivid heliotrope hues.
A beacon of brilliant purples shone down on the Soul Fetchers like an ethereal deity. But this was neither holy ground nor a being of heaven; it emitted an otherworldly wail that reverberated against the stones.
Then, a voice — ancient, guttural, and beyond any mortal tongue — boomed through the chamber. It was a command shouted among the pack, a sound older than language itself, with a demonic undertone resonating deep within:
"Seize!"
Clashes of red and purple illuminated the expansive catacombs, accompanied by the sounds of ripping and tearing. A mix of wails and growls erupted as the Hellhounds snapped their jaws at the massive figure. A phantom arm emerged from thin air, grabbing the largest Hellhound — John — by the base of his spine, its claws goring through his fur. A primal yelp merged with a pained human scream, echoed in the air as the towering figure flung John several yards away until he crashed against the crypt walls.
The scuffle continued, with the pack losing ground as the figure gained more power.
From the far end, John’s Hellhound form flickered, threatening to shift back as his eyes dimmed from red to blue. But when he saw his pack fall one by one, a surge of energy coursed through him. He staggered to his feet as smoke billowed from his maw. When his eyes glowed from blue to red, an explosion of fire erupted, burning brighter than the sun. His fur shimmered like molten lava, flowing and crackling with every movement.
With a burst of speed, he launched forward, dodging the rocks hurtling his way. His form bristled as he roared, his jaws unhinging to bare his lengthening fangs. He aimed directly for the figure’s neck with a loud, thundering bite. In mere seconds, the malevolent entity tumbled down, ensnared by chains of fire that erupted out of thin air, wrapping around its center and pinning each limb in place.
The flames on John’s Hellhound body dimmed slightly, but his eyes remained fierce as he glared down at the spirit, which began to shrink in size. The chains tightened until the soul transformed into a more recognizable form: the dim glow of a Revenant’s restless spirit.
The soul was contained.
It had grown quiet in your clinic. Adam was already asleep in the cot you’d brought in from the next room, curled around the beholder plush you’d given him a while back.
You had half expected him to stay up all night trying to shift, but as soon as you arrived, he toddled straight into your office and plopped down on the cushion where he usually practiced petrifying toys. From behind the low table, he looked up at you with a bright, wide smile, waiting for you to grab the supplies.
You set out a few petrified plushies in front of him, curious to see what he’d do. Adam grabbed one, his small, chubby hands gripping the object tightly. He scrunched his button nose as he focused, eyes gleaming green. When he unpetrified one, he grabbed another and did the same. It took him a bit, but he successfully unpetrified all the objects you’d set on the table.
His delighted giggle filled the room as he looked up at you for approval, waving his arms.
“Did it!” he said, hugging the beholder plush.
Your cheeks ached from how wide you grinned, proud of his little triumph.
That had been hours ago. And with Adam fast asleep, you took this time to finish some paperwork, hunched over your desk in concentration.
The sudden knock at the entrance echoed down the hall, jolting you. When you got up to check, you saw John was on the other side, looking really roughed up and dishevelled. You gasped, scrambling to open the door and let him in.
“Gods below! What happened to you?” You pulled him inside quickly, locking the door behind you before steering him into a chair in the hall.
He tried to wave it off, but the strain was evident in his posture. “We got the soul. But it went down swinging.” He gave a crooked smirk before a groan escaped him as his hand pressed instinctively to his ribs.
“Well, I can see that.” A half-laugh, half-scoff slipped out when your eyes landed on the gash along his left side.
“Hold on,” you uttered as you darted off, wheeling a crash cart in front of him. Your hands moved on instinct — disinfecting, cleansing, and bandaging.
“You hurt anywhere else?” you murmured, leaning closer than you meant to. His eyes caught yours, the blue sparking briefly into fiery red.
“Yeah. But I’ve got to shift.” He grimaced, easing himself out of the chair.
You frowned, a little puzzled as you watched him head for the door. “Where are you going?”
“Don’t want to set the place ablaze, love. Might take the whole ceiling with them.” He said with a wry smile. A laugh threatened to slip out, but you held it back.
“John…the buildings in the Wildes are magicproof, and so is this clinic. You don’t need to limp outside; you can safely shift here.”
Looking a little sheepish — and maybe too roughed up for his own good — John shuffled back a few steps. “Right…” he muttered, then he gestured for you to stand clear.
The dark mass around him undulated, curling outward like smoke from a massive fire as he knelt, pressing his palms to the floor. In a flash, flames erupted across his body, fiery red and hungry, the sound echoing like a hearth’s fire threaded with the sharp crackle of bone. Your breath caught at the red marks along the spine of his Hellhound form near the base of his tail, a sure sign the malevolent spirit had yanked him too aggressively.
His body immediately buckled, sending him crashing heavily to the floor. Ash scattered as he struggled to right himself. Even prone, John’s Hellhound form was massive, stretching high enough to reach your waist and filling the space around him.
You carefully sidestepped the small dark remnants until you reached his side, “Apologies for the mess, love, I’ll clean it later,” he rumbled, his voice carrying an unearthly, demonic echo.
You shook your head and tutted. “None of that, John. You’ve done enough for the day. Let me take care of you.”
A low whine escaped him as he pressed his nose into your hand.
“Alright.”
—
“Stop laughing, Doc, it’s not funny,” John whined, his demonic tone low with a tinge of embarrassment. You had to cauterize his wounds, which meant shearing the fur at the base of his tail and across his backside, and although the heat barely bothered him, it was the task that made him squirm out of modesty.
You could’ve sworn you had it under control, but every time you exhaled, John’s Hellhound hearing picked up the tremor.
“I’m not laughing, John, I promise you,” you said, a partial lie as you closed up the last portion of his wound and patted his haunches. He let out another whine, and this time, an airy laugh finally escaped you despite yourself.
“Are you always this dramatic whenever you’re injured?” you teased. He chuffed and glanced over his shoulder at you, his fiery red eyes glowing.
“Just haven’t had anyone fuss over me this much for a while,” he muttered, his voice becoming rough toward the end. He quickly turned his head away, as if he wasn’t supposed to say it, and rested it on the floor with a soft thud.
The room was silent except for the ticking of the wall clock. You contemplated your next question, curious if this happens often.
“You ever gotten injured like this before?” you asked, concerned. You already knew the answer as his ears flicked downward.
“I have, many times, but it’s not as bad as this,” he said, panting slightly when you applied more salve to his back.
“My team were on our usual soul runs, didn’t expect this one to be in the ancient catacombs. Bloody bastard had been hiding for centuries before we flushed it out,” he growled. You sat down on a chair near his head, listening intently.
“Are the others alright?” you asked. His ears twitched. “Yeah, I always make sure my men are safe.” Hearing this somehow made your blood boil, and you might’ve nudged his shoulder a little too hard to address this.
“But you got injured in return, John…” you said firmly. He lowered his head, avoiding your gaze. “I know, love, but it’s worth it,” he said, maybe a little too casually to your liking. You furrowed your brows further at this. He may be five times bigger than you right now, but you didn’t care; a hiss of warning from your serpentine hair mirrored the tension in your gaze as you leaned closer, baring down on him.
“What if you get injured so badly next time? What’s going to happen to Adam?” you asked, a trace of anger in your tone as your fists shook, carrying more than concern for the boy alone.
John searched your eyes, and for a moment, his own seemed to shift to a softer blue, pupils dilating slightly. He looked away, perhaps in shame, and shook his head. “You’re right, love. I wasn’t thinking.”
You hesitated for a moment, studying the tension in his shoulders and the slump of his posture. You felt sympathy, and anger, and….something else you didn’t want to acknowledge or say out loud. Not yet, anyway.
John's eyes faltered as he let out another chuff. "Sometimes I feel like I’m not doing right by him," he said softly, almost like a whisper, his head lolling slightly to the side.
You moved just before you could think, sliding off the chair to kneel in front of him. The action startled him a bit and made him look back your way.
“I don’t want to hear any of that, John.” You said firmly as you grasped his snout and pulled his maw closer, holding his gaze.
“You’re a great father, so you should give yourself a bit of grace.”
He looked back at you, blue eyes glassy with unshed emotion. “That right?” he murmured, a soft chuckle rumbling through him.
“Mhm, so you should stop whining like a hound and get some rest,” you said, teasing lightly but with a touch of seriousness. He rested the edge of his snout on your lap, and the hem of your blouse fluttered with his warm breath.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
He relaxed a bit, eyes closing briefly as all he could do was feel your hands caressing his jaw, giving him a few good scratches.
John’s fur dimmed rhythmically from a deep ember to ashen grey, like firewood settling in a hearth, glowing in tandem with his breathing.
It took a while before the magical bandages melted away and his cauterized wounds returned to normal.
Once everything was settled, you woke John up and gave him the go-ahead to shift back, watching as more ashes drifted across the floor.
He turned on his heel, and you immediately knew he was heading to the nearest broom closet, but you called him out before he could get far.
“Sit down, John. I’m not repeating myself.” His lips twitched out of stubbornness, or perhaps amusement, before he turned to your office instead and sat down onto the couch you’d pulled from the waiting room.
He watched Adam sleep, seemingly at peace, but the tension on his shoulders remained.
Without turning to you, John said, “Thanks again for picking him up…I appreciate it.”
He gave Adam a few gentle pats on his head before he leaned back.
“Don’t worry about it. Now, go rest your head,” you murmured, returning to your paperwork. John exhaled sharply through his nose before it settled into a deep rhythmic breathing as he had fallen asleep once again.
For a while, the room was still, filled only by the scratching of your quill across the paper. But then you heard it, a small whimper at first, and then a loud cry as Adam thrashed in his cot, snapping John awake. Pure instincts took over as he was already on his knees in an instant, scooping his son up.
Adam’s small fists started flailing, his chest heaving, and his body began to glow faintly. Items in the room shifted to stone, and the edges of flames rippled on his skin as he teetered on the edge of shifting.
“Mumma!” Adam cried, looking at you with absolute fear in his green eyes, partially shifted, then recoiled back to his usual form. You moved quickly, kneeling beside John, still taken aback by all that’s happening. The boy reached out to you from his father’s grasp, and you glanced at John, who hesitated at first but then gently held his son out as you scooped him into your arms, holding him tight.
“It’s alright, sweet boy. You’re safe,” you whispered, rubbing his back as he sobbed against your shoulder.
John leaned in, hand joining yours against Adam’s back as the two of you tried to calm him down.
Adam buried his tear-stained face against your shoulder, trying not to let you go. You glanced at John, who wore an expression you hadn’t seen before: panic, with a hint of hurt.
With a soft tone, he called out to his son, “Adam, that’s not mum, darling. Let go of the doctor,” he said as he reached for him, but Adam refused, clinging to your neck even harder.
He murmured the word again, “Mumma…” and held on tight. You weren’t sure what to do; he’d never cried out like this before, and you didn’t have the heart to pull him away. So you let him cling, running your hands gently over his back as he soaked your medical jacket while John stayed close.
After a while, Adam fell asleep, and you took the opportunity to pass him back into his father’s arms. John immediately held him close, murmuring soft reassurances. You checked for any lingering magical residue before he placed his son back in the cot.
The moment was over as soon as it started, but you and John were still reeling. You didn’t know what prompted this outburst, but you had an inkling.
John kept one hand resting on Adam’s head, weary eyes fixed on his son’s sleeping form, his tired body still taut. You didn’t want to ask; you didn’t want to prod at something that wasn’t your place to know — but your instincts as a doctor spoke out of turn.
“Does he get nights like this?” you asked John in a calm voice. You saw his jaw tighten as he took a deep breath, then shook his head slightly. His voice carried a hint of hesitation, coming out a little more choked than he intended.
“...He calls for her, sometimes.” His voice was low, avoiding your gaze, but there was weight in his words.
“There was a time when his mum…she had everything going,” John said as he folded his arms over his chest, a guarded action, as if anchoring him from all that had happened.
“I should’ve seen the signs,” he said, voice wavering a little, before he continued, “but I didn’t. That’s on me.”
He exhaled sharply, letting the words hang as he leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “She always said she felt…lost. Like she was only a mum, and nothing else. And I told her Adam needed her, I needed her. It was probably too much, she—” He paused, head bowing as if to stop himself from falling apart, letting the unsaid words linger, the meaning of it clear.
“I could’ve done more…I should have…But it’s too late for that now,” he added almost under his breath, giving a short, dry nod; his eyes were somewhat empty, and you felt that pang of sadness hit you.
You wanted to reach out, somehow, reel him back from the suffocating depths of despair, and tell him everything would be okay, but how could it be? Before you, John was broken. He wasn’t a shell of himself, but dark thoughts had consumed him for a while. His actions and subtle recklessness now made sense — you understood why. You knew he was trying to punish himself.
And yet, despite his careless regard for himself, you saw it: a small spark of hope as the blues of his eyes somehow grew deeper, as if he had been pulled back from his thoughts and immediately reached for his son’s hand, thumb gently pressing onto his tiny palm. You saw it — the instincts of what it means to be a devoted father, no matter what comes their way.
John’s shoulders slackened, hunched over as if in defeat, exhausted and jaded, but in his eyes, you still saw determination and complete, unconditional love for his son.
It tugged at your heartstrings and brought back memories of your childhood. You remembered how your ailing grandfather worked tirelessly to put food on the table, even going to great lengths just to buy you that dress you admired during a Sunday stroll in town. You felt guilty recalling how you had fussed about it, but you were only eight, wild and rambunctious. Despite this, you tried to forgive yourself, recognizing that you didn’t know any better at the time. It was clear from your grandfather’s unwavering smile and his unconditional care that he never held a grudge, even when you were being difficult. He stepped in when your parents couldn’t, staying strong until your graduation, until you became a doctor, until the last time you saw him.
You took a deep breath, stilling yourself from bursting into tears. This wasn’t the time to cry, not in front of John when he had already gone through enough.
You gently brushed aside the memories, bringing your focus back to the present. The weight of the past still lingered, but the soft hum of the room and the gentle rhythm of John’s and Adam’s breathing helped ground you.
When you opened your eyes, you found John watching you— patient yet vulnerable. A flicker of understanding passed between you, and the stillness of the room reminded you that this moment was shared. His eyes conveyed what he had not yet spoken.
He hesitated, and you could hear the quiet rhythm of each other’s breaths. His lips parted slightly, weighing his words, before he finally let them slip.
“You…helped me. More than I knew I needed. Thank you.”
Your mouth quirked, your throat tightening as you tried to stop yourself from crying. “Of course…” You murmured, attempting a nonchalant tone but failing slightly, but John gave you a gentle smile regardless.
There was a beat of silence, heavy with the things that were left unsaid. His hand lingered near Adam’s head before settling against his own knee, and he gave a long, measured exhale, the tension ebbing away.
You both sat there, just letting the calm wash over you. You wanted to say more, but opted not to, and let the silence hang in the air as you stood and grabbed a throw blanket from the cabinet, draping it over John’s shoulders.
As you both settled back into your seats, your quill gliding over the rest of the paperwork that needed filing, John slept peacefully near the cot, his hand draped beside Adam, whose hand had found its way to grasp John’s.