packs aren't always of the same species (a WayHaught au)

chicago is cold in january

The journey into civilization took a bit longer than expected, but eventually, after taking nearly every mode of transportation known to man because you wanted to feel some semblance of normal after the week you had, you finally found yourself standing outside the door to your sister's quiet Chicago suburban home. It only occurred to you as your fist was centimeters from the oak stained wood, when you happened to catch the position of the hour and minute hands on your watch, that it was nearing midnight on a weekday. You were sure your sister and her husband had work in the morning, the kids were probably still out of school, on break for the holidays, but you assumed it was way past their bedtime. If you knocked, the dogs would most likely go nuts, waking the entire house, leaving everyone less than thrilled about your arrival...but on the other hand, you were exhausted. Your shoes were soaked through with slush from the ground and squelched uncomfortably every time you took a step, your cheeks stung from the wind whipping ice and snow at them, you were pretty sure the ends of your hair had icicles hanging from them where they stuck out from underneath your Purgatory National Park beanie, and it didn't help that your muscles were still sore from the night before. You leaned forward to rest your forehead against the cold wood of the front door with a soft groan as you adjusted your duffle bag on your shoulder. Somehow it hadn't even occurred to you to find a hotel for the night. You weren't really sure what you were thinking.

"You, unfortunately, were not." The voice startled you, to say the least. You jumped, barely managing to hold in a small squeak at the back of your throat. Your first instinct was to reach for the sidearm on your belt that you clearly did not have with you, but regardless, your hand went to where it was usually kept anyway as you turned around to place your back to the front door, while your eyes wildly scanned the yard and up and down the street. The voice spoke again, sounding like it was coming from directly behind you, or more accurately, from inside your own head. But it was more than that, it was like a miniscule vibration at the back of your skull. "You really think I would let someone sneak up on us while you are over here self-loathing over your lack of preparations? Come on Nicole, who do you think I am?" You knew the question was rhetorical, but it didn't stop your mind from literally going a mile a minute to try and come up with a logical answer. And then when you finally resigned to the fact that you were actually going insane, the voice spoke up again. "Oh, Relax. It is just me." And then it clicked and the world felt like it tipped 45 degrees on its axis and you had to steady yourself with a hand to the railing on the porch. You weren't sure how you knew it was her, but the odd familiarity in itself should have been enough.

"The w- you, you're the...you can...talk?" You probably looked insane talking to yourself, crazy-eyed and identical in resemblance to a drowned rat, but frankly, you couldn't care less...the wolf, The Wolf, was literally having a conversation with you. With words. You had so many questions, beginning with how, why, when-.

"Yes, I have the ability to commu-"

"Since when?! How?! Do you have a name?" You found yourself whisper-yelling to the wind as it whipped through the quiet neighborhood, taking your voice with it. The wolf sighed at your lack of poise and you were startled to find that you actually felt it, more than heard it.

"I go by many names."

"Right...makes sense, you're probably older than-" dirt. You were going to say dirt. God, Nicole, that's probably insulting to a literal ancient-

"But you may call me Ana."

"Ana, okay..." Honestly, you expected something a lot more complicated, but Ana...it fit. Somehow, when you thought of the wolf, Ana just seemed right.