Chapter Text
We stopped looking for monsters under our bed
when we realized that they were inside us.
- Charles Darwin
As a child, Davey Jacobs was endlessly fascinated by stories about monsters. His zayda loved to tell the stories he learned growing up or the Jewish folklore he had picked up during childhood. Golems and estries and alukah; tanninim and bar juchne and dybbuk. Davey was enthralled with the creatures, captivated by the idea that these impossible beasts might be hidden in the world's recesses.
As he got older, Davey started to understand that temple stories and folklore are mythology, a fiction created to teach lessons. There are no such things as creatures of clay and mud given life; no enormous serpents haunting the oceans to prey on ships; no winged seraphim warriors of the Tanakh. Although he understood it, there was always a tiny part of him - the inner child that clung to those precious memories of sitting at his grandfather's knee - that was a little disappointed to learn that these supernatural entities didn't exist.
There's a reason they tell you to be careful what you wish for.
Davey knew that moving to New York City would be an adjustment - that the City that Never Sleeps had rightfully earned its name - but he still wasn't fully prepared for the absolute sensory overload. Even this late at night, even in this rundown neighborhood of cramped apartments and cheap bodegas, the streets are a wash of sights, sounds, and smells. It's enough to make his head spin on a good day—tonight, it's nothing short of torture.
Honestly, the plan to take advantage of the quieter night hours to run down for some groceries was a weak Hail Mary. This is what he gets for putting off his errands for so long. He's already making notes to himself to plan for this issue better next month, but things have been chaotic in the past week and a half since moving. For now, he just needs to get back to his apartment to hole up and unwind for a few hours before dragging himself to work in the morning.
Davey huffs and switches his grocery bags to the other hand as he waits for a lone pair of taxi cabs to pass so he can cross the street. Holding still even for these few moments is difficult, a wild, restless energy under his skin like he's chugged a dozen espresso shots. Sleep is definitely a pipe dream tonight. Davey casts a glance upward, even though he knows he won't be able to see anything through the smog and light pollution. Not that it matters—he doesn't need to see it to know that the moon is sitting fat and full in the sky.
Only two more days now.
A car horn blares up the block and shakes Davey out of his thoughts. He darts across the street and further up the block toward his apartment building. Even though he can't see anyone on the sidewalk with him, Davey can't shake the feeling of eyes on his back.
Then, a block later, an out-of-place sound catches his attention: a soft scuff of a footstep and the clatter of a stray pebble from the vacant alley he had just passed a moment ago. It sends an ominous prickle up Davey's spine, intuition flaring. Something primal in the back of his mind perks up and rumbles a warning.
Davey shakes his head, trying to reason with it (and himself.) This is New York—there are literally millions of people. The fact that another person is walking down this sidewalk isn't cause for concern. Sure, he didn't see anyone in that alley, but maybe he just missed them in the darkness, even with his heightened senses...
Only, as Davey makes it down another block, he doesn't hear another footstep despite the way the shiver on his spine never fades. There's definitely someone behind him, but they're unnaturally silent. Even Davey's sharp hearing can't pick up any sounds; no steps, no breathing, no heartbeat. Davey sniffs curiously and can't smell anything either, a bizarre gap of scents like a black hole in the cascade of odors.
The beast in his chest bristles when they both come to the same conclusion: whatever is following Davey isn't human.
There's no point putting it off—Davey isn't about to lead whatever it is back to his home. After a minute, Davey turns into a narrow alley with mock casualness. His muscles tense with every step, hands fisted at his sides and senses straining for some indication of his pursuer. He slows his pace, waiting until that tingle up his spine warns him of proximity. Then Davey simultaneously drops his groceries and pivots with a snarl, throwing his weight into the swing.
His fist sweeps through empty air, and he stumbles forward, barely managing to backpedal before the momentum sends him crashing into a trash bin.
"I know whatcha are."
Davey spins around to find a man standing in the previously empty alleyway, a picture of nonchalance. The guy looks twenty at best, with a lazy smirk and his hands in the pockets of his skinny jeans. He's good-looking but relatively nondescript, with dark hair and a strong jaw—nothing about his appearance justifies the frantic animal warning in Davey's hindbrain.
"Who are you?" Davey grounds out through clenched teeth, struggling to calm the eager howling inside his head, the beast thrashing to be set free.
The man's smile slants up a bit more on one side. "Think we both know the better question is what am I," he responds, his words tinted with a native New York drawl. He blinks, and his eyes are suddenly jet-black, a gaping void of darkness against pale skin. When his grin widens, it bears elongated canine teeth that narrow to points.
A current of fear flows down the back of Davey's neck. He's never met one before, but he'd be stupid not to recognize what he is seeing. The monster inside rears up at what it views as a natural predator, and the reaction is so strong that Davey finds the growl escaping his lips around a single word: "Vampire."
"Werewolf," the man replies unconcernedly. For all that it's said casually, Davey can't help but flinch at the term, the part of him that tries so hard to deny it balking when confronted with the truth. While Davey recoils, the beast inside of his head lurches forward, and Davey feels the Wolf gaining ground in his mind. The vampire gives him a curious look before he shakes his head, and his expression slips back into neutral. "So, now that's over with..."
In the space of a blink, the man is standing only inches from Davey's face. Davey flinches, startled at the intrusion, and that bizarre, non-smell hits him like a brick. All the scents a human should have - breath, skin oils, and musk - are absent. Only the faintest trace of the fabric smells cling to his clothes, and under that, a cold, hollow sort of sweetness. It takes Davey a second to place it: the man smells a little like a funeral home—like death.
Davey's hackles rise, the Wolf in control enough to stop Davey's instinctive step back, and he snarls a warning that's more animal than human. His vision sharpens and coalesces, pressing back the shadows, and his nerves burn like an electric current under too-tight skin. The vampire meets his gaze flatly, deathly still. "Are you dangerous?" the man asks.
"Is that a threat?" Davey snaps back.
"Only if you's dangerous."
"Ask me again in a couple days," says Davey, straightening to use the extra few inches of height he has to tower over the vampire. "I'd be happy to show you."
The man scoffs. "I'd like to see that," he says dryly. "But I ain't asking for me, tough guy. Not the first time a stray mutt moved into my city, and I'm not letting no one else get hurt on my watch. So tell me the truth: you feral or you got your dog on a leash?"
That's not the angle Davey was expecting, and the surprise manages to cut through his anger instantly. Davey slams the doors between his mind and the Wolf, cutting off the monster's presence so fast it makes him dizzy. "Shit, no, I wouldn't risk giving this to someone else," he says in horror. "I never would've come here if I didn't have a plan for taking care of that."
For a moment, the man stares at Davey silently. Then he nods, and his posture immediately relaxes, eyes clearing to a warm brown and fangs retreating. "Good. In that case, welcome to New York." With that, the vampire turns on his heel and starts to walk away.
"Wait, seriously?" Davey asks, confused. A perplexed laugh slips out entirely without his permission. "All that just to gimme some kind of shovel talk?"
The man glances back over his shoulder and smirks. "Why, you rather I'se here to kill you?"
"I mean, in general, I prefer not to be stalked at all," says Davey sardonically. The vampire muffles a noise that might've been a laugh. "Really, that's all you wanted? You're some sort of supernatural neighborhood watch?"
"Never had it put that way, but yeah, guess so," the vampire agrees. He briefly considers Davey before he pivots back to face him properly again. "Look, truth is, I'se lived here a real long time. City this big, all those humans can look like a buffet dinner to monsters like us. Lotsa folks can get hurt real fast. So, yeah, when I find out something new moves in, I make sure it ain't gonna cause a problem."
Davey cocks his head, scrutinizing the man in awe. He licks his lips thoughtfully. "And what would you do if I was?" he can't help but ask.
Although the vampire's expression doesn't change, there's something in his smile now that is decidedly menacing. "I'd make sure you didn't, however I gotta do that."
It's the answer Davey was expecting, but it still doesn't stop the shiver that rolls through him at the blatant threat. He lives with an actual monster inside of him, but it's been a long time since he's felt genuinely in danger. "I've been like this for years now, and I've never hurt anyone," he says with all of the frankness that usually gets him in trouble, but this is probably a moment that warrants some blunt honesty. "I couldn't live with myself if I did. I know how to deal."
"Good to hear," the man says, nodding. "Make sure you do, or you'll be seeing me again." Then, in a single blink, the vampire is gone with nothing but a subtle air displacement.
For a minute, Davey just stands there and tries to process what happened. It was inevitable that he would stumble across other supernatural monsters, especially in a city as populated as this. Davey's crossed paths with others before, but monsters tend to keep to themselves for the most part. He never associated with them apart from trading distrustful, appraising glances whenever they caught each other's scents.
So, Davey knew he was going to meet other monsters—he just wasn't expecting to be cornered by a vampire that thinks he's some sort of supernatural watchdog.
More terrifying than that, though, is how close the Wolf came to emerging. The Wolf is always louder and more active in his mind on the days around the full moon, but this was so much stronger than anything he's ever felt. Davey doesn't know if the Wolf can take over outside of a full moon, but he doesn't want to find out.
Davey might be a monster now, but he won't let his monster win.
Shaking his head, Davey gathers his spilled grocery bags and heads out of the alley. The vampire is gone, and it's unlikely he'll be back. Davey has other things to worry about for now. It's been a long night, and he's got work in the morning.
Davey looks around the area critically. This is a different set-up than he's used to, but he's gone over every detail in his head to ensure he's accounted for any possible issue. Dealing with a full moon was easier when he lived in less populated places and even more manageable in the first couple of years when he'd been hiding in isolated, rural towns with plenty of uninhabited space. Finding a far-off, private place to lock down for the night was always easier back then.
When moving to New York, Davey had to devise a new strategy for controlling the Wolf. It took some searching before he found the foreclosed storage business far on the city's outskirts. The place is a very long bus ride from his apartment, but at least it's in a vacant area, with most nearby buildings abandoned. Half of the storage units behind the locked steel gate were broken into at some point, but he found some still functional.
The ancient steel storage container is dark since the bulb is dead, and there's little reason to replace it. Davey can see better than usual this time of the month, and in a few minutes, it won't make a difference to him either way. He can feel the itch under his skin, that prickling awareness that tells him the moment is coming. Davey does one last quick check of the latches by touch, verifying that the rolling door is pulled down and barred. Satisfied, Davey returns to the center of the room.
It still feels strange to strip down naked, but he learned a long time ago that it makes the whole thing go easier—not to mention it saves him money not having to buy new clothes all the time. Carefully folding his clothes and belongings into the lockbox in the corner, Davey sits on the cold metal floor.
A coil of heavy steel chain is on the ground, and he wraps one end around his ankle twice before securing it with a padlock. The weight of the industrial metal sits cold and grounding against his skin. Only giving himself a hand's length of space, Davey loops and locks the chain around the other ankle. The other end of the chain goes around either wrist, both secured with more padlocks that hold the chains close to his skin.
With a slow exhale, Davey lies on his side on the hard floor. The length of the chain between his wrists and ankles gives him just enough room to stretch out a little, although once the change hits, it'll be uncomfortable. He shivers, eyes squeezed shut. The fever burning under his skin makes the cold metal feel infinitely more biting. Not long now.
Davey is only waiting a few minutes before the sudden fire erupts in his gut, making him curl up with a gasp. Everything inside him feels molten, his insides writhing like snakes. Before the pain can get too much worse, Davey snatches the balled-up washrag by his knee, shoving it into his mouth as a makeshift gag. Not a second too soon because in the very next breath, all of his ribs bow forward so far they break, and Davey screams.
For several minutes, Davey's world shrinks down to nothing but agony. Joints rotate. Bones crack and reform in new positions. His skin itches like a blistering sunburn as hair presses through every pore. Muscles swell and twist around to support the new skeletal structure. His spine arches and elongates, extra vertebrae blossoming from the end. Worst of all, his skull reshapes itself, his jawbone crunching, stretching, and expanding.
Davey's eyes snap open, his existence abruptly exploding outward in a wave of new sensations. The darkness inside the storage container presses back, letting him pick out the patterned curves of weathered steel and the runners that support the door. Shades of heat layer over his vision, an awareness of temperatures that might indicate life. Large ears absorb sounds, the loudest his ragged panting echoing off the walls, but beyond that, distant ambient noises of birds, wind, and air traffic. Smells assail him: metal coated in a hint of mold, the overpowering assault of his sweat, blood, and musk.
And...death?
The faint scent is barely there, only so noticeable because it hits his nose as inherently wrong. Davey and the Wolf both recognize it at the same time: vampire. It's definitely outside the container somewhere, just a hint of the sickly-sweet odor seeping through the gaps at the edge of the door, but close by. A rush of fierce adrenaline surges in the Wolf, threatened by the nearby predator and entirely defenseless in the too-tight chains that hobble it.
Davey only has a split second to be afraid and resigned to the fact that the vampire is here to carry out his threat of putting down the dog. Then, the Wolf's mind shoves forward aggressively, and Davey's consciousness snuffs out like a candle.