The words are familiar, threats from a long childhood lived in debilitating fear of damnation, threats spoken by their father, their pastor, their grandparents in a language they only barely comprehended. Kurt knows only enough of their ancestor's tongue to recognize the meaning—you're a demon from Hell—but the terror behind them is universal. Their father is afraid of them.
Good. For all the years he's frightened and beaten and demeaned his young child for simply existing in a way he deemed unpalatable, he should be afraid of them. Because Kurt isn't afraid anymore. When they look upon the man who once scared them senseless, who continued to haunt them even months after breaking free of his oppression, they only see a spineless whelp. Too weak, too impotent, too pathetic to stare down the frothing mouth of a beast and make it out alive. Wolves know these things in their bones. Such weak creatures cannot be permitted survival.
"Your God isn't here, pappa," they snarl, readjusting their grasp on the knife as they advance on him, each step decisive and firm. The handle is slick with Miles' blood, but their grip is secure. The man they once called their father is frightening their precious daughter. They know what must be done. "Hope you've made your fucking peace."
If he tries to run, he doesn't get far. Kurt sets on him just as they had Miles, not caring where the knife plunges into him as long as it does. Over and over, two decades of ceaseless horror poured into a bestial blitz of blows, Gunnar's body soon obliterated by their cruel blade. Only when the snow runs red with blood in a perverse halo around him does Kurt stagger away, watching impassively as their father's life drains away, before they scurry to the wagon. The knife clatters against the seat as they scoop up their pup, cradling her close to their blood-drenched chest, undoing her tight swaddle with soft coos and shushes.
"I'm here, I'm here now, you're safe," they intone, pouring that intention into the link so she'll understand without question. They're never letting that happen to her again.
Kurt spends just enough time inside the cabin that was once their prison, fashioning a wrap sling for the baby out of one of their useless dresses so she won't be out of sight for even a moment, before pilfering as many supplies as the wagon can carry. Food for themself and the horses, cloth, furs, bandages, water skins, tools, weapons, all things they will need for the long journey ahead. The corpses in the snow barely get a passing glance as Kurt takes their place in the wagon seat, grasping the reins, and with a kiss to the top of their daughter's head, they set off down the mountain.
Finally, led by the stars, their heart, and the latent pull of a bond long broken, they're going home.
You can live without a lot of things. Blood can be drained, bones shattered, muscle and sinew wrenched apart -- all temporary, all able to heal with enough time and rest and patience. Limbs themselves can be wrenched off, eyes or ears or tongue torn away in battle, and life continues to go on without them, as you learn to adapt. You walk a bit slower, you rely more on other senses, you find a way to keep putting one foot in front of the other, a way to keep going. This is the role of an Alpha, to find that way, even when the pack is lost and aimless. This is what being a leader is -- wrapping yourself around that gap, that ache, that absence and filling it with your own presence.
Corrigan knows this, in his bones. He was born to leadership, understanding of the privileges and responsibilities that go along with it. He has never once faced an obstacle that he wasn't able to surmount through sheer force of will -- able to carry his pack forward with him, guide them through to the other side. That's his job. That's his entire life's purpose, his heart's destiny. If that fails, the pack fails.
But he'd had no idea. He hadn't even begun to comprehend the agony that would come if he were to lose something more precious than sight or sound or his own hands or legs or heart. It might've been less painful to carve out each organ, piece by piece, lay them out before him and force him to rend each bit of pulsing, throbbing, bleeding meat to shreds with his own hands. Corrigan would've done that a thousand times, rather than felt that splintering, blistering, destructive agony he had on that day, months before, when Kurt had been taken from them.
He hadn't moved for days afterward, consciousness and unconsciousness equally unbearable. Kurt was the pack's, their mate, their life and light and soul, but they'd carried Corrigan's pup inside them. Corrigan had been first to claim them, first to feel their unsure, shy, trembling body pressed to his, first to set them alight with pleasure as he bred and knotted them, first in line always to claim that privilege over and over. Without them, he was halved, his very essence carved out and ground into bits, unrecognizable. It took nearly a week for him to even be aware of his surroundings, of his grieving pack, all of them feeling the shattered link to Kurt. Corrigan had known he should be horrified at himself, should loathe his own weakness.
But simply breathing, standing, moving, feeding and resting his body had been enough to take every last bit of his attention. If he didn't let the wound within him stay numb, untouched, he would go mad. It was only the pack that kept him sane, and even then just barely. Corrigan moved about like a ghost, silent and pale and scarcely eating or sleeping, almost never speaking. Only Naseer could get through to him at all, and even that was scarce.
Kurt was gone. Kurt was gone, and in the wake of that horror, the world was howling and empty and dead. Yet Corrigan lived still, sitting by the riverbank, staring into the water, letting it lull his mind into silence once more. He did this often, letting something repetitive dull his senses enough so that the agony of his mate's loss was blunted, slightly. It kept him from reliving that day, again and again and again, that instant when his soul bond with his beloved, his life, his delight, had been brutally broken.
The sun moved across the wintry horizon, and still Corrigan sat, senseless and silent with a grief so terrible the trees themselves seemed to freeze. He would stay there indefinitely, until Naseer gently woke him up from his reverie, coaxed him back to the world of the living. And even then, his Beta would only get perhaps half of who Corrigan had been, two months before. Maybe.
There's a quiet shimmer of sound behind him as Naseer sheds his wolf form, his bare feet making near no sound on the cold forest floor. The snow hasn't reached them yet, but it's getting close. That brings its own unique challenges, as the days get shorter and the temperatures drop, taking the wildlife with it, and the pack has to stay together in the cabin to keep warm. There's wood to chop and flint to gather, there's the slowly dwindling food storage to ration and refill, there's water collection to monitor and maintain, there are furs to tan, there are herbs to dry and process, there are repairs to do to the cabin before the weather turns...
Corrigan knows all of these things. He's usually the one to delegate responsibilities to the other wolves, knowing instinctively what to prioritize and how long each task will take and when to get started, so they never go into the harsh winter unprepared. The pack has always survived the winter.
But this time, Corrigan has been too sick with grief to work. He barely has the strength to take care of himself, to make it through each empty day. So it's been up to Naseer to keep the pack together. He's the one to organize hunts, to chop and dry wood for the fire, to delegate tasks and make decisions and discipline disobedience. He's the one to provide comfort and stability to a pack wracked with grief, being the rock they need when everything feels hopeless. He's the one to oversee the search parties.
And through it all, Naseer is the one to insist on giving Corrigan his space. The pack is in mourning together, yes, they all grieve the tremendous loss of their mate. But Corrigan grieves his firstborn on top of it all. The younger wolves can't begin to imagine that kind of loss.
Taking a seat next to his Alpha, Naseer pulls his knees up to his chest, gazing quietly into the rippling water for a moment. Benji's dam hasn't been maintained in several weeks. None of them have the strength for it. "Kai has returned," he says softly, not elaborating further. It's clear by the tone of his voice that the wolf's search was fruitless, yet again. There's been no sign of Kurt since they were taken. "He ran his paws bloody again. He won't be able to join the hunt for another week while he rests."
Naseer often does this, giving quiet status updates to his Alpha and providing some warmth by his side before leaving again, not expecting a response. Corrigan rarely speaks these days. The Beta would be lying if he said it wasn't getting lonely. "We're running low on food again, so we should hunt more frequently this week. Gather as much small game meat as we can before they all migrate south. We should avoid being dependent on the locals for trade." A beat, before he softly adds: "You should come inside."
A part of Corrigan -- a not-insignificant part, actually -- is deeply ashamed at himself for abandoning his pack, emotionally if not physically. He knows they need him, can feel their grief and loss and confusion through the link. Benji is a shell of himself, his own experience with Miles compounding with fear for Kurt's safety, knowing better than any of them how terrifying the former packmate can be. Kai is a ball of rage, taking out his grief by snapping at anyone and anything, shredding stumps and stones and bones whenever he isn't pushing himself on searches for his mate. Leo's withdrawn to be nearly as silent as Corrigan himself, obligingly letting Kai lash out at him, like he craves the punishment, like he blames himself for Kurt's loss. And Naseer...
Naseer's grief is a careful, many-layered thing, now as always. The Beta has always redirected energy that would normally be put into mourning or regret towards productive things -- the pack's survival, the practical needs of the day-to-day. He keeps them going, on the rare occasions when Corrigan is distracted. But the Alpha has never been so emotionally remote for so long, and he can feel through the link how it weighs on Naseer. He lost Kurt too, the same as any of them.
The benefit of the link is that Corrigan doesn't need to speak, or even particularly focus to communicate his emotions to the pack. The love he has for them, each and every one, is strong enough that it bleeds through without him even trying. Even now, senseless with loss, the sound of Naseer's voice prompts a soft pulse of affection, of gratitude through the link, one that smolders like a soft, tiny ember. It says I would be lost without you and I love you and I'm so sorry I'm like this, when Corrigan can't bring himself to speak the words aloud.
So he listens, and even leans slightly into the warmth of Naseer at his side. Corrigan conducts his own searches, sometimes for days at a time, running his paws bloody over terrain he's searched a thousand times already, seeking any sign, any trace of Kurt. After the earth-shattering destruction of their link -- theirs and the pup's, twined together, both helpless and vulnerable to Miles's influence -- the trail had vanished. There were a hundred ways Miles could've taken them, a thousand more with each day that passed without the pack finding any sign. By now they could be halfway across the world, oversea, even, beyond where the wolves could ever get to them. Corrigan's intense faith in Kurt, in their incredible strength and courage, wars every day with how long it's been. And the latter is winning, bit by bit.
For the first time, Corrigan feels the realization: he may never see them again. He doesn't even know if they're still alive, much less safe and free enough to find their way home. The wolf knows in his soul that Kurt would never give up trying to come home, just as the pack will never give up searching. But Miles's motivation is unclear, his grand plan a mystery. Would he want full control indefinitely over Kurt, toying and tormenting them day after day, or would he eventually grow bored? Would the wolves eventually be searching not for their beloved, but for bones in the earth?
A slow, shaky breath, and Corrigan closes his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is raspy: "I don't...know how to do this, 'seer. I don't know how to live a life without them."
Naseer can count on one paw the amount of times he's seen Corrigan break. Once when they were both very young, Naseer had suffered a panic attack, caught in an anxious spiral of memories from his childhood years with the human family that took him from his pack. Corrigan had been beside himself, struggling to understand how to help the Beta of his newly formed pack. The discovery of what Miles had been doing to Benji behind everyone's backs had also shaken the Alpha to his core, leaving him inconsolable for days after banishing the traitor. He'd only just started recovering from that before they lost Kurt.
It's never been as bad as this. The agony of losing their mate has crushed all of them, leaving the pack fractured and hollow, barely held together. And Corrigan's pain is worst of all. Naseer can feel as much as see what losing Kurt has done to him, the howling cavernous void they'd left behind and how hard it's been for the Alpha to exist within it. The center of his universe is gone. There's nothing Naseer or anyone can do to ease that pain.
Except be there for each other, as he is now. "I don't know either," he says shakily, tentatively running a hand up and down Corrigan's back. His ribs are more pronounced now, the notches of his spine against the Beta's palm making him sick with worry. "But we have to keep going, somehow. We have to, Cor. For them. When they come back to us," when, Naseer always says when, even though every day it feels more and more like an if, "they'll need us to be strong for them."
Easier said than done. Naseer can feel himself cracking under the pressure of being strong for everyone, terrified beyond words that what he's doing will be for naught, that it's hurting more than helping. But this is what a leader does. "We don't have a choice, my love. Kurt needs us, and we need each other."
There's a brief inhale at the touch -- one of the first Corrigan's let himself accept in this entire time, a part of him just like Leo, wanting to punish himself somehow for letting Kurt be taken. He knows rationally it isn't his fault, that Miles is a conniving, manipulative, sneaky fucking bastard who knew exactly how to get close enough to tear the pack's heart out with his bare hands, and yet... He knows it was him Kurt would've cried out for, him they would've begged and pleaded for, every time Miles hurt them, every time they were afraid. His mate, his beloved, his heart and soul and life and breath would've called for him in vain, over and over, because he wasn't there to save them or their child.
The guilt of that weighs almost as heavily as the sense of loss, of emptiness. Corrigan is supposed to protect his pack, and he's failed twice over -- first by losing Kurt and again by losing himself. There's no possible way for him to heal from the first, he knows that deep in his bones. The wound of Kurt's loss will remain until they're back in his arms, bleeding and raw and as painful as it had been the day they disappeared. There's simply nothing to be done, there.
But he's pushed away the others he loves in his senseless grief, and that isn't fair to them. Every wolf in the pack is suffering, suffering alone. Corrigan knows the grief will never leave, but he cannot allow his pack to continue feeling it alone. Kurt wouldn't want that. Kurt would be indignant at the very thought, would lecture and scowl and get right up in Corrigan's face to remind him who he is and what he needs to do. Kurt wouldn't let him give up.
So, even though he wants to recoil, wants to curl back up in his mourning and let time and the world pass him by, Corrigan slowly turns, rests his chin on the jut of Naseer's shoulder, breathes in his scent. Faithful, courageous, weary and brave Beta, his first love, his right hand, his soulmate now as when they were pups themselves. Slowly, Corrigan reaches out, slides an arm around Naseer's waist, feeling how he's also reduced in size -- all of them starving, all of them putting more energy into searching than hunting, all of them unaware of their body's needs.
"I'm sorry I left you alone in this, beloved," Corrigan murmurs, mouth pressed to the warm spot where neck and shoulder meet, where he's hidden a thousand times in his life, both in jest and genuinely. "I don't -- want to wake up, but I know I must. I can't let Kurt return to a pack in splinters. They need us strong. They'll -- both need us strong." Saying it has a pang of agony rippling through his body, his soul, because even if Kurt can return, Corrigan doesn't know if their pup will be there. There are some sacred rules for every wolf, some absolute laws -- never harm a pup is one of them, even if it belongs to a rival Alpha. Children are sacred, beloved, to be protected and cared for above all, regardless of parentage.
Yet alongside that law is another: never harm another Alpha's mate. And Miles has already violated that sacred standard. Who's to say he won't do it again, with Corrigan's child?
Naseer had approached his Alpha by the riverbank as the evening started creeping upon them not expecting a single word from him, fully prepared to return to the cabin all by himself to silently doctor Kai's wounds before letting sleep take him. They have all been too lost in their own grief to do much else for weeks. Ill omens for the already devastating winter. But instead, Corrigan turns to him like the first flower of spring turns toward the sun, slow and tentative, still brittle from the howling cold, but braving the terror of living despite it all.
His lungs seize for a moment, a shuddering gasp as Corrigan's arm wraps around him, as his breath warms his skin. He softly apologizes, and it's all Naseer can do to not fully break down in his arms. It's been so lonely. Losing Kurt, losing the baby, losing Corrigan, the constant fear of losing everyone to reckless grief...
The Beta has barely held it together, persevering solely because he knows the pack needs him to. It's only with his Alpha's permission that he lets himself crumble.
"Y-Yes, they will. Both of them w-will need us," he somehow manages, squeezing his eyes to stem the flood of tears, the relief and grief and agony washing over him too much to bear. His hands tremble when they reach for Corrigan and pull him close, holding on for dear life. It might be too much too fast—he's been so averse to touch for so long—but Naseer just needs him too much. He needs the comfort of his love, his king, his soulmate. Just this once.
"Cor," he whimpers, sounding so much like the frightened young pup he'd been a lifetime ago. Unmoored and unsure how to even be a wolf, let alone a partner, a pack Beta, terrified of what that fear meant. "I c-can't do this alone anymore."
This was the part Miles had never understood -- not when he'd challenged Corrigan for the role of Alpha or the countless times he'd challenged Naseer for Beta. He hadn't fully grasped how the roles fed into one another, how one wasn't complete without the other, how a true Beta would fill in the gaps of a true Alpha without question, without hesitation, and vice-versa. Miles had wanted Beta as a consolation prize, because he was physically incapable of defeating Corrigan for Alpha. But he never would've had the courage, the guts, the willingness to sacrifice himself as a true Beta would. As Naseer had.
So Corrigan tucks closer against his Beta, arms around his waist, nuzzling into the side of his neck and letting him collapse, letting him fall apart the way he hadn't been able to for months. Later, he'll feel guilty for being so remote, for disappearing while his body had stayed, silent and untouchable. But now there's nothing but comfort, love, adoration and gratitude pouring through their link as he finds his old scarred mark on Naseer's neck and kisses it softly.
"You won't need to, not anymore," he murmurs, grip tightening, eyes closed as he meets Naseer's grief with strength, something he'd been incapable of before. His grief is still there, limitless, endless, but he'd been given enough time by Naseer's bravery to build up a small amount of his own again. He kisses Naseer's neck again, reaches up and turns his face enough that he can kiss his mouth as well, soft, an apology. "Never again. All right? I'm -- not going to leave us again. Not again. We'll survive this, 'seer. I'm not leaving you again."
For the first time since Kurt was taken from them, Naseer feels almost whole again. It's not the same, of course, and it probably won't ever be, but Corrigan giving him permission to fall apart within his embrace is the closest he'll get until their mate has returned to them. Corrigan was the first shift of his gravity, after all, the center of his world until Kurt came into their lives. Now that he's returned to him, Naseer sobs quietly into his shoulder, clinging to him, the strength of his Alpha permitting him this weakness.
"Th-Thank you," he hiccups, hands trembling against Corrigan's cheeks as they reach up to cradle his face. The kiss breathes life into him once more. It's much easier to believe they will pull through when his Alpha proclaims it. He's sure the younger wolves will agree. "You're right. W-We'll survive this. Together."
And it's good they have each other, for the woods are a treacherous place, nature hiding her secrets well even from her most beloved children. One can live their whole life in the forest, reverent of its delicate balance, always giving as much as taking, but it only takes one bad day for the woods to turn her back on you. As Naseer cries, wrapped up in his Alpha, he hears the quiet snap of a twig off in the distance, closer to the tree line, far enough away to still be hidden when he turns to look. It's not someone from the pack, nothing communicated through the link. Whoever it is smells like foreign territory, snow and dust and sweat and horseback and blood, and underneath it all... something almost familiar.
"Careful," he murmurs, stilling his breathing almost instantly, sobs forgotten. The smell... it's throwing him off. Naseer almost doesn't allow himself to hope.
It'll be an effort, near insurmountable, but Corrigan feels for the first time in so...so long that he might be capable of it. That he might survive this. He can turn his thoughts and energy to supporting and being with his pack, keeping them safe and strong and loved, making their house a home again. Until Kurt comes home. Because they have to come home -- Corrigan can't allow himself to think otherwise, or he'll be lost.
He wants it so desperately, so fervently that he almost thinks he's imagining the curl of scent that reaches him on the crisp wintry air. Corrigan knows there's nothing there in the link, but he reaches out anyway, even though he knows encountering the shattered remnants of where Kurt once was will only hurt him. They ache, like an old wound, like a broken bone that healed wrong, that throbs with pain when the rain approaches. He reaches for them anyway and even though it's dead, it's gone, he almost -- almost feels something.
Maybe it's the link, maybe it's his soul itself, recognizing that presence with something deeper than human or wolf senses could explain. His reason for existence, the center of his universe, found in this world (and, perhaps, in a hundred thousand others) and tying him to it and always, always meant to return to him. Corrigan stands with a shaky jerk, his very being singing and straining towards the sound, the scent at the treeline. He can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything but wait to see if the humming in his chest is real, if the sense of familiarity, of recognition is true or just a desperate wish.
He says it with every bit of hope in his soul, a prayer and a wish and a plea: "Kurt?"
"Careful," Naseer repeats in a hiss, following his Alpha up to stand, an arm going protectively over his chest to stop him from rushing headfirst into danger. The sound of his voice when he calls for their lost mate breaks his heart, but he would be cruel to deny Corrigan that swell of hope he can feel reverberating through the link.
He'd be lying if he said he didn't also hope. It hasn't been so long that Naseer has forgotten the sweet allure of Kurt's scent. It could be them, masked under all those layers of unfamiliar smells, slowly approaching from behind the tree trunks. But it could just as well be Kurt's father, or someone from the human village, or Miles, the little human's scent still clinging to him after months of captivity. He would be a fool not to consider the danger here. The pack is already so vulnerable. Should they lose their Alpha too...
When the dying bushes part and the figure steps forward into the waning daylight, Naseer almost doesn't believe his eyes.
Kurt is nearly unrecognizable. Partially covered by tattered skirts and a sling tied firmly around their chest, covered in dirt and bandages and old dried blood, their hair messily shorn short and hanging limply around their face, they emerge into the river clearing like a ghost of their former self. But they're not a ghost. Underfed and filthy and haunted, yes, covered in unfamiliar scars both outside and in, but alive. They're alive, they're here, rosy-cheeked and near breathless from their trek through the woods from where they'd secured their horse and wagon, along the first stretch of trees they actually recognized after over a week on the road.
And they're not alone. From within the wrap sling there's a shock of dark curly hair hiding the sleeping face of an infant, their tiny hand curled up and resting against Kurt's chest, a gorgeous contrast to the pale skin of their mother. The baby. The baby made it.
Kurt almost can't believe it themself. This whole time, they barely let themself hope that the pack would still be here, would still be together by the time they made it, but they are. Whatever shattered remnants of that old cherished bond remains are lit aflame, soaring to life within them as they finally lay eyes on Corrigan and Naseer, watching them approach on bare bloodied feet with disbelief, and for the first time in too long, Kurt breaks into a brittle, tearful smile. "Alpha."
They only get one or two steps into the clearing, maybe not even that many. Corrigan isn't sure how he makes it to the treeline so fast, only that he does -- maybe he flies there, maybe he just reappears closer through sheer force of will, who knows. All he's conscious of is those wide, haunted, gorgeous eyes locking with his, their chapped lips calling for him, forming the title he'd all but abandoned after losing them.
And then he's there, he's scooping them up without thinking, without pausing, not caring about the grime or the blood or their shorn hair and hollow cheeks. He softens his grip only so he won't crush the baby (another miracle, something Corrigan's mind can't even take in yet, even as his instincts are singing with joy and delight, thrumming messages of love and welcome and pure happiness towards the tiny bundle between them). He cradles Kurt against his own diminished form, feeling how fragile they are, smelling layers of blood -- their own, Miles, an unfamiliar human's -- and beneath it smelling them, just as they were the day he lost them.
Corrigan might be weeping. He might be laughing. He might be both, it's hard to really tell with his face pressed to Kurt's neck, feeling the bandages against his cheek, smelling the old blood, the new flesh that had knit over the wounds there -- a horror that part of him wants to recoil from, the notion that Miles had stolen even the physical reminder of the pack's link with their mate. But later, all of it later, every nightmarish moment, ever monstrous act. Now Kurt is alive and warm and soft in his arms, fitting there perfectly, beautifully, like they'd never been gone.
"Kurt, Kurt, you're here, you're here," Corrigan repeats it over and over, the joy of it singing through every fiber of his being, singing in the link, and he can feel the disbelief and wonder and hope of his pack like an echo in the back of his mind. Nothing exists except Kurt, though, except their bright, teary eyes, their soft cheek beneath his palm when Corrigan finally pulls back, presses their foreheads together and breathes them in. "You're home."
Kurt bursts into tears the second Corrigan's hands find them again, sobbing brightly into his shoulder, joy and relief and agony all pouring out of them all at once. It feels too good to be true. So many nights they'd dreamt of this moment, only to wake up cold and shackled and alone, and part of them is terrified that will happen to them this time too.
But it won't. They know it won't. Too many days and nights have passed, too many miles separate them from the corpses and ghosts they'd left behind, they've sacrificed too much to get back to the pack that loves them. To the man, their Alpha, their love, currently weeping into their neck in a twisted beautiful mirror of themself. They're both skinnier now, smaller, weaker, but nothing has changed the love between them.
That, if anything, has only grown stronger.
"I'm here, A-Alpha, I'm home," they hiccup, laughing between chest-wrenching sobs as Corrigan presses his forehead to theirs. They're vaguely aware of their surroundings—Naseer has fallen to his knees by the riverbank, needing a moment to catch his breath from the violent force of his relief, there's the distant pounding of feet running through the woods from the cabin, the pack already on their way—but they only have eyes for Corrigan right now. Just for now. His first. His Alpha.
All the crying and squeezing and hurried, fervent words make the baby pressed skin-to-skin against Kurt's chest stir awake, a burbling coo coming from her as those huge eyes blink open. This is the first time she's seen another person since the bad men, but this time, even though her mother is crying, there's no distress. So when she fixes her enormous eyes—Kurt's eyes, stormy blues and greens and greys—on Corrigan, there's only curiosity in them.
Between sobs and bursts of relieved, exhausted laughter, Kurt looks between the baby and their Alpha, the smile on their face growing wider. "C-Corrigan, this is Holly." The first time they speak her name to anyone but her. "Your d-daughter."
Their sobs wrench at part of Corrigan's heart, because he can hear the pain, the exhaustion in each echoing sound. He can feel their ribs, the way they're shaking and shuddering in his protective grip, and he knows -- there's so much left to be done, so much hurt to heal, physical and within Kurt's soul. But they're home. They're safe in his arms, and he's never, never letting them go again. That'll be enough.
Corrigan would be content to curl up like this -- also on his knees, somehow, cradling Kurt against him and breathing them in, their scent, their voice, their beautiful, perfect face, perfect even despite the new hollows in their cheeks, the haunted look in their eyes. He's aware of the rest of the pack stumbling into the clearing, freezing alongside Naseer and staring. He can feel their soaring, blazing joy, like a caress to his soul, their relief, their eagerness to also be reunited with their mate.
But they linger, for a bit, for a moment, allowing their Alpha to have his reunion first, the very sight of it healing something within the pack. Wolves love their leaders the most, seek their Alpha's contentment and peace above everything else. Kurt's loss had devastated the pack, but Corrigan's grief had gutted them, to see their beloved ALpha, their center, their ruler and king and god so thoroughly miserable, day after day.
So Corrigan has that moment to hear the soft cooing burble, to feel the spark of something knitting itself together in his chest as he looks down into the eyes of the baby. His baby. His daughter. She's everything good, everything perfect and wonderful and near-holy, looking up into his eyes with a silent recognition. Just as Kurt's link to their child had come effortlessly, without caution or hesitation, so too had Corrigan felt the soft, warm, bright presence somewhere in his mind since she'd taken her first breath. He'd scarcely been able to feel it during the cold, empty days, so lost in his own grief, senseless with it -- yet every time he slept, Corrigan dreamed of the sun. Had that been her, all this time? Waiting to meet him, secure in her faith that she would?
"Holly," Corrigan repeats in a soft voice, reaching out one careful finger to smooth down one round, soft baby cheek. Holly wiggles a little, yawns enormously and blinks her bright, stunning eyes. "She's -- Kurt, she's so perfect."
"Y-Yes, she is." Of course she's perfect. She's Corrigan's. From the very first moment Kurt felt Holly growing within them, she became their sole reason for living, their divine purpose now to bring her into this world and keep her safe within it. Hadn't it been for her, they wouldn't be alive right now. It was to protect her that Kurt did what they did, freeing them both from Miles' clutches, their love for her giving them enough courage and strength. She saved them.
And now they get to watch Corrigan, the man who saved them first, finally meet her. Their perfect daughter. The greatest gift he's ever given them. His face goes all soft when he looks at her, tears welling in his eyes, breath almost catching in the Alpha's throat with wonder as he touches her, achingly gently, fingers so careful against her face. The sight is breathtaking, pride and joy and love surging through Kurt's whole body.
Corrigan will be the perfect father.
Cradled so firmly in his lap, their weak limbs finally able to rest secure in his embrace, Kurt presses forward—mindful of the baby—and kisses the Alpha for the first time in months. Their lips tremble against his, emotion and exhaustion both overwhelming them, but the kiss is no less fierce, searing and heavy with promise. This is it. This is forever. They're never leaving him again.
Never leaving any of them, the rest of the pack approaching the pair timidly then all at once, surrounding the Alpha and their mate. Everyone's crying, caressing them, kissing them, proclaiming their love and relief, crowding Kurt with the most love they've ever felt in their life. They really are home. Holly is home, fearless and protected and safe, surrounded by so much uncompromising love. It feels too good to be true.
And they do -- as much as possible, surrounded by the love and adoration only a werewolf pack can provide. Once the beautiful, brilliant shock of that moment of reunion fades slightly, Corrigan is all business. Kurt fought their way through hell and back home, protected themselves and Holly, did what they had to in order to survive. They're every bit as magnificent and courageous as the wolves had sensed that very first day and even more so. But the effects of those months apart, the horrors waking and sleeping, the depths of Miles's monstrosity -- those won't disappear as easily as the chill, banished by warmth and affection.
Still, the pack can care for the immediate concerns -- Kai and Benji trip over themselves, hurrying to fetch water, to boil it and draw a bath so Kurt can begin to soak away the blood and grime coating every inch of their body. Naseer is given the privilege of holding Holly, cradling her in his arms, only the third person ever to touch her, his own link forging as easily with her as Corrigan's had. He may be Alpha and blood, the first to connect with her aside from Kurt, but each wolf is equally her parent, her protector, her family. Just as Kurt is the pack's mate, not only Corrigan's.
Leo helps Corrigan spread out the furs by the fire, coaxing it from dull embers into soft tongues of flame, so Kurt won't be chilly for even an instant while the bath warms. The Alpha doesn't let go of them for an instant, not then and not during the meal, or that first blissful night back together, the pack clustered close around their beloved, basking in their longed-for presence, keeping them safe. Corrigan doesn't actually let Kurt out of his arms for a good long while, especially once the joy fades for them as well and the nightmares start.
There's one tonight, after Holly's been fed and lulled to sleep in Kai's arms -- they're in the process of making a bed, really, but thus far whichever wolf's on watch has volunteered to hold her, not wanting to miss a single second. Corrigan is half-asleep, nestled into the furs alongside his brothers, Kurt snuggled to his chest, when he feels a soft tremor run through their small body, hears the softest whine of dreaming terror.
He's up in an instant, arms tucking under his mate and lifting them up and away from the others, knowing they'd hate to wake any of the pack. Corrigan presses a kiss to the side of Kurt's neck, over the clean bandages that cover their (horrifically, monstrously) flayed skin. "I'm here, beloved, I'm here. You're safe. You're safe, Kurt."
There's a knife at their throat, their chest, their shoulders, their face, peeling the skin from their still living flesh while he ruthlessly violates their mouth, as he has for what seems like time began. It doesn't end. It won't ever end, their body coming apart in layers until there shouldn't be anything left of them. Pain is all there is. Ceaseless, calamitous agony. That's all they are. A tortured wretch defined by their ruin.
And yet worse than that, somehow, is that he's bored in the face of their suffering. He speaks, they think, as his hips crash against their mutilated face again and again, and while they can't pick out what he says over the sound of their own choked, gurgled screams, they can tell he's grown tired of this. Of them. If they can't please him anymore, he'll seek his pleasure somewhere else. Even though the cabin is pitch black all around them, cold, cavernous, howling, their screams ringing discordant and wet through air left heavy with their blood, Kurt can feel eyes on them. Surrounding them. Watching. Judging. Condemning. Encouraging.
Pleading, a tiny presence underneath it all, a tiny voice crying their harrowing fear, don't touch me, don't see me, protect me, mommy, please—
Kurt is jolted from their nightmare with a sharp whimpering gasp—breathe, they can breathe, it wasn't real—hands weakly pushing against Corrigan's chest in a sleepy panicked scramble. They don't mean to. They never do. It's pure instinct, their body irrevocably primed to fight, to escape at all costs. But as consciousness slowly returns, as they realize where they are, who they're with, their struggles wane into tremors, fingers shaking as they instead cling to their Alpha's form. Kurt has apologized so many times for fighting him in their sleep. They'll keep apologizing forever.
"S-Sorry," they whisper into Corrigan's shoulder, voice tiny and trembling on his skin. They're already crying. They do this a lot now, almost every single night, never truly free of the nightmares. "So s-sorry, Alpha, I— sorry." It's all they can choke out before dissolving into quiet, terrified sobs, curling up tight in their beloved's embrace.
"Shhh, shh, it's all right," Corrigan murmurs against Kurt's ear, feeling that moment when they jolt from the nightmare to the waking world, feeling the way the hellish visions cling to them for a moment before they recognize his scent, his voice, his touch. The first few days Kurt had been home were without any sort of flashback or terror lingering from their long captivity, seemingly miraculously chased away by the pack's warmth and love. They'd slept a lot, waking to eat or feed Holly or bask in the safe embrace of one of the wolves, before drifting off again. Naseer had bandaged their wounds (mutely, keeping focused on his task, not shivering apart until he was well out of Kurt's earshot) and the others had hunted with renewed vigor for enough food to last their little family through the winter. Kurt had been awash in pain and discomfort, so any touch was kept soft, gentle, not too strenuous.
And then -- they'd suddenly awoken sobbing and screaming, sending Holly into a feverish wail in response and alerting the entire pack to snarling ferocity. Since then, the dreams had been nightly, and while Kurt apologizes and tries to put on a brave face during the day, every time the sun goes down, Corrigan can see the tight fear in their eyes as they prepare to return to that place again.
He doesn't begrudge them it, of course -- it's not their fault, they don't want to keep going back again and again. But their fractured, tormented mind, finally allowed to rest, keeps summoning the images over and over, in stunning clarity. So Kurt awakens and sobs and apologizes and clutches at Corrigan as they cry. And he strokes their shorn hair -- neatened by Leo's careful hands, curling slightly at the ends, falling around their face in soft waves, now that they're clean and warm and fed -- and he murmurs his apologies and he asks, then as every night, steeling himself for the answer: "Do you want to talk about it?"
Because sometimes the answer is "no", and Corrigan must sit with his fervent need to find and identify every threat to his beloved, unsatisfied. And sometimes the answer is "yes", and Corrigan must sit with the knowledge that even knowing the threat does nothing. He can't hunt down a memory. He can't tear the throat out of a ghost.
Even barely conscious and scared out of their mind, Kurt tries to keep their sobs down so as to not wake the rest of the pack. They've learned that the wolves had barely gotten any rest after Miles took them, eating and sleeping only sporadically, intent instead on finding their lost mate no matter the cost. The last thing they want now is for their return to hurt the pack further. They deserve to finally recover from this ordeal. They all do.
Kurt just wishes they could stop the nightmares. It feels like they get worse every night, clearer and darker and more twisted, like the memories weren't already awful enough. Miles is cold and dead in the ground, now only mulch to feed the woods come spring, but his ghost still haunts them. A part of them is terrified they'll never be free of him.
At least Corrigan remains steadfast and true, easing them through it, his hands so gentle around their trembling form, in their short hair. The Alpha is patient with them, forgiving and understanding, never pushing them past their brittle limits. It frustrates them, feeling so small and broken in his arms, when once they were so strong. Courageous and fearless. Now, despite their freedom, despite the safety they'd secured themself and their child, Kurt feels like a shell, unable to fully enjoy the affections of their beloved pack.
"Just want them t-to stop," they whimper, snuggling tightly against him. "I'm so tired, Alpha. E-Every time I close my eyes, I see him, I f-feel him all over me, h-he..." A shudder, violent revulsion at the memories. "I thought k-killing him would be enough. But the dreams j-just get worse... I dunno how to stop."
Corrigan lets out a soft sigh, slowly walking through the chill night, careful to keep Kurt fully covered by the furs so they don't get too cold. The snow is mostly gone, the year pivoting slowly towards spring, the earth beginning to thaw, but at night it's still cold. He reaches out instinctively for the rest of the pack, for Holly, feeling each of them safe and warm and resting, Leo a bit lighter than the rest, keeping watch.
That satisfied, he turns his attention back to Kurt, resting his chin in their hair. He's been thinking the same thing, wishing so desperately that he could reach out the way he used to, overpower the horrific nightmares with his presence. He can feel the fractured bits of their link, sometimes, reaching out for his in the darkness, but wincing in pain whenever he gets too close. Corrigan knows he should give it time, should allow Kurt's mind and soul to heal.
But they're so unhappy. Corrigan doesn't need a link to see that, see the way his mate's slim shoulders are constantly bowed with the weight of their own memories, the way their smile doesn't always reach those big, beautiful eyes, the way they sometimes have to stop and take a deep breath and push away the pain and terror they still carry. He doesn't want to be patient, he wants to make it better now.
"I've been...thinking about...how to help," Corrigan begins slowly, pausing out by the woodshed, looking up at the clear night sky -- the moon, the stars. "And we can go slow. We can be as slow as you need, my love. You still need to heal. But what if...we tried to replace the memories. So the last one who touched you is me, instead." He doesn't know if it'll work, if it won't simply make Kurt even more frightened by being touched. But his whole body aches for them, for the touch of his mate, their body pressed to his, warm and beautiful and joined with his own. Corrigan misses that.
Kurt, when they reach out through the shattered remnants of their link, barely feels anything. Some days that feeling is infinitely worse than the nightmares. Their link with Holly is the only one that remains, strong and true and unbreakable even by insidious parasites like Miles, flooding their whole body with unconditional love. But they don't feel the pack the way they used to. Even when surrounded by their mates, all five wolves embracing their slight form, they only feel them physically.
It's crushingly, unspeakably lonely. They'd thought just being around the pack every single day would knit the bonds back together, would aid in their healing, but it hasn't. It's like the monstrous ghost of the wolf who'd taken them, now dead and thawing by their father's side up in the mountains far, far away, is the only one who remains within them. Like they're still linked to his spirit in hell.
Corrigan's suggestion gives them pause, but they still look up at him from within the bundle of furs, breath escaping them in puffs of smoke outside in the cold. In truth, they have been...hesitant to be touched since returning. The thought that letting their guard down and being intimate with the pack could trigger memories of Miles' abuse had terrified them—and, as if sensing that, the pack hadn't pushed for it even once. Everything in due time. It'd be easier once Kurt had time to heal.
But time had proven fruitless. And Kurt, as impatient now as before they'd been taken, is sick of waiting. "W-Will it help?" they ask softly, sniffling and wiping their cheeks, chest still shuddering with lingering sobs. "I— I don't want to remember his touch, Alpha. I don't want to f-feel him in my mind anymore, what he did to me, what...what he made me do." They've told Corrigan some things, left out others. Kurt doubts they'll ever tell him everything. It's better for him to remain ignorant.
A small hand reaches out into the cold, pressing into Corrigan's chest—hesitant at first, then firmly, possessively—the contrast of their skin against his making their stomach swoop with heated longing. "Please, Alpha... Make me forget."
Corrigan knows they should be cautious, but at this point all his instincts are screaming to touch Kurt, to drown out their dreams, their horrific memories with his touch. He doesn't know everything -- it's Kurt's to tell, and while the pack knows some things from simply looking at them, there are others that may never be voiced again. Corrigan can see the smooth, clear, scar-free skin of Kurt's neck and shoulders, knows that such marks couldn't have been removed without flaying them alive.
When he realized that, he decided to stop wondering or imagining what Kurt had endured. Miles was already dead, nothing but thawing meat on a hillside, bones for the ravens and foxes to carry away. Corrigan couldn't bring him back and kill him again, much as he wanted to. He had seen Kurt tense slightly whenever the door opened, like their body's prepared for pain and violence and violation. He knows that Miles had forced them to service him, had used their body for his own sadistic pleasure in a thousand ways, and had been cautious about touching them in any way other than comforting or protective.
But Kurt's his mate. His beloved, his heart and soul, their body matched to his perfectly. Corrigan aches for them, now as he had every day when they were gone. And when they look upwards, teary eyes and parted lips and small hand resting on his chest as they plead for him to help them forget -- well. Corrigan would have to be unfeeling, senseless not to be effected by that.
So he leans in, one hand finding it's way to cradle the back of Kurt's neck, kissing them gently, sweetly on their trembling lips. "Tell me if you need to stop, beloved," he murmurs, kissing along their jawline, their neck, over the smooth flesh where his mark had once rested. "Even for a little. Tell me and I'll stop."
At least Miles never took this from them. A simple kiss may seem banal, compared to everything they've endured, everything their body has been conditioned to take—both willingly and not—but the touch of his lips to theirs make shivers race up and down their spine, their heart pounding against their ribs. Miles never kissed them. It's just about the only touch not tainted with his memory.
"Y-Yes, Alpha," they sigh softly, knowing in their heart they won't want him to stop. Corrigan is so gentle with them, his lips pillowy soft and so warm against their skin, felt even over the flayed patch circling their neck. Numbed to touch, shiny the way fresh scars are, darker than the rest of their pale freckled body. Even there, over the most obvious sign of Miles' abuse, Corrigan is gentle.
Small fingers tremble as they tangle into his hair, their body heating up under touch, his soft mouth. They're already stirring between their legs, growing hard. A part of them always remembered. How could their body ever forget what true pleasure felt like? True surrender, true love? Even out here by the woodshed in the dead of night, only warmed by a layer of fur and Corrigan's body against theirs, Kurt slowly relaxes under his touch, clinging to him as the last of their sobs leave them.
They truly want to forget. They want Alpha's hands and mouth and cock to chase away the memories. "P-Please..."
"I'm here, I'm here." It's murmured soft into the hollow of Kurt's neck, pressed to the scars there, ones from another's hand, another's whim and will imposed upon his mate. Still, Corrigan is soft, he's careful and reverent, he's nearly worshipful -- because it's still part of Kurt, their body, brave and wounded and crawling on bloodied hands and knees back to him. Nothing about them could possibly make him recoil or turn away in repulsion. Nothing.
The woodshed is chilly, dark, but there are a few smoldering coals in the fire pit there, a place for the wolves to gather on clear nights, to bundle up in furs and sip hot beverages and tell stories and legends. Or -- it should've been, in that first winter with Kurt. They should've had those snowy nights, bundled in new furs, sharing roasted meat and bright citrus fruits purchased from the village, hearing their pack's songs and myths. There should've been dozens of nights like that, mulled wine and mead and the furs spread out by the fire, the pack's bodies joining and tangling in the dark, thrilled by the crisp air and the stories and the wild beauty of the moon.
Now the year pivots slowly toward spring and it's too late. Corrigan puts the thought aside, though, tells himself to grieve the lost time later, clears his mind of everything but Kurt, cradled against him as he stokes the coals into a crackling frame, spread out carefully on the furs, kissed again and again. "Here all right?" Corrigan murmurs against their mouth, kneeling over his little mate, ensuring the warmth of the furs and the fire and his own body keep the chill away. One warm hand slips down Kurt's chest, their stomach, strokes his thumb over where he'd gotten so used to feeling a bump. Wolf gestation is so swift for a reason -- so the pack can easily satisfy the urge to have their mate carry a pup from each of them, one after another. The fact that Kurt is there beneath him and not currently pregnant feels -- wrong.
Still, that's a bit of a jump, even though Corrigan desperately longs for it -- longs for one of his brothers, his pack to have a turn breeding Kurt, seeing them grow heavy and full with their pup. He craves the frenzied nights of the wolves taking their turn, one after the other, until Kurt's carrying, until that urgent need is satisfied. Everything in good time, though. He can be patient.
"Yes," they murmur, letting Corrigan spread them out gently on the furs, naked skin prickly with goosebumps in the dark outdoor air. The growing flame and Alpha's body covering their own quickly chase away the chill, but that doesn't stop them from shivering as Corrigan's hand trails down their body, so big and warm and gentle, swallowing them up. In truth, Kurt had been worried that any touch would prove too much, would prompt memories of the horrors they'd endured, the things they'd been made to do. But as Corrigan kneels over them, his big hand pressing against their flat stomach, the only memories conjured are of their very first time.
Kurt had been frightened then too. Needlessly, as they would quickly learn, for there was nothing to be frightened of. Not the wolves, nor the pleasure they offered. One by one they'd helped themselves to Kurt's body, and they'd surrendered without fear, without hesitation, letting themself get carried away on endless waves of it. Corrigan, kneeling above them then as he does now, had eased their mind of misconceptions with his amazing cock, his talented mouth, and his big, warm, gentle hands.
That's the thing about surrender Miles never understood. He thought of submission as defeat, as the ultimate prize claimed by vicious conquest, the weak falling to the strong. But surrender is a gift. Surrender is facing what terrifies you and trusting that, no matter what happens, you'll be safe. Kurt's legs fall open underneath Corrigan, their body shakily pressing up into his hands, their own hands resting on either side of their head, palms open, facing him. Kurt trusts, submits, and surrenders.
"I l-love you, Corrigan." Their voice is brittle and wet, and yet achingly warm around the words, filling the heated air between them. Had their link still been intact, Corrigan would have felt the pulse of adoration and trust and love from them in that moment, gazing up at him from the soft furs. Until such a time they can knit it back together, Kurt will just have to tell him outright.
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Good. For all the years he's frightened and beaten and demeaned his young child for simply existing in a way he deemed unpalatable, he should be afraid of them. Because Kurt isn't afraid anymore. When they look upon the man who once scared them senseless, who continued to haunt them even months after breaking free of his oppression, they only see a spineless whelp. Too weak, too impotent, too pathetic to stare down the frothing mouth of a beast and make it out alive. Wolves know these things in their bones. Such weak creatures cannot be permitted survival.
"Your God isn't here, pappa," they snarl, readjusting their grasp on the knife as they advance on him, each step decisive and firm. The handle is slick with Miles' blood, but their grip is secure. The man they once called their father is frightening their precious daughter. They know what must be done. "Hope you've made your fucking peace."
If he tries to run, he doesn't get far. Kurt sets on him just as they had Miles, not caring where the knife plunges into him as long as it does. Over and over, two decades of ceaseless horror poured into a bestial blitz of blows, Gunnar's body soon obliterated by their cruel blade. Only when the snow runs red with blood in a perverse halo around him does Kurt stagger away, watching impassively as their father's life drains away, before they scurry to the wagon. The knife clatters against the seat as they scoop up their pup, cradling her close to their blood-drenched chest, undoing her tight swaddle with soft coos and shushes.
"I'm here, I'm here now, you're safe," they intone, pouring that intention into the link so she'll understand without question. They're never letting that happen to her again.
Kurt spends just enough time inside the cabin that was once their prison, fashioning a wrap sling for the baby out of one of their useless dresses so she won't be out of sight for even a moment, before pilfering as many supplies as the wagon can carry. Food for themself and the horses, cloth, furs, bandages, water skins, tools, weapons, all things they will need for the long journey ahead. The corpses in the snow barely get a passing glance as Kurt takes their place in the wagon seat, grasping the reins, and with a kiss to the top of their daughter's head, they set off down the mountain.
Finally, led by the stars, their heart, and the latent pull of a bond long broken, they're going home.
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Corrigan knows this, in his bones. He was born to leadership, understanding of the privileges and responsibilities that go along with it. He has never once faced an obstacle that he wasn't able to surmount through sheer force of will -- able to carry his pack forward with him, guide them through to the other side. That's his job. That's his entire life's purpose, his heart's destiny. If that fails, the pack fails.
But he'd had no idea. He hadn't even begun to comprehend the agony that would come if he were to lose something more precious than sight or sound or his own hands or legs or heart. It might've been less painful to carve out each organ, piece by piece, lay them out before him and force him to rend each bit of pulsing, throbbing, bleeding meat to shreds with his own hands. Corrigan would've done that a thousand times, rather than felt that splintering, blistering, destructive agony he had on that day, months before, when Kurt had been taken from them.
He hadn't moved for days afterward, consciousness and unconsciousness equally unbearable. Kurt was the pack's, their mate, their life and light and soul, but they'd carried Corrigan's pup inside them. Corrigan had been first to claim them, first to feel their unsure, shy, trembling body pressed to his, first to set them alight with pleasure as he bred and knotted them, first in line always to claim that privilege over and over. Without them, he was halved, his very essence carved out and ground into bits, unrecognizable. It took nearly a week for him to even be aware of his surroundings, of his grieving pack, all of them feeling the shattered link to Kurt. Corrigan had known he should be horrified at himself, should loathe his own weakness.
But simply breathing, standing, moving, feeding and resting his body had been enough to take every last bit of his attention. If he didn't let the wound within him stay numb, untouched, he would go mad. It was only the pack that kept him sane, and even then just barely. Corrigan moved about like a ghost, silent and pale and scarcely eating or sleeping, almost never speaking. Only Naseer could get through to him at all, and even that was scarce.
Kurt was gone. Kurt was gone, and in the wake of that horror, the world was howling and empty and dead. Yet Corrigan lived still, sitting by the riverbank, staring into the water, letting it lull his mind into silence once more. He did this often, letting something repetitive dull his senses enough so that the agony of his mate's loss was blunted, slightly. It kept him from reliving that day, again and again and again, that instant when his soul bond with his beloved, his life, his delight, had been brutally broken.
The sun moved across the wintry horizon, and still Corrigan sat, senseless and silent with a grief so terrible the trees themselves seemed to freeze. He would stay there indefinitely, until Naseer gently woke him up from his reverie, coaxed him back to the world of the living. And even then, his Beta would only get perhaps half of who Corrigan had been, two months before. Maybe.
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Corrigan knows all of these things. He's usually the one to delegate responsibilities to the other wolves, knowing instinctively what to prioritize and how long each task will take and when to get started, so they never go into the harsh winter unprepared. The pack has always survived the winter.
But this time, Corrigan has been too sick with grief to work. He barely has the strength to take care of himself, to make it through each empty day. So it's been up to Naseer to keep the pack together. He's the one to organize hunts, to chop and dry wood for the fire, to delegate tasks and make decisions and discipline disobedience. He's the one to provide comfort and stability to a pack wracked with grief, being the rock they need when everything feels hopeless. He's the one to oversee the search parties.
And through it all, Naseer is the one to insist on giving Corrigan his space. The pack is in mourning together, yes, they all grieve the tremendous loss of their mate. But Corrigan grieves his firstborn on top of it all. The younger wolves can't begin to imagine that kind of loss.
Taking a seat next to his Alpha, Naseer pulls his knees up to his chest, gazing quietly into the rippling water for a moment. Benji's dam hasn't been maintained in several weeks. None of them have the strength for it. "Kai has returned," he says softly, not elaborating further. It's clear by the tone of his voice that the wolf's search was fruitless, yet again. There's been no sign of Kurt since they were taken. "He ran his paws bloody again. He won't be able to join the hunt for another week while he rests."
Naseer often does this, giving quiet status updates to his Alpha and providing some warmth by his side before leaving again, not expecting a response. Corrigan rarely speaks these days. The Beta would be lying if he said it wasn't getting lonely. "We're running low on food again, so we should hunt more frequently this week. Gather as much small game meat as we can before they all migrate south. We should avoid being dependent on the locals for trade." A beat, before he softly adds: "You should come inside."
now that i am FREE from the HOLIDAYS AT LAST
Naseer's grief is a careful, many-layered thing, now as always. The Beta has always redirected energy that would normally be put into mourning or regret towards productive things -- the pack's survival, the practical needs of the day-to-day. He keeps them going, on the rare occasions when Corrigan is distracted. But the Alpha has never been so emotionally remote for so long, and he can feel through the link how it weighs on Naseer. He lost Kurt too, the same as any of them.
The benefit of the link is that Corrigan doesn't need to speak, or even particularly focus to communicate his emotions to the pack. The love he has for them, each and every one, is strong enough that it bleeds through without him even trying. Even now, senseless with loss, the sound of Naseer's voice prompts a soft pulse of affection, of gratitude through the link, one that smolders like a soft, tiny ember. It says I would be lost without you and I love you and I'm so sorry I'm like this, when Corrigan can't bring himself to speak the words aloud.
So he listens, and even leans slightly into the warmth of Naseer at his side. Corrigan conducts his own searches, sometimes for days at a time, running his paws bloody over terrain he's searched a thousand times already, seeking any sign, any trace of Kurt. After the earth-shattering destruction of their link -- theirs and the pup's, twined together, both helpless and vulnerable to Miles's influence -- the trail had vanished. There were a hundred ways Miles could've taken them, a thousand more with each day that passed without the pack finding any sign. By now they could be halfway across the world, oversea, even, beyond where the wolves could ever get to them. Corrigan's intense faith in Kurt, in their incredible strength and courage, wars every day with how long it's been. And the latter is winning, bit by bit.
For the first time, Corrigan feels the realization: he may never see them again. He doesn't even know if they're still alive, much less safe and free enough to find their way home. The wolf knows in his soul that Kurt would never give up trying to come home, just as the pack will never give up searching. But Miles's motivation is unclear, his grand plan a mystery. Would he want full control indefinitely over Kurt, toying and tormenting them day after day, or would he eventually grow bored? Would the wolves eventually be searching not for their beloved, but for bones in the earth?
A slow, shaky breath, and Corrigan closes his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is raspy: "I don't...know how to do this, 'seer. I don't know how to live a life without them."
FREEDOM!!!
It's never been as bad as this. The agony of losing their mate has crushed all of them, leaving the pack fractured and hollow, barely held together. And Corrigan's pain is worst of all. Naseer can feel as much as see what losing Kurt has done to him, the howling cavernous void they'd left behind and how hard it's been for the Alpha to exist within it. The center of his universe is gone. There's nothing Naseer or anyone can do to ease that pain.
Except be there for each other, as he is now. "I don't know either," he says shakily, tentatively running a hand up and down Corrigan's back. His ribs are more pronounced now, the notches of his spine against the Beta's palm making him sick with worry. "But we have to keep going, somehow. We have to, Cor. For them. When they come back to us," when, Naseer always says when, even though every day it feels more and more like an if, "they'll need us to be strong for them."
Easier said than done. Naseer can feel himself cracking under the pressure of being strong for everyone, terrified beyond words that what he's doing will be for naught, that it's hurting more than helping. But this is what a leader does. "We don't have a choice, my love. Kurt needs us, and we need each other."
no subject
The guilt of that weighs almost as heavily as the sense of loss, of emptiness. Corrigan is supposed to protect his pack, and he's failed twice over -- first by losing Kurt and again by losing himself. There's no possible way for him to heal from the first, he knows that deep in his bones. The wound of Kurt's loss will remain until they're back in his arms, bleeding and raw and as painful as it had been the day they disappeared. There's simply nothing to be done, there.
But he's pushed away the others he loves in his senseless grief, and that isn't fair to them. Every wolf in the pack is suffering, suffering alone. Corrigan knows the grief will never leave, but he cannot allow his pack to continue feeling it alone. Kurt wouldn't want that. Kurt would be indignant at the very thought, would lecture and scowl and get right up in Corrigan's face to remind him who he is and what he needs to do. Kurt wouldn't let him give up.
So, even though he wants to recoil, wants to curl back up in his mourning and let time and the world pass him by, Corrigan slowly turns, rests his chin on the jut of Naseer's shoulder, breathes in his scent. Faithful, courageous, weary and brave Beta, his first love, his right hand, his soulmate now as when they were pups themselves. Slowly, Corrigan reaches out, slides an arm around Naseer's waist, feeling how he's also reduced in size -- all of them starving, all of them putting more energy into searching than hunting, all of them unaware of their body's needs.
"I'm sorry I left you alone in this, beloved," Corrigan murmurs, mouth pressed to the warm spot where neck and shoulder meet, where he's hidden a thousand times in his life, both in jest and genuinely. "I don't -- want to wake up, but I know I must. I can't let Kurt return to a pack in splinters. They need us strong. They'll -- both need us strong." Saying it has a pang of agony rippling through his body, his soul, because even if Kurt can return, Corrigan doesn't know if their pup will be there. There are some sacred rules for every wolf, some absolute laws -- never harm a pup is one of them, even if it belongs to a rival Alpha. Children are sacred, beloved, to be protected and cared for above all, regardless of parentage.
Yet alongside that law is another: never harm another Alpha's mate. And Miles has already violated that sacred standard. Who's to say he won't do it again, with Corrigan's child?
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His lungs seize for a moment, a shuddering gasp as Corrigan's arm wraps around him, as his breath warms his skin. He softly apologizes, and it's all Naseer can do to not fully break down in his arms. It's been so lonely. Losing Kurt, losing the baby, losing Corrigan, the constant fear of losing everyone to reckless grief...
The Beta has barely held it together, persevering solely because he knows the pack needs him to. It's only with his Alpha's permission that he lets himself crumble.
"Y-Yes, they will. Both of them w-will need us," he somehow manages, squeezing his eyes to stem the flood of tears, the relief and grief and agony washing over him too much to bear. His hands tremble when they reach for Corrigan and pull him close, holding on for dear life. It might be too much too fast—he's been so averse to touch for so long—but Naseer just needs him too much. He needs the comfort of his love, his king, his soulmate. Just this once.
"Cor," he whimpers, sounding so much like the frightened young pup he'd been a lifetime ago. Unmoored and unsure how to even be a wolf, let alone a partner, a pack Beta, terrified of what that fear meant. "I c-can't do this alone anymore."
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So Corrigan tucks closer against his Beta, arms around his waist, nuzzling into the side of his neck and letting him collapse, letting him fall apart the way he hadn't been able to for months. Later, he'll feel guilty for being so remote, for disappearing while his body had stayed, silent and untouchable. But now there's nothing but comfort, love, adoration and gratitude pouring through their link as he finds his old scarred mark on Naseer's neck and kisses it softly.
"You won't need to, not anymore," he murmurs, grip tightening, eyes closed as he meets Naseer's grief with strength, something he'd been incapable of before. His grief is still there, limitless, endless, but he'd been given enough time by Naseer's bravery to build up a small amount of his own again. He kisses Naseer's neck again, reaches up and turns his face enough that he can kiss his mouth as well, soft, an apology. "Never again. All right? I'm -- not going to leave us again. Not again. We'll survive this, 'seer. I'm not leaving you again."
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"Th-Thank you," he hiccups, hands trembling against Corrigan's cheeks as they reach up to cradle his face. The kiss breathes life into him once more. It's much easier to believe they will pull through when his Alpha proclaims it. He's sure the younger wolves will agree. "You're right. W-We'll survive this. Together."
And it's good they have each other, for the woods are a treacherous place, nature hiding her secrets well even from her most beloved children. One can live their whole life in the forest, reverent of its delicate balance, always giving as much as taking, but it only takes one bad day for the woods to turn her back on you. As Naseer cries, wrapped up in his Alpha, he hears the quiet snap of a twig off in the distance, closer to the tree line, far enough away to still be hidden when he turns to look. It's not someone from the pack, nothing communicated through the link. Whoever it is smells like foreign territory, snow and dust and sweat and horseback and blood, and underneath it all... something almost familiar.
"Careful," he murmurs, stilling his breathing almost instantly, sobs forgotten. The smell... it's throwing him off. Naseer almost doesn't allow himself to hope.
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He wants it so desperately, so fervently that he almost thinks he's imagining the curl of scent that reaches him on the crisp wintry air. Corrigan knows there's nothing there in the link, but he reaches out anyway, even though he knows encountering the shattered remnants of where Kurt once was will only hurt him. They ache, like an old wound, like a broken bone that healed wrong, that throbs with pain when the rain approaches. He reaches for them anyway and even though it's dead, it's gone, he almost -- almost feels something.
Maybe it's the link, maybe it's his soul itself, recognizing that presence with something deeper than human or wolf senses could explain. His reason for existence, the center of his universe, found in this world (and, perhaps, in a hundred thousand others) and tying him to it and always, always meant to return to him. Corrigan stands with a shaky jerk, his very being singing and straining towards the sound, the scent at the treeline. He can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything but wait to see if the humming in his chest is real, if the sense of familiarity, of recognition is true or just a desperate wish.
He says it with every bit of hope in his soul, a prayer and a wish and a plea: "Kurt?"
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He'd be lying if he said he didn't also hope. It hasn't been so long that Naseer has forgotten the sweet allure of Kurt's scent. It could be them, masked under all those layers of unfamiliar smells, slowly approaching from behind the tree trunks. But it could just as well be Kurt's father, or someone from the human village, or Miles, the little human's scent still clinging to him after months of captivity. He would be a fool not to consider the danger here. The pack is already so vulnerable. Should they lose their Alpha too...
When the dying bushes part and the figure steps forward into the waning daylight, Naseer almost doesn't believe his eyes.
Kurt is nearly unrecognizable. Partially covered by tattered skirts and a sling tied firmly around their chest, covered in dirt and bandages and old dried blood, their hair messily shorn short and hanging limply around their face, they emerge into the river clearing like a ghost of their former self. But they're not a ghost. Underfed and filthy and haunted, yes, covered in unfamiliar scars both outside and in, but alive. They're alive, they're here, rosy-cheeked and near breathless from their trek through the woods from where they'd secured their horse and wagon, along the first stretch of trees they actually recognized after over a week on the road.
And they're not alone. From within the wrap sling there's a shock of dark curly hair hiding the sleeping face of an infant, their tiny hand curled up and resting against Kurt's chest, a gorgeous contrast to the pale skin of their mother. The baby. The baby made it.
Kurt almost can't believe it themself. This whole time, they barely let themself hope that the pack would still be here, would still be together by the time they made it, but they are. Whatever shattered remnants of that old cherished bond remains are lit aflame, soaring to life within them as they finally lay eyes on Corrigan and Naseer, watching them approach on bare bloodied feet with disbelief, and for the first time in too long, Kurt breaks into a brittle, tearful smile. "Alpha."
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And then he's there, he's scooping them up without thinking, without pausing, not caring about the grime or the blood or their shorn hair and hollow cheeks. He softens his grip only so he won't crush the baby (another miracle, something Corrigan's mind can't even take in yet, even as his instincts are singing with joy and delight, thrumming messages of love and welcome and pure happiness towards the tiny bundle between them). He cradles Kurt against his own diminished form, feeling how fragile they are, smelling layers of blood -- their own, Miles, an unfamiliar human's -- and beneath it smelling them, just as they were the day he lost them.
Corrigan might be weeping. He might be laughing. He might be both, it's hard to really tell with his face pressed to Kurt's neck, feeling the bandages against his cheek, smelling the old blood, the new flesh that had knit over the wounds there -- a horror that part of him wants to recoil from, the notion that Miles had stolen even the physical reminder of the pack's link with their mate. But later, all of it later, every nightmarish moment, ever monstrous act. Now Kurt is alive and warm and soft in his arms, fitting there perfectly, beautifully, like they'd never been gone.
"Kurt, Kurt, you're here, you're here," Corrigan repeats it over and over, the joy of it singing through every fiber of his being, singing in the link, and he can feel the disbelief and wonder and hope of his pack like an echo in the back of his mind. Nothing exists except Kurt, though, except their bright, teary eyes, their soft cheek beneath his palm when Corrigan finally pulls back, presses their foreheads together and breathes them in. "You're home."
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But it won't. They know it won't. Too many days and nights have passed, too many miles separate them from the corpses and ghosts they'd left behind, they've sacrificed too much to get back to the pack that loves them. To the man, their Alpha, their love, currently weeping into their neck in a twisted beautiful mirror of themself. They're both skinnier now, smaller, weaker, but nothing has changed the love between them.
That, if anything, has only grown stronger.
"I'm here, A-Alpha, I'm home," they hiccup, laughing between chest-wrenching sobs as Corrigan presses his forehead to theirs. They're vaguely aware of their surroundings—Naseer has fallen to his knees by the riverbank, needing a moment to catch his breath from the violent force of his relief, there's the distant pounding of feet running through the woods from the cabin, the pack already on their way—but they only have eyes for Corrigan right now. Just for now. His first. His Alpha.
All the crying and squeezing and hurried, fervent words make the baby pressed skin-to-skin against Kurt's chest stir awake, a burbling coo coming from her as those huge eyes blink open. This is the first time she's seen another person since the bad men, but this time, even though her mother is crying, there's no distress. So when she fixes her enormous eyes—Kurt's eyes, stormy blues and greens and greys—on Corrigan, there's only curiosity in them.
Between sobs and bursts of relieved, exhausted laughter, Kurt looks between the baby and their Alpha, the smile on their face growing wider. "C-Corrigan, this is Holly." The first time they speak her name to anyone but her. "Your d-daughter."
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Corrigan would be content to curl up like this -- also on his knees, somehow, cradling Kurt against him and breathing them in, their scent, their voice, their beautiful, perfect face, perfect even despite the new hollows in their cheeks, the haunted look in their eyes. He's aware of the rest of the pack stumbling into the clearing, freezing alongside Naseer and staring. He can feel their soaring, blazing joy, like a caress to his soul, their relief, their eagerness to also be reunited with their mate.
But they linger, for a bit, for a moment, allowing their Alpha to have his reunion first, the very sight of it healing something within the pack. Wolves love their leaders the most, seek their Alpha's contentment and peace above everything else. Kurt's loss had devastated the pack, but Corrigan's grief had gutted them, to see their beloved ALpha, their center, their ruler and king and god so thoroughly miserable, day after day.
So Corrigan has that moment to hear the soft cooing burble, to feel the spark of something knitting itself together in his chest as he looks down into the eyes of the baby. His baby. His daughter. She's everything good, everything perfect and wonderful and near-holy, looking up into his eyes with a silent recognition. Just as Kurt's link to their child had come effortlessly, without caution or hesitation, so too had Corrigan felt the soft, warm, bright presence somewhere in his mind since she'd taken her first breath. He'd scarcely been able to feel it during the cold, empty days, so lost in his own grief, senseless with it -- yet every time he slept, Corrigan dreamed of the sun. Had that been her, all this time? Waiting to meet him, secure in her faith that she would?
"Holly," Corrigan repeats in a soft voice, reaching out one careful finger to smooth down one round, soft baby cheek. Holly wiggles a little, yawns enormously and blinks her bright, stunning eyes. "She's -- Kurt, she's so perfect."
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And now they get to watch Corrigan, the man who saved them first, finally meet her. Their perfect daughter. The greatest gift he's ever given them. His face goes all soft when he looks at her, tears welling in his eyes, breath almost catching in the Alpha's throat with wonder as he touches her, achingly gently, fingers so careful against her face. The sight is breathtaking, pride and joy and love surging through Kurt's whole body.
Corrigan will be the perfect father.
Cradled so firmly in his lap, their weak limbs finally able to rest secure in his embrace, Kurt presses forward—mindful of the baby—and kisses the Alpha for the first time in months. Their lips tremble against his, emotion and exhaustion both overwhelming them, but the kiss is no less fierce, searing and heavy with promise. This is it. This is forever. They're never leaving him again.
Never leaving any of them, the rest of the pack approaching the pair timidly then all at once, surrounding the Alpha and their mate. Everyone's crying, caressing them, kissing them, proclaiming their love and relief, crowding Kurt with the most love they've ever felt in their life. They really are home. Holly is home, fearless and protected and safe, surrounded by so much uncompromising love. It feels too good to be true.
They can finally rest.
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Still, the pack can care for the immediate concerns -- Kai and Benji trip over themselves, hurrying to fetch water, to boil it and draw a bath so Kurt can begin to soak away the blood and grime coating every inch of their body. Naseer is given the privilege of holding Holly, cradling her in his arms, only the third person ever to touch her, his own link forging as easily with her as Corrigan's had. He may be Alpha and blood, the first to connect with her aside from Kurt, but each wolf is equally her parent, her protector, her family. Just as Kurt is the pack's mate, not only Corrigan's.
Leo helps Corrigan spread out the furs by the fire, coaxing it from dull embers into soft tongues of flame, so Kurt won't be chilly for even an instant while the bath warms. The Alpha doesn't let go of them for an instant, not then and not during the meal, or that first blissful night back together, the pack clustered close around their beloved, basking in their longed-for presence, keeping them safe. Corrigan doesn't actually let Kurt out of his arms for a good long while, especially once the joy fades for them as well and the nightmares start.
There's one tonight, after Holly's been fed and lulled to sleep in Kai's arms -- they're in the process of making a bed, really, but thus far whichever wolf's on watch has volunteered to hold her, not wanting to miss a single second. Corrigan is half-asleep, nestled into the furs alongside his brothers, Kurt snuggled to his chest, when he feels a soft tremor run through their small body, hears the softest whine of dreaming terror.
He's up in an instant, arms tucking under his mate and lifting them up and away from the others, knowing they'd hate to wake any of the pack. Corrigan presses a kiss to the side of Kurt's neck, over the clean bandages that cover their (horrifically, monstrously) flayed skin. "I'm here, beloved, I'm here. You're safe. You're safe, Kurt."
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And yet worse than that, somehow, is that he's bored in the face of their suffering. He speaks, they think, as his hips crash against their mutilated face again and again, and while they can't pick out what he says over the sound of their own choked, gurgled screams, they can tell he's grown tired of this. Of them. If they can't please him anymore, he'll seek his pleasure somewhere else. Even though the cabin is pitch black all around them, cold, cavernous, howling, their screams ringing discordant and wet through air left heavy with their blood, Kurt can feel eyes on them. Surrounding them. Watching. Judging. Condemning. Encouraging.
Pleading, a tiny presence underneath it all, a tiny voice crying their harrowing fear, don't touch me, don't see me, protect me, mommy, please—
Kurt is jolted from their nightmare with a sharp whimpering gasp—breathe, they can breathe, it wasn't real—hands weakly pushing against Corrigan's chest in a sleepy panicked scramble. They don't mean to. They never do. It's pure instinct, their body irrevocably primed to fight, to escape at all costs. But as consciousness slowly returns, as they realize where they are, who they're with, their struggles wane into tremors, fingers shaking as they instead cling to their Alpha's form. Kurt has apologized so many times for fighting him in their sleep. They'll keep apologizing forever.
"S-Sorry," they whisper into Corrigan's shoulder, voice tiny and trembling on his skin. They're already crying. They do this a lot now, almost every single night, never truly free of the nightmares. "So s-sorry, Alpha, I— sorry." It's all they can choke out before dissolving into quiet, terrified sobs, curling up tight in their beloved's embrace.
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And then -- they'd suddenly awoken sobbing and screaming, sending Holly into a feverish wail in response and alerting the entire pack to snarling ferocity. Since then, the dreams had been nightly, and while Kurt apologizes and tries to put on a brave face during the day, every time the sun goes down, Corrigan can see the tight fear in their eyes as they prepare to return to that place again.
He doesn't begrudge them it, of course -- it's not their fault, they don't want to keep going back again and again. But their fractured, tormented mind, finally allowed to rest, keeps summoning the images over and over, in stunning clarity. So Kurt awakens and sobs and apologizes and clutches at Corrigan as they cry. And he strokes their shorn hair -- neatened by Leo's careful hands, curling slightly at the ends, falling around their face in soft waves, now that they're clean and warm and fed -- and he murmurs his apologies and he asks, then as every night, steeling himself for the answer: "Do you want to talk about it?"
Because sometimes the answer is "no", and Corrigan must sit with his fervent need to find and identify every threat to his beloved, unsatisfied. And sometimes the answer is "yes", and Corrigan must sit with the knowledge that even knowing the threat does nothing. He can't hunt down a memory. He can't tear the throat out of a ghost.
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Kurt just wishes they could stop the nightmares. It feels like they get worse every night, clearer and darker and more twisted, like the memories weren't already awful enough. Miles is cold and dead in the ground, now only mulch to feed the woods come spring, but his ghost still haunts them. A part of them is terrified they'll never be free of him.
At least Corrigan remains steadfast and true, easing them through it, his hands so gentle around their trembling form, in their short hair. The Alpha is patient with them, forgiving and understanding, never pushing them past their brittle limits. It frustrates them, feeling so small and broken in his arms, when once they were so strong. Courageous and fearless. Now, despite their freedom, despite the safety they'd secured themself and their child, Kurt feels like a shell, unable to fully enjoy the affections of their beloved pack.
"Just want them t-to stop," they whimper, snuggling tightly against him. "I'm so tired, Alpha. E-Every time I close my eyes, I see him, I f-feel him all over me, h-he..." A shudder, violent revulsion at the memories. "I thought k-killing him would be enough. But the dreams j-just get worse... I dunno how to stop."
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That satisfied, he turns his attention back to Kurt, resting his chin in their hair. He's been thinking the same thing, wishing so desperately that he could reach out the way he used to, overpower the horrific nightmares with his presence. He can feel the fractured bits of their link, sometimes, reaching out for his in the darkness, but wincing in pain whenever he gets too close. Corrigan knows he should give it time, should allow Kurt's mind and soul to heal.
But they're so unhappy. Corrigan doesn't need a link to see that, see the way his mate's slim shoulders are constantly bowed with the weight of their own memories, the way their smile doesn't always reach those big, beautiful eyes, the way they sometimes have to stop and take a deep breath and push away the pain and terror they still carry. He doesn't want to be patient, he wants to make it better now.
"I've been...thinking about...how to help," Corrigan begins slowly, pausing out by the woodshed, looking up at the clear night sky -- the moon, the stars. "And we can go slow. We can be as slow as you need, my love. You still need to heal. But what if...we tried to replace the memories. So the last one who touched you is me, instead." He doesn't know if it'll work, if it won't simply make Kurt even more frightened by being touched. But his whole body aches for them, for the touch of his mate, their body pressed to his, warm and beautiful and joined with his own. Corrigan misses that.
"Would you...want that, Kurt?"
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It's crushingly, unspeakably lonely. They'd thought just being around the pack every single day would knit the bonds back together, would aid in their healing, but it hasn't. It's like the monstrous ghost of the wolf who'd taken them, now dead and thawing by their father's side up in the mountains far, far away, is the only one who remains within them. Like they're still linked to his spirit in hell.
Corrigan's suggestion gives them pause, but they still look up at him from within the bundle of furs, breath escaping them in puffs of smoke outside in the cold. In truth, they have been...hesitant to be touched since returning. The thought that letting their guard down and being intimate with the pack could trigger memories of Miles' abuse had terrified them—and, as if sensing that, the pack hadn't pushed for it even once. Everything in due time. It'd be easier once Kurt had time to heal.
But time had proven fruitless. And Kurt, as impatient now as before they'd been taken, is sick of waiting. "W-Will it help?" they ask softly, sniffling and wiping their cheeks, chest still shuddering with lingering sobs. "I— I don't want to remember his touch, Alpha. I don't want to f-feel him in my mind anymore, what he did to me, what...what he made me do." They've told Corrigan some things, left out others. Kurt doubts they'll ever tell him everything. It's better for him to remain ignorant.
A small hand reaches out into the cold, pressing into Corrigan's chest—hesitant at first, then firmly, possessively—the contrast of their skin against his making their stomach swoop with heated longing. "Please, Alpha... Make me forget."
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When he realized that, he decided to stop wondering or imagining what Kurt had endured. Miles was already dead, nothing but thawing meat on a hillside, bones for the ravens and foxes to carry away. Corrigan couldn't bring him back and kill him again, much as he wanted to. He had seen Kurt tense slightly whenever the door opened, like their body's prepared for pain and violence and violation. He knows that Miles had forced them to service him, had used their body for his own sadistic pleasure in a thousand ways, and had been cautious about touching them in any way other than comforting or protective.
But Kurt's his mate. His beloved, his heart and soul, their body matched to his perfectly. Corrigan aches for them, now as he had every day when they were gone. And when they look upwards, teary eyes and parted lips and small hand resting on his chest as they plead for him to help them forget -- well. Corrigan would have to be unfeeling, senseless not to be effected by that.
So he leans in, one hand finding it's way to cradle the back of Kurt's neck, kissing them gently, sweetly on their trembling lips. "Tell me if you need to stop, beloved," he murmurs, kissing along their jawline, their neck, over the smooth flesh where his mark had once rested. "Even for a little. Tell me and I'll stop."
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"Y-Yes, Alpha," they sigh softly, knowing in their heart they won't want him to stop. Corrigan is so gentle with them, his lips pillowy soft and so warm against their skin, felt even over the flayed patch circling their neck. Numbed to touch, shiny the way fresh scars are, darker than the rest of their pale freckled body. Even there, over the most obvious sign of Miles' abuse, Corrigan is gentle.
Small fingers tremble as they tangle into his hair, their body heating up under touch, his soft mouth. They're already stirring between their legs, growing hard. A part of them always remembered. How could their body ever forget what true pleasure felt like? True surrender, true love? Even out here by the woodshed in the dead of night, only warmed by a layer of fur and Corrigan's body against theirs, Kurt slowly relaxes under his touch, clinging to him as the last of their sobs leave them.
They truly want to forget. They want Alpha's hands and mouth and cock to chase away the memories. "P-Please..."
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The woodshed is chilly, dark, but there are a few smoldering coals in the fire pit there, a place for the wolves to gather on clear nights, to bundle up in furs and sip hot beverages and tell stories and legends. Or -- it should've been, in that first winter with Kurt. They should've had those snowy nights, bundled in new furs, sharing roasted meat and bright citrus fruits purchased from the village, hearing their pack's songs and myths. There should've been dozens of nights like that, mulled wine and mead and the furs spread out by the fire, the pack's bodies joining and tangling in the dark, thrilled by the crisp air and the stories and the wild beauty of the moon.
Now the year pivots slowly toward spring and it's too late. Corrigan puts the thought aside, though, tells himself to grieve the lost time later, clears his mind of everything but Kurt, cradled against him as he stokes the coals into a crackling frame, spread out carefully on the furs, kissed again and again. "Here all right?" Corrigan murmurs against their mouth, kneeling over his little mate, ensuring the warmth of the furs and the fire and his own body keep the chill away. One warm hand slips down Kurt's chest, their stomach, strokes his thumb over where he'd gotten so used to feeling a bump. Wolf gestation is so swift for a reason -- so the pack can easily satisfy the urge to have their mate carry a pup from each of them, one after another. The fact that Kurt is there beneath him and not currently pregnant feels -- wrong.
Still, that's a bit of a jump, even though Corrigan desperately longs for it -- longs for one of his brothers, his pack to have a turn breeding Kurt, seeing them grow heavy and full with their pup. He craves the frenzied nights of the wolves taking their turn, one after the other, until Kurt's carrying, until that urgent need is satisfied. Everything in good time, though. He can be patient.
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Kurt had been frightened then too. Needlessly, as they would quickly learn, for there was nothing to be frightened of. Not the wolves, nor the pleasure they offered. One by one they'd helped themselves to Kurt's body, and they'd surrendered without fear, without hesitation, letting themself get carried away on endless waves of it. Corrigan, kneeling above them then as he does now, had eased their mind of misconceptions with his amazing cock, his talented mouth, and his big, warm, gentle hands.
That's the thing about surrender Miles never understood. He thought of submission as defeat, as the ultimate prize claimed by vicious conquest, the weak falling to the strong. But surrender is a gift. Surrender is facing what terrifies you and trusting that, no matter what happens, you'll be safe. Kurt's legs fall open underneath Corrigan, their body shakily pressing up into his hands, their own hands resting on either side of their head, palms open, facing him. Kurt trusts, submits, and surrenders.
"I l-love you, Corrigan." Their voice is brittle and wet, and yet achingly warm around the words, filling the heated air between them. Had their link still been intact, Corrigan would have felt the pulse of adoration and trust and love from them in that moment, gazing up at him from the soft furs. Until such a time they can knit it back together, Kurt will just have to tell him outright.
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