Veronica
One day Lewis Ashworth found a cat in his kitchen sink. 

He was trying to brush his teeth, but the day was too good to keep himself in a tight, dark bathroom, so he came downstairs, to the light big windows of his kitchen, when he discovered the creature in the sink.

The cat was spotty, with three-colored fur and its legs so long its body looked shaved. It stared at Lewis with uncontained curiosity, almost startled, like it was Lewis who invaded its territory. Lewis waved at it with a toothbrush.

"Sho-o!" He commanded, "Get away! Leave!" The cat didn't seem to understand human. It blinked at him, then jumped out of the sink graciously and went to sniff the legs of the table. Lewis sighed and went back to his morning routine.

Throughout the day it became more and more obvious that the cat did not plan on leaving. It graciously avoided all of the open doors and windows, and when Lewis came home, it ran to him and curiously watched him roam around. That was when it occurred to Lewis that the cat might be hungry. He fed it a finely chopped slab of dried meat he tried to always keep at his disposal, and a piece of goat cheese he had from last time with Kela: the kitten ate all of that with great enthusiasm, purring almost as well as Lewis' car did. Lewis filled a bowl he didn't like much with water and put it on the floor, which the kitten gladly lapped up. In all honesty, it was a very polite kitten. Still, Lewis didn't need a pet. Caring for it, worrying about it would be too much of a bother. Then it'll run away one day, just like all of them do, and Lewis would be in shambles.

"Alright, you... You have a night to leave," Lewis said, with the most serious tone he could manage, the same he applied to Kela's goats (the goats didn't care). He had to give it to the cat: at least this animal pretended that it was listening, and pretended well. It had huge curious eyes with not a thought behind them; still, very curious and very patient,

"Or else I'm bringing you to my brother, and he'll tell you that you sleep in the wrong pose and that's why your back's all sore. You better go, alright?" He lifted the kitten up and carefully placed it in front of the open door. After that, with a lightened heart and a speech-well-done, he went to sleep.

The next morning the cat was sitting in the same sink.

"Alright," Lewis said mostly to himself, and tried to clean himself up as quickly as possible. It was weekend, which meant more people could see him; but he really needed to get rid of the damned animal as quickly as possible. He couldn't keep a cat. Couldn't get used to it being here, looking at him with its bottomless eyes. In a fit of remorse, Lewis fed it another piece of dried meat. The thing purred and went to play with his curtains. 

Lewis got dressed, brushed his hair, scooped the cat up at headed off to the doctor's cottage.

On their way there, it turned out that the cat was slipperier than an eel. Lewis didn't know how to hold it, and the cat didn't know how to be held, so it always seemed to slide out of his hands and then sit on the ground with patiently waiting eyes, as if it was an angel just unceremoniously dropped on the ground, who couldn't wait to be picked up again. Then, the cycle repeated. Approaching the cottage, Lewis honestly started to feel gaslighted.

"Nat!", he knocked at the door with his foot, the arms still holding the slippery cat in its place, "Open up, you mole!" After testing the door with a hand, however, it was discovered that the door of the house was left unlocked.

Lewis felt very embarrassed. What kind of irresponsible person keeps their door open in a house full of weapons? Although Nathaniel didn't keep his scalpels on display, he had to store them somewhere, probably not very well-hidden. He could be attacked! What an idiot.

Both Lewis and the cat calmed down at the sign of Nat's brushed and combed home. Lewis placed the cat on the floor, and it immediately went to explore something. Lewis, honestly, was very tempted to follow its example - if he remembered correctly, it was the first time he would be in Nathaniel's house alone. And he knew he was alone: despite being a quiet soul, Nathaniel always seemed to create a bubble of sound surrounding himself, be it humming or rustling of the paper. But the house stayed quiet.

"Don't eat a scalpel," He told the cat and went to roam through his brother's stuff. 

The cottage seemed to have two bedrooms, which surprised Lewis: Nat seemed as alone as a wolf when he last checked. Of course, there were rumors of some sort of a romance between him and the Orchard boy, - Lewis saw them together on May Day, and he could confirm, the way they were looking at each other was very gross, - but from everything he heard, those relationships were very much in a blooming stage. Who could've occupied the spare bedroom, he wondered? A roommate?

A quick sleuthing showed that no one occupied it. It was mostly filled with boxes and out-of-season things that Nat wasn't using. Most of the boxes were labeled: some with singular words, some with sentences, some with a vague combination of both, reminding Lewis more of book titles than notes on boxes. Most of them were related to medicine, of course, or to the werewolf research; but there was one box, in the corner, labeled with his own name on it. Just his name, nothing else.

"Lewis".

Now that was curious. What could Nat possibly store in this box? A gift for his birthday? The notes on Lewis', - amazing, might you, - health condition? A revenge plan for that one time Lewis tried to flirt with Lorelai and got her pissed off? Lewis cocked his head, thoughts already roaming free, trying to come up with the best way to check what was in the box without leaving fingerprints on the layer of dust coating.
Leonard
Nathaniel, who to the world might seem a well-organized man, had run out of most of his breakfast foods a few days before and completely forgot to replenish his stocks. He'd been more than a little preoccupied with the happenings of the May full moon, he could still hear Jade's screams, how she had begged for death, and how Akira, Jackson, and himself had denied her. It had been the right call, but to hear someone cry out for mercy and continue the very act that is hurting them, it was never easy. He would never get used to hearing cries of pain, he knew that if he ever did, he would have lost himself completely. Somehow, he didn't feel exhausted, quite the opposite. He felt great, his energy levels had never been better, his body had rarely felt as comfortable and his mood was amazing. He hadn't doubted that, he was simply going to enjoy the good day and deal with the inevitable crash when it hit him. 

He carried a bag of groceries into his house, unaware that there were two uninvited guests present. The first of which made herself known by dashing out of the kitchen. A small white, orange and black shape suddenly shot across the floor of his living room, the sound of something sharp clicking on the wooden planks could be heard as the shape raced from the kitchen into the guest bedroom. Mere seconds later it zoomed out again, sprinting to the couch and coming to a halt as it crashed against the pillows. There was a cat, in his house, a cat that wasn't his. Why was there a cat in his house? It was cute, clearly a teen judging from its lanky legs. It had a mischievous look in its eyes, ears turned back as it crouched in the corner. It raised its behind, shook its tail a few times, and off it went again, speeding into the guest bedroom once more. Nathaniel chuckled and shook his head, following the little creature that had inexplicably appeared in his home. 
_ _

"Come now little one, this isn't your house, I'm sure your family misses you," He said, walking into the guest bedroom, which doubled as storage space for boxes of important documents and various other things that didn't have a permanent place yet. He froze in the doorframe.

Lewis was in his house. 


"Lewie? What are you doin' here?" The nickname was one that found its origin in their shared childhood. Lewis had since surpassed Nathaniel in length, but he would always remain his younger brother, no matter how tall or old he grew. Nathaniel would always have a drive to protect the twins. They didn't need it anymore of course, but such was the role of elder brother. He never mentioned those feelings to either twin, afraid that they didn't feel as much love towards him as he did to them. They were independent, they had their own careers, in a field he would rather not see them in, which only furthered the fear Nathaniel had. They were so different from one another. He saw a little too much of their parents in Lewis, so it would make sense that Lewis didn't feel a need for a strong relationship, and didn't feel the same warmth that Nathaniel did. He wished to share things, emotions, and fears, with Lewis, but neither of them had ever been taught how to do that properly. Talking about feelings was a waste of time, and Nathaniel had long since feared that he had ruined his chance at a close bond the moment he left the 16-year-old twins behind and fled to medical school.

The cat sprinted between Nathaniel's legs, back into the living room to continue its wild chase of unseen prey, the doctor was sure that the little animal thought itself a ferocious predator. 
_ _

"Is that bundle of energy yours or are the unannounced appearances of both of you, at the same time, somehow unrelated?" He smiled, he hardly minded Lewis swinging by. He noticed the box his brother was standing by, the one labeled with his name and his smile wavered. It contained all the letters that Lewis had ever sent Nathaniel while he was attending medical school and his residency. He had kept them all, sentimental as he was. Lewis wasn't supposed to see that box. Lewis didn't feel as close to Nathaniel as Nathaniel did to Lewis, that he knew, or feared at least. Would his brother think him weird, would he think it was shameful to hold onto those physical memories, would he think that Nathaniel was overly emotional just like their father did? Lewis wasn't supposed to see that box... He should have labeled it differently.

"What are you... What are you lookin' at over there?"
Veronica
Lewis wasn't quite surprised to hear the entrance door creek. His brother had a great intuition to interrupt the fun when it was just getting started, - he probably got it, as a package deal, with being the eldest sibling in the family. Lewis stood up immediately, still eyeing the obtrusive box. He had a bright idea to at least kick it a little, to see what kind of material's in there; but that was when the cat flew into the room he occupied. And after the cat followed his brother, with his stupid nickname, - throughout his relationships, Lewis has been called many obscene things, but "Lewie" Was the worst of them all. And then both Nat and the nickname got stuck in the doorway; with his endless worries, shaky breath, and hands that stopped shaking only when they had something sharp to hold. What was he worried about this time?

"Ouch. Hurt my ears," Lewis squinted involuntarily, "That nickname sucks, did I tell you? I'm sure I did. Well, welcome home regardless." He said it with little to no housewarming attitude, but that was Lewis for you. Something about the sheer presence of his brother brought out an annoyed teenager in him, "We've been waiting."

Of course, Nathaniel immediately had questions, formulated in the most complicated way possible. Why couldn't he just accept that there was a cat and a brother in his house? As if Lewis never visited him, or never been here before; and animals probably followed Nathaniel around from the sheer energy of the pallid sun on a cloudy day he exuded. But that was Nathaniel for you: always caring about something, always finding things to care about. Lewis was sure: even if his brother wasn't employed, he'd start walking around and patching up people on the streets. Not a second of rest with this guy.

"Relax," Lewis asked slowly and softly, with slight amusement in his voice, because his brother looked like he was about to start hyperventilating, "Breathe out. I didn't touch it, see?" He pointed to the box, evidently untouched, "It's closed." Of course, such a strong reaction couldn't lead to anything but more curiosity for Lewis. Still, with all his restraint, he changed the subject so his brother couldn't do the same in an attempt to avoid the answer.

"The cat's not mine." Lewis explained, "It just came into my house one day and didn't want to leave. I reckoned maybe you'll know about someone who had lost one recently." He listed the characteristic too, in case Nathaniel didn't have an opportunity to take a proper look at a red-white-black comet occupying his floor, "It's clean, certainly domestic. Ate from a bowl. You can pet it if you'd like, it's... Nice, honestly. It's a nice cat, man."

Now that he had provided the answer, it was up to his brother to provide something in return. Lewis clasped his hands together and smiled, his eyes lazy but stern, realizing that maybe, at that moment, he might slightly remind Nathaniel of their father, "What notes are you keeping on me? If you need to know if I'm a werewolf, I'm not. If I were, you'd be the first person I would tell, I promised. Then you could take all the blood you needed from me, for all the experiments your soul desires. And you're still suspecting me?"

||
Leonard
"Old habits die hard, I fear," He said, allowing a smile to take shape on his face. "As long as you keep takin' every opportunity to remind me of the fact that you're taller than me and have better hair, I am goin' to hold onto that nickname." The nickname allowed him to hold on to how they had been as children before they drifted apart. Before Nathaniel created that rift. _We've been waiting._ What, was Lewis his dad now, catching a now-made-teenager Nathaniel sneaking out of the house well beyond bedtime? Could a man not do groceries in peace anymore? He chuckled and shook his head. "Have you eaten yet?" He asked, ever the caretaker. It may or may not have been an attempt to get Lewis out of the guest bedroom and away from the box of letters, away from the boxed evidence of Nathaniel's soft and sentimental nature.

It made sense, Lewis didn't strike him as the type to adopt a cat and take it with him when trespassing onto his dear older brother's property. "I haven't heard about a missin' cat, but I could make some flyers," He suggested. "Hang them up on the town notice board, possibly at the hospital as well. People ask me to see their pets as well from time to time," He smiled, it had been an unexpected but very welcome bonus of being a small-town doctor. As if she knew they were talking about her, the cat trotted up to them, letting out a gentle meow and rubbing her head against Nathaniel's legs. He smiled and squatted down to pet her. She wasn't wearing a collar, but most barn cats didn't. The little creature started purring and Nathaniel's smile grew wider.
_ _

He looked up when Lewis returned the subject to the box. The smile vanished from his features. Of course Lewis brought it up, Nathaniel hadn't expected anything else. "Lewis..." He sighed in a soft apologetic tone, standing up again. Did he suspect his brother of being a werewolf? Of course not, he'd never mentioned being attacked, nor did his medical files mention anything that might indicate such an event happening. Nathaniel had no reason to suspect his brother of being infected with the illness. Above all, he wouldn't keep secret notes on his little brother, or anyone. Had he created the image that he would? That he didn't trust Lewis? That Nathaniel held the capacity to look at Lewis with an accusatory judgment? Had he truly pushed the younger Ashworth that far from him... 

"You were in the hospital with me during the full moon, I would know if you were infected," He pointed out but there was no snark in his words, he was avoiding the actual question. Just like he avoided their dad, who Lewis bore an eerie resemblance to at that moment. It was unsettling. "And I couldn't care less if you were, Lewie," He sighed. He'd be worried, _incredibly_ worried about his brother getting hurt. He never wanted to dig burning silver out of Lewis. He never wanted to learn how his little brother's ribs would feel when they cracked under Nathaniel's hands during chest compressions. He never wanted to discover how Lewis' voice sounded if he cried out in pain. _April's dead body, Akira's injuries, Jade's screams for death, Rhett's ripped open torso._ Lewis being listed amongst them was a fear like no other for Nathaniel. There were few things he feared more.

He pulled the box from the shelf. "I'm not keepin' notes _on_ you," He said, removing the lid and revealing the pile of letters. "I am keepin' notes _from_ you," He confessed and looked away, ready for Lewis to step further into the footsteps of Samuel Ashworth and react negatively.
Veronica
"Oh, you know," Lewis shrugged his shoulders, but deep down, of course, he was enjoying the banter. Nathaniel could be fun when he stopped shaking and started speaking like a normal person, "It's the genes. I won the lottery for the hair and the height, you won the family fortune of freckles and a ticket to pursue higher education. I'd say we're equal," He chuckled. Of course, it wasn't equal at all: Lewis wasn't missing the freckles much, and he probably would get thrown out of the university, his first year on campus, making it a total waste of money. But still, it was funny to imagine they were.

Flyers did sound good, and so did the meal – on weekends, thrown out of his routine, Lewis struggled to remember when he had eaten the last time, - but he was too eager to have a reply to his question, letting both of Nathaniel's ring unanswered. And, here it was. Lewis almost let Dad's signature "That's what I wanted to hear, thank you" Slip off his tongue. But that would let Nathaniel know he lied, wouldn't it? And that usually didn't make him very happy.

Lewis didn't lie to him intentionally: it was just that Nathaniel was too easy to *Get*. Give him a theory wild enough and he'll bring you the truth in a minute. And Lewis's theory didn't hold water: a lonely box, with only his name on it, outside of the database, just for werewolf purposes? Unspeakably insufficient categorization, so unlike his smart and rational brother. So of course, Nathaniel hurried up to convince Lewis it wasn't true – something that Lewis already knew full well. And of course, additional evidence was in order. When Nathaniel couldn't help but tell the truth, and Lewis couldn't help but lie, was it even a scheme at that point, or was it just a friendly family conversation?

Nathaniel opened the lid, and, instead of looking closer, Lewis took a step back and closed his eyes immediately, unintentionally, like he was a child playing hide and seek with an adult, believing he could disappear when he wanted. There were *Notes*. Fucking *Notes*. Lewis felt his whole soul cringe to the size of a raisin.

The notes always were his outlet for something softer, something gentler. Even when they were comedic, even when they were intentionally laughable, somehow, Lewis could control them less than his voice. He always came out softer in his letters, underbaked on one side; he was honestly really glad he had never gotten a written response. Notes were his way of speaking the things he struggled to say out loud. Moreso in the past - there were times when every conversation with Kela was a battle for him, Kela with his stupid "What do you feel" And "You'll feel better if you let yourself, I promise", and if you cannot say it – you write it down, so he wrote it down; and Kela, *Kela* Could have a box full of his "I don't know"S, but Nathaniel? When did he manage to write to Nat so much?

Anyways. Maybe Nat just didn't have a smaller box.

"Remove it, remove it forever, don't wanna talk about it. Let's go eat or something," His words were hurried, but his brain slowed down, almost like the river when there was suddenly a lot of ground under stopping its flow, which Lewis somehow just *Couldn't see*. Has he written to him that many times? Nathaniel barely moved here, when could this have happened? "Let's talk about the cat." He was walking out of the room as fast as possible, as if the box could disappear from his memory, and he could stop thinking about it so damn much,

"Like, what are we going to do if it's owners won't respond? For... Any reason. Maybe they didn't want it." He tried to sound nonchalant. There were two bigger, obvious reasons, but judging by the state of Nathaniel, any mention of those would lead to him breaking down. And speaking of his state...

"You need to eat too," Lewis added, turning back to him, "You keep zoning out. Your face has this... Scary lost look. Like you aren't here. Should put a bandage on this thing or something." He stood up for a second, eyes worried, "Are you ok?" He asked finally.

||
Leonard
It was true, Nathaniel had been the only one to pursue higher education. Had he robbed Lewis and Mabel of their chances to do so? Neither of them had mentioned having such aspirations, but then he wasn't so foolish to believe that the twins told him everything. Lewis' complete avoidance of his question regarding the consumption of any kind of meal that day was interpreted as a potential no, luckily Nathaniel had just restocked, so he could prepare food for the both of them. 

Nathaniel took Lewis' dismissal of the letters as confirmation of his fear: that Lewis did see it as useless sentimentality, that he should have thrown out their correspondence, that whatever relationship they'd upheld through those words was not worth the same to Lewis as it was to Nathaniel. He felt a knot tie itself in his stomach as he placed the box back on its shelf. Nathaniel had cut ties with their parents, he had no clue what his parents had told the twins about him in the years since. He swallowed down his sadness before following Lewis into the living room. The cat, **Right.** "I could _keep it_ maybe?" He suggested somewhat hesitantly. "It seems to enjoy my house," He said, pointing at the creature roaming around without much of a care at all, like it owned the place already. "I wouldn't mind keepin' the little speed demon around," He smiled.
_ _

_Are you okay?_ Was Nathaniel okay? Physically he'd never felt better. Mentally? Well, he couldn't keep his thoughts from wandering ever in the direction of one Mister Estep. The man was an incredibly (but welcome) distracting presence in his head. He hardly minded those thoughts. Quite the opposite actually. But there was the not so small issue of the screams of Jade Grant, the look on Akira and Jackson's faces, the sheer amount of blood that Mister Sterling had lost, all still racing through his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about it, he knew better, but that didn't stop him. "I uh," He began. "Physically I've never felt better, truth be told." And it was that fact that confused him. He knew he _shouldn't_ realistically feel as amazing as he was feeling. It didn't make sense. Had he not been a man of science, he may have ascribed it to magic. Then again, Briar Ridge did have werewolves and those were a scientific anomaly if ever he'd seen one. And he'd tended to multiple individuals infected with lycanthropy, they were very real people. Real people in need of help and community, and they were only receiving hate and exclusion.
_ _

"There's just a lot on my mind currently," He admitted. Lorelai knew some of it, he trusted her enough to tell her that he'd been helping out infected people in secret. No names were shared, of course, but she'd been more than understanding. There was the ever-present worry that people would find out why his degree wasn't proudly displayed, aggravated by the fact that he had yet to tell Ernest about that, which felt selfish, but he didn't want to lose whatever it was that they had started. And of course, the fear that his patients would get murdered for an illness they never chose to have, that people he cared deeply for would get infected and he'd be helpless to protect them. Helplessness ate away at a man, especially one whose job it was to help. He sighed. Lewis had looked worried, which was somewhat unexpected. "I've been secretly treatin' people who are infected with lycanthropy," He explained. "_Werewolves,_ as this town calls them. It's horrid, Lewie," He said. "Those silver bullets they've made, they _burn_ the people. Like shootin' ever-burnin' red-hot coal straight into a person. These people are afraid to seek medical care, they hide their injuries, only makin' things worse. Lewis, someone _begged_ me to let them die... And I refused." He hadn't told anyone about that, and saying it out loud made it feel all too real. 
_ _

"What sort of life is it when your own people are huntin' you? And this so-called Coalition won't listen to reason either. This town is goin' to kill itself and there is nothin' I can do but clean up after it." There was no preventative treatment to being shot in cold blood, just as there was no preventative treatment to being torn into by entirely unwilling teeth and claws. Nathaniel had felt torn up about it since he first got here. "Lewie I am scared that you're goin' to get hurt and I won't be fast enough to save you," He confessed. And there it was again, that side of Nathaniel who just wanted to shield his younger brother from all harm. Who, if given the chance, would gladly let himself get injured and hurt if it meant Lewis would be spared. He'd already abandoned Lewis once, he wasn't going to do it again.

Having Lewis at the hospital had been a blessing and a curse. Him being there meant that Nathaniel didn't have to worry about Lewis getting attacked and not making it to the hospital in time. But he never wanted Lewis to see what went on there in the aftermath of the full moons; the blood, the screams, the tears of people as they dragged their loved ones into the clinic. Nathaniel had learned to shut off his emotions in the heat of the moment, but they would all come rushing out eventually. "Medical school didn't prepare me for any of this," He laughed, but there was noticeably less humor in the sound than there normally was, it was a laugh of disbelief. This was an objectively insane situation to find oneself in.
Veronica
"Are you sure?" Lewis asked jokingly, "What if it eats a scalpel or something?" But, jokes aside, he would be glad if Nathaniel suddenly got himself a furry friend. His brother's loneliness worried Lewis: as far as he knew, Nat didn't have any friends outside of Lorelai. And bringing up his romantic life always led to Nat closing off completely, despite Lewis selflessly offering to set Nat up with someone. Nathaniel couldn't believe it when Lewis told him how many times his name was spoken around Briar Ridge with dreamy sighs and heart-eyes. Well, his loss.

At least, if the owners wouldn't come running, he would have a cat. And a great cat, too! With its persistence, - a quality Lewis had always respected, - and its mesmerizing eyes, the cat deserved to be entrusted with Nathaniel.

"Maybe you should try saying a bunch of names to see if she responds to one," He offered to Nat, "Then we can put a name in the notice."

Lewis squinted. Nat was helping werewolves "In secret"? He thought it was obvious to any person with eyes that he would treat the Devil himself if that guy came in and laid on the bed at the doctor's. Nathaniel's kindness truly knew no bounds. Life, for some reason, had never taught Nat to take precautions when it came to who he trusted, but Lewis hoped it would soon. And he hoped it wouldn't hurt Nat too much.

"I hope the werewolves are at last paying you well," Lewis remarked, "If someone from the Coalition finds out, your head will be on the cutting board. That responsibility is worth a generous tip".

Lewis listened to Nat spill his guts out in quiet, caring silence; listened to his breathing get jagged, his voice become more and more desperate. He understood where Nat came from; he still remembered the last full moon: the look on the poor soul's face that stumbled in that morning, bleeding, their body morphed horrifically, rapid decay spreading from their wounds. The way all the pleasant conversations got cut; the way Nat's face changed. But Lewis had a great ability of keeping the unwanted thoughts out of his mind in the long run; he could imagine, it would drive him insane if he were to relive that night over and over again. But for Nathaniel – how many of those nights he had? And how many times have they repeated themselves in his head, as horrifying as when they first happened?

He felt so sorry for his brother. He wished he could take this pain away from him, somehow, but was almost sure Nathaniel could take it as an insult. At times, his overconfidence could be infuriating; but, Lewis was sure, many people would say the same about his own behavior. Arrogance ran in Ashworth blood.

"I can't stomach blood, that's why I'm not a doctor." Lewis started carefully, hoping that maybe, if he wrapped it up real pretty, Nathaniel could listen to him, "If all of this is too much for you, which, I'm sure it would be for anyone, have you ever thought about moving out of Briar Ridge? Somewhere big and not as bloody, someone like... A dentist."

"I know you've always wanted to help people, Nat. I still remember how excited you were when I came to you and asked you to help with my knee. I scratched it when I fell, and it wouldn't stop bleeding, and I was so afraid I would die I stood there sobbing, trying to ask for your help." He smiled: it was a humiliating memory, nonetheless sweetened by the kindness with which Nathaniel treated his tiny wound and his silly fears, "I think it was before I got in first grade. We both have changed since then, but I know that deep down, you want to give the same comfort to those people that you gave to me. But are you sure you aren't helping them more than you are hurting yourself?"

"And I'll be fine!" Lewis said briskly, waving off Nathaniel's worries, "Four years in and still kicking; at this point, I think I'm just inedible for those creatures. Too much hair, too little fat. Or maybe I just smell too good to pass for a piece of stale meat, who knows."

||
Leonard
"Lewie, I don't just keep surgical tools layin' around my house, you do realize that right?" He asked, only partially joking. "Yes, I am sure," He affirmed. Having another living being running around the house would be good for him. The little ball of energy would undoubtedly end up forcing him to break away from his desk to feed her. He couldn't grow attached, not yet. Her owners might be looking for her and he wouldn't want to accidentally kidnap a beloved pet. Nathaniel laughed when Lewis suggested calling out random names and seeing if any of them were correct. "Feel free to run that little experiment," He joked. 

The werewolves were decidedly not paying him well. He hadn't even billed them for his help, not wanting there to be a traceable record. All his notes on the people were anonymous as well. They were kept at his place instead of at the hospital. "It doesn't feel right to make them pay," He said. Nathaniel hadn't considered that the Coalition would come after him for doing his job. They hadn't, so far. They had to know he was doing it, his notice was public and news traveled fast in Briar Ridge. He'd tried to remain somewhat neutral by not publically taking a strong stance. That particular ship would soon sail; an open letter addressed to the Coalition lay waiting in his desk drawer. Albeit signed by Nathaniel Ashworth, and not by Doctor Ashworth. "These people are sufferin' enough already, helpin' them for free is the least I can do," He insisted. "Besides, my notice was public, surely if this Coalition took issue with me, they would have let me know already. They can hardly tell me to stop doin' my job as their doctor. I treat everyone, and that includes those infected with lycanthropy, house calls are nothin' out of the ordinary." Forest calls most certainly were, but Lewis didn't need to know about those.
_ _

Lewis was telling him to leave. To run away from the very people who he had sworn to help. Briar Ridge's people had already been screwed over by an Ashworth before him, abandoned for money. No, he wasn't leaving, he was seeing this through. He wasn't weak, despite what people might think when they saw him, despite what his parents believed. _He wasn't weak!_ He didn't need protection. Nathaniel had already abandoned his siblings once, he wouldn't leave them again. "It's not too much for me Lewis, and I'm not abandonin' these people," He snapped and immediately regretted it. He wasn't mad at Lewis, he was mad at himself. He was frustrated that he couldn't figure out how to help the people who'd been infected. The cure relied on magic, he was told. Ernest might believe his hands were magic, but they were far from it. Nathaniel was powerless. He couldn't do anything beyond offering them aid after the full moons when the damage had already been done. 
_ _

"Sorry, I know you're just tryin' to help," He apologized. He sighed, a small smile forming on his face as Lewis recounted a shared childhood memory. The smile turned into a laugh as he remembered how Lewis had stood there, fully convinced he would meet his maker any moment. _But are you sure you aren't helping them more than you are hurting yourself?_ His smile faded again. Did it matter? So long as he was making a difference, he didn't care if he was harming himself. And he wasn't hurt nor was he harming himself; he wasn't injured, and he felt great! "Look at me Lewie, I'm fine! Worryin' just comes with the job," He maintained. "I don't see you quittin' your moonshinin' because it's illegal and undoubtedly stressful," He pointed out. "You're not gettin' rid of me that easily, I'm here to stay," He said, trying to sound like those words weren't covering up something beyond mere werewolf-induced worries. _I'm not leavin' you again._ 

He shook his head in disbelief at his brother's ability to make light of the situation. Had Nathaniel been someone else he might have pointed out that wolves preferred life meat, if anything his smell would have to resemble that of stale meat for it to deter them. But he wasn't someone else. "So long as you don't start believin' that you're immune to bein' attacked, I am fine with stickin' to that very unlikely hypothesis," He chuckled. "Just," He added in a more serious tone. "Be careful okay? I mean it, I would rather not have to patch you up." ~~Or worse...~~
_ _

"Do you still like your eggs soft-boiled?" He said, standing up, not wanting to linger too long on a subject he suspected would be deemed too emotional by his little brother. "Or are you back on your raw egg diet?" He joked. It was rare for him to tease people, but as an older brother, he just _had to_ occasionally. A teenaged Lewis had once decided that raw eggs would grant him the muscles he so desired. They hadn't, of course, but it was something that Nathaniel would never forget. _Raw eggs. Can you believe this kid?_