15

It happened so fast it was kind of hard to believe. John wasn’t sure he had seen it, and yet he knew he had. It was just so weird that his mind almost refused to process it.

Oz was standing there one moment, kind of Human, and then it was like his skin exploded with fur, his bones shifting so rapidly it was like his skin was boiling as everything moved or did whatever it was it was doing. There was this weird noise, like someone smooshing a bag of potato chips while someone else threw meat against the wall, but it quickly died as Oz howled like a dog. Well, wolf.

John flicked his lighter and had a rather large torch like flame going as the Oz wolf got to its four feet, ready to singe it if it went after him or Paloma, but luckily it turned towards the noise of combat and sicced Arba, who was still trying to duck Logan's constant dismemberment. Maybe it just smelled demon and went for it; maybe it had to be the big bad guy in any room. Could you say with werewolves?

With Oz busy elsewhere, he was able to concentrate on the flame inside Arba. Again, keeping this thing going was going to be a pain. He was already sweating from exertion, and he was standing right here.

Now Arba had his hands full fighting with Logan and the werewolf at the same time. Logan could take an impressive beatdown and still be reasonably functional; this was doubly true of the werewolf. Arba hammered it with blows that could have cracked the walls, and occasionally made the wolf yelp or whimper, but it didn't cease its attacks at all. It kept going for him like he was wearing a steak necklace, and Arba shouted, "Fucking parasite! Get out of my dimension!"

Parasite? Were werewolves parasites? How did that work? Or was it just a figure of speech?

No matter. Arba had been distracted by Oz too long, long enough for Logan to drive his claws right through the center of his head. The claw tips exploded out his cheeks and nose, slicing off the tip, and making Arba freeze for a moment, long enough for Oz to sink his long, impressively ugly jaw into his gut. Oz started to pull one way, and Logan popped his other set of claws high in Arba's chest. "Wanna tug of war, pooch?" he grated.

Logan wasn't kidding. They both pulled hard on Arba for several seconds, until there was this noise like ... well, John couldn't describe it. It was wet and meaty and yet also crackly, like a log on a fire. And Arba tore in half, or less than half, as the werewolf got the biggest piece, tearing him from the stomach down, while Logan fell backward with the upper head and chest portion.

Paloma made a kind of retching noise and turned away, and John figured he might have joined her puking if he wasn't concentrating so hard on the fire.

The funny thing now was he could see it. With him ripped in half and his guts plopping on the floor, flames licked out a hole torn in Arba’s lungs, crisping the flesh along the edges. So he could do it, it was just incredibly hard. He didn't know if he needed to keep it going or not anymore, but he did, if only because it was much easier now.

The werewolf was digging through Arba's lower half like it was looking for a place to bury its bones, flesh flying everywhere. Logan was more methodical, simply dismembering his portion of Arba and throwing the pieces away from each other, in combinations that wouldn't work even if they glommed together (the scalp with a hand, for instance; a shoulder with the face). He finally told him, "Kill the fireworks, kid," and John let the flame finally die.

He was oddly winded. He had to lean against the wall, panting for breath, sweat trickling like oil down his back. "This is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen," Paloma said, hand to her mouth, staring at Oz and Logan as they continued ripping up Arba like a party favor.

"I've seen him do worse," he replied, referring to Logan, but in retrospect he wasn't sure that was true.  He'd never seen him help rip someone in half before. It just sounded like the thing to say.

Finally they were done parting Arba out like an old Chevy. Logan was covered in blood - now purple as well as standard red - and was sitting against the wall also panting for breath, his eyes curiously glazed and far away, like he was going to pass out any second now. Oz hadn't so much dismembered his part of Arba than mulched him, and possibly eaten a couple of hunks, as John wasn't sure there were enough scraps to say it was all him. With a low growling noise like the rumble of a finely tuned car, it lowered its big head and started stalking towards Logan.

"Shit," Paloma exclaimed, and tugged on John's arm, to alert him to the problem. He was so exhausted he wasn't even sure he could call up much of a flame.

It wasn't necessary. Sitting on the floor, he was at eye level with the wolf, and he glared at it, popping his claws and snarling, his upper lip curling over his teeth. The funny thing was, Logan's growl sounded a lot like Oz's; they were virtually indistinguishable. They were motionless for the longest thirty seconds of John's life, just staring and growling at each other, until Oz's ears flicked back in annoyance, and it turned away, towards a part of Arba's body that seemed to be crawling back towards a big assembly of organs. Now it was crawling down the Oz wolf's esophagus.

"What the fuck man?" John asked Logan, as that was really all he could say. What the fuck man - that summed up his entire day.

"I'm the alpha predator here," Logan said, his voice still a low, painful grumble (presumably Arba had damaged his vocal cords at some point, and they were still healing). "It knows that now. Animals ain't stupid."

"You've stared down animals before?" Paloma asked, surprised.

It didn't surprise John in the least. He probably went around Canada staring down every moose, beaver, and polar bear that crossed his path. Fuck Tarzan being King of the Jungle; Logan was King of All Big Nasty Things With Teeth That Could Eat You. Way cooler title, but it didn’t fit on a t-shirt.

Logan didn't answer, just said, "You're gonna hafta knock him out before he turns on ya."

John had been wondering about that. "How do we do that?"

Logan had that glazed look in his eye again. Had he been fighting unconsciousness this whole time? On the one hand you wouldn't think that was possible, but on the other, Logan was such a stubborn shithead that if anyone could do it, it would be him.  So yeah, maybe.  "You're gonna hafta, girlie. Yer the Slayer."

Paloma seemed stagestruck with fear, her eyes wide and shiny. "But, uh ... so, is he a werewolf? Is it true you can only kill them with silver?"

Logan shrugged but nodded at the same time. "Yep, pretty much. These fuckers don't die."

John was tempted to point out the same could be said about him, but didn't. Even in a compromised state, Logan could still hold it against him and save the surprise beat down for later.

Paloma seemed really reluctant, but after a moment, clearly not wanting to seem like a coward in front of Logan, she darted forward and grabbed Oz by the back of the legs. He was just turning his big body around to bite her when she spun towards the wall and slammed him head first into it, so hard that they heard something not so much snap as explode. The wolf didn't even have time to make a noise; it was just a limp bundle of fur she dropped to the ground. "Damn, girl," John said, surprised she had that kind of strength in her. It didn't look like she had it. Was that why they called them Slayers?

"I didn't kill him, did I?" she asked Logan nervously.

He shook his head. “He’s still breathin’.” And after a moment, John saw it, the rise and fall of the wolf’s midsection. Goddamn, they built werewolves tough, didn’t they?

Logan pointed down the hall, and said, “I smelled the subway that way. Take Oz and go. I’ll be with ya shortly.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Paloma asked, sounding disappointed.

Logan shook his head. “I’m gonna rest up, see if Giles ever joins me. Go on.”

He wanted to pass out in peace, did he? Fine. John felt like he had enough strength to walk out of here, but he hadn’t counted on having to carry Oz too. He went over to him and lifted a foot, but that’s about all he could lift. Shit, he was heavy too. Who’d have guessed?

“But … why?” Paloma asked, sounding near tears. Oh god lady, give it a break! “We can’t leave -”

“Go!” Logan barked. “That’s an order.”

She looked too freaked out to argue, suggesting she knew nothing about Logan at all. Yes, he would yell at the girls as easily as the guys, but one of the first things you learned about him was his natural reticence to be mean to women. It was really weird, and almost inexplicable, but much of Logan was. Of course, considering he was covered in blood, that added an extra layer of freak, and he supposed he couldn’t blame her, but if he was a woman, he’d so use Logan’s weird gender kryptonite thing against him. (But he wasn’t, so he couldn’t. And women who attacked him or someone else were pretty much fair game - ask Mystique, or dig up Jean and ask her.)

Paloma turned, looking like she was on the verge of tears, but she sucked it up, which was a point in her favor. “Can you pick him up?” John asked, pointing at Oz. Well, she seemed pretty strong, and she’d picked him up before.

She scowled, but she did, slinging him over her shoulder like a pelt she was lugging to the trading post. John led the way, but he looked back once to see Logan sagging against the wall with his eyes closed. Passed out? Probably. It was about fucking time! Arba seemed to be slowly pooling together, but John wondered if the fact that some of him was now in Oz’s stomach or stuck in his teeth would make a difference in his ability to regenerate. He certainly wasn’t moving fast.

John flicked his lighter and had a small ball of flame hovering over the open palm of his hand, ready to fling at the first demon who tried to give them shit. He should just hoped that they didn’t swarm them before he got all his strength back.

But he bet they would. After everything that had happened, he doubted things would become easy now.