One moment, there is Tim on top of the Lieutenant and she's babbling slurred, clumsy pleas for it all to stop over the empty echoes pain that rattle around in her. The next, everything shifts and Tim's changing— even if it doesn't all completely register to her. Twisting and reforming of limbs, skin shifting to fur, fabric tearing — Kate trembles, staring with wide eyes. Wolf.
One rearing to look at her and snarling at her, bearing teeth. Fear snaps into her eyes and she flinches, crushing herself into the pew — breath and sobs sticking in her throat.
The wolf bites before she can yell out and even that yell is quickly cut off.
It's one thing to hear him scream, but it's not just that— it's inside her, scraping the insides of her skull, something raw and sharp and— she grips at her head, crying out in pain, curling up into herself, legs kicking uselessly stop it stop it stop it—
She wants Edward Little to stop screaming, she wants to the wolf to stop biting. She wants both of them to stop. And she's crying out for Wynonna again, pleading for her: Wynonna, please— please, God, help—
The screaming continues, tearing at the insides of her mind— she wants it's to stop—
The wolf's going to kill him. Tim's going to kill him. And she'll never forgive either of them for it: Tim for killing, Edward for dying.
She loves Edward Little. She loves Tim Drake, too.
But if Edward Little dies, they all lose.
Her hands flail, reaching up above her, onto the little ledge of the pew— trying to reach for something, anything. Her fingers brush against soft leather and she grabs at it, heavy and clumsy in her hands. She tries to find a better grip on it. It's a good weight.
She hurls the Bible with as much force as she can at the wolf. Her face is red and wet with tears, her eyes desperate and filled with horror.
Her voice finally finds her, and it's a scream: overwhelmed with pain, fury and desperation: "STOP IT—!"
She doesn't have sharp teeth, she doesn't bite. But she has a voice, and love, and a shiny new spine.
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One rearing to look at her and snarling at her, bearing teeth. Fear snaps into her eyes and she flinches, crushing herself into the pew — breath and sobs sticking in her throat.
The wolf bites before she can yell out and even that yell is quickly cut off.
It's one thing to hear him scream, but it's not just that— it's inside her, scraping the insides of her skull, something raw and sharp and— she grips at her head, crying out in pain, curling up into herself, legs kicking uselessly stop it stop it stop it—
She wants Edward Little to stop screaming, she wants to the wolf to stop biting. She wants both of them to stop. And she's crying out for Wynonna again, pleading for her: Wynonna, please— please, God, help—
The screaming continues, tearing at the insides of her mind— she wants it's to stop—
The wolf's going to kill him. Tim's going to kill him. And she'll never forgive either of them for it: Tim for killing, Edward for dying.
She loves Edward Little. She loves Tim Drake, too.
But if Edward Little dies, they all lose.
Her hands flail, reaching up above her, onto the little ledge of the pew— trying to reach for something, anything. Her fingers brush against soft leather and she grabs at it, heavy and clumsy in her hands. She tries to find a better grip on it. It's a good weight.
She hurls the Bible with as much force as she can at the wolf. Her face is red and wet with tears, her eyes desperate and filled with horror.
Her voice finally finds her, and it's a scream: overwhelmed with pain, fury and desperation: "STOP IT—!"
She doesn't have sharp teeth, she doesn't bite. But she has a voice, and love, and a shiny new spine.