City Dogs

Chapter 2: Prologue pt. 2

Papa was dying.

His frail frame seemed to sink into the bed, his pallid skin gray against snow white sheets. I sat next to him holding his hand, bouncing my leg as I did so. Sitting for a long time was never my thing, but if it ensured Papa wouldn't be lonely, I would sit here in this uncomfortable chair for the rest of my life.

"August."

Papa's soft voice shook me out of my thoughts. His bony hand squeezed mine weakly, doing nothing to reassure me.

"Yes?" I answered, leaning forward to hear him better.

His brown eyes held nothing but love and warmth as he gazed up at me. "You've grown so much," he said. "Soon you'll meet your own wolf and be all on your own."

I shook my head, bringing his hand up to my cheek. "I'll always be your little pup."

"That you will be," he smiled, and for a moment his face was full of youth; how he looked before he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

The doctors said that if they had noticed the cancer sooner, Papa would've had an increased chance of survival. But, they didn't. The illness was too far along to be treated when they found it, and his death was now inevitable.

"Two more years," Papa said, breaking the silence again.

"What?" I was confused; the doctors had said that he didn't even have one year left, let alone two.

"Two more years until you meet your wolf."

Ah. So it wasn't about his death. I pushed that thought away and sighed, adjusting his pillows into a more comfortable position. "I forgot about that, between the new Alpha and you... your...,"

"August, you can say it. Not talking about it isn't going to make me live longer," Papa chuckled, tugging me onto his chest and pulling me into a hug.

I buried my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. The smell of kin acted as a relaxer, and I melted in his arms, trying to get closer to my father by nuzzling his skin. Papa rubbed slow circles along my back, getting out the tense knots caused by sitting for so long. At some point I must've fell asleep, because the next thing I knew it was pitch black, and Papa's breathing was long and slow.

*

Papa died seven months later holding my hand. I sat there, unmoving, for three hours before alerting a nurse passing by.

One hour later I was signing paperwork, numbly moving my hand across the paper in a messy signature, trying to imitate Papa's neat, swirly cursive. Tears fought their way out when I couldn't copy it exactly. I shoved the stack of papers at the nurse, thanking them in a horse whisper, and exited the office.

It hurt.

I had been expecting this for months now, imagining how it would feel when Papa wasn't in my life anymore.

So why did it hurt so bad?

A ragged sob escaped me, my attempts of concealing emotions broken at the image of Papa's lifeless form lying on the bed, his face content, his lips holding a ghost of a smile. Memories of the past flashed in my mind: cuddling with Papa, stealing his food and laughing about it later, his reassuring voice as I struggled to shift.

I would hear no more of his words, feel no more of his warmth, and it killed me.

I ran, away from the concerned pack members, away from everyone, away from everything.

Away from Papa.

My wolf whimpered in my head, mourning in short howls, trying to comfort me at the same time by pressing their pelt against the nonexistence walls of my mind. I did the same, knowing that we shared the same father even if we haven't even spoken to one another yet.

My breathing was unsteady; whether that was from crying or running was left to mystery. I crashed through the tree line, low branches snapping at my face, leaving stinging marks which were quickly numbed by the winter chill.

My foot caught on a root, and my stomach hit the forest floor, knocking the air out of my. I gasped, trying to refill my aching lungs to no avail. My wolf was frantic, running in stressed circles, their high-pitched whining the only thing I heard.

Then the world went black, and I welcomed the abyss with open arms.

*

<August.>

<What?>

<We have to get out of here.>

<I know.>

<So why are we still here?>

A paus, then...

<I...I don't know.>

~A/N~

Sorry for jumping all over with time skips. To be clear, August is 16 at the beginning of this chapter and at the time of his father's death.