#gabe go in here

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

gabel

Just a little gabel. Morsel of Guy

[compulsivewriter]

Hot take: The way Jack Wolfe played Gabe Goodman, I tend to believe that had he survived infancy, he'd be the kind of big brother to Natalie that Connor Murphy never was to Zoe.

[lennonyoung]

Somehow in all my years on the Internet I never learned how to make GIFs, so enjoy these screenshots from Gabe Perreault’s Exit Interview

[gh0st-patr0l]

gabekidd011k ☠️ WAR DOGS FOREVER ☠️

[ofswordsandpens]

circular discourse, criticism being met with death threats... pjo fandom we're so back baby

[coqueverette]

happy pride month bambination!!!!!!! (ᴗ͈ ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

here are all my hcs for the characters because i got an anon ask about this (i pinkie promise to answer everything else in my inbox soon)

[penumbra-mayhem]

And All That Follows (ch. 2)

aka: Put Your Ear Up to My Wall, Mistake My Heart for A Drumbeat

David fights to keep everything quiet, Asher takes on a new role, and Milo finds Tank (for better or worse).

Ch. 1 // Ch. 3 // ao3 // 4.6k words

(TW: death, car accident, grief, implied/referenced self-harm, vomiting, gore/blood, violence)

EDIT: new title (formerly known as The Fall of an Alpha, but i hated that name so i chose a new one)

————————————————

Sept 3. 2017, 11:52 pm

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David’s phone started vibrating as soon as he pulled away from the morgue. He’d placed it in his backseat—a habit Gabe had instilled in him years ago so he’d never be tempted to text and drive.

He ignored the buzzing, willing the rain battering against his car to drown out the sound. It worked; his phone eventually went silent, and David’s full attention was brought back to the barely visible road he was traversing.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Another call. He contemplated pulling over, but Gabe’s voice hummed in his head: Patience. Not everything needs an answer right away. He decided against it. Whoever was calling would realize he wasn’t available and leave a message. 

The call ended.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

It started again. And again. And again. And again. As soon as a call ended, another began. He could feel them in his skull, like the buzzing was coming from his brain. Like his head was a freshly shaken wasp nest.

The wasps traveled down into his gut, twisting and tightening his intestines. They kept traveling, moving to his extremities. His hands went numb. Then his feet. He couldn’t feel the steering wheel. Or the gas pedal. Or the brakes. His vision began to tunnel.

No. He didn’t have time for this. He had a job to do. He needed to focus. He needed to get back to his apartment safely. He needed to get the key. He needed to go to his dad’s house. He needed to get into his study. He needed to throw up.

David found himself pulled off on the side of the road, doubled over in the rain, emptying his stomach into a bush. How embarrassing, throwing up like a little kid. That’s enough, he thought to himself, get it together. He stood up straight, but the movement was too quick and he found himself doubled over again.

Everything in him burned as it came up. It stung. 

Retreating back to his car, David quickly checked his phone. Missed calls, voice messages, and texts from various pack members flooded his screen. Someone must have found out what happened. None of them seemed urgent—nor from Asher or Milo—so he put his phone on ‘do not disturb’ and returned it to its place in the back seat.

When he sat down behind the wheel, the wasps were gone. David started the car again and continued back home.

————————————————

Asher cradled his phone, rocking gently in an effort to appease his bawling body. He told himself he had until Milo texted with an update. Then he would pull himself together. His abdomen ached as wave after wave of mourning slammed into him.

He mourned for Gabe. The officer had said he’d died at the scene, but had it been instant? Had he suffered? Did he know he was dying? Did he try to move his legs only to realize he was paralyzed from the waist down? The neck down? Did he frantically gasp for breath as his lungs slowly, agonizingly filled with blood? Had he tried desperately to pry his arm from where it was pinned to reach his phone and call his son just one more time?

He mourned for his pack. Gabe was the founder. They’d never been without him. Would they survive? Would they break into dissension? Crumble apart without leadership? Asher had heard of the devastation past packs had gone through following the death of an alpha or a founder. Gabe had been both. And the pack didn’t even know he was gone. David had said he’d tell them tomorrow at the meeting, but was that the best way?

He mourned for David. David, whose family was already so small. Who already struggled to feel and show his emotions. Asher had seen the initial impacts of this loss. Cold. Detached. Devoid. Would David recover? Was this a wound he could ever heal from? Was he in pain? Asher assumed so, but if David was, he hadn’t shown it. Was he putting on a front, a wall he wouldn’t let anyone see behind? Or was he numb? Was that worrying David? Did he feel guilty he wasn’t feeling anything for his dad’s dea—

buzz buzz

Asher jumped at the vibration in his hands. He rose from the floor and stumbled over to the couch, wiping his face with his shirt. Milo had texted:

At Tank’s place, door was left open

Asher’s stomach dropped. His fingers were a messy flurry as he texted back:

shit

txt updts

or call

davids not bakc

He waited for a reply.

————————————————

Milo pulled into the parking lot of Tank’s apartment complex. He’d past the site of Gabe’s crash on the way, scanning for a glimpse of Tank or their bike. Thankfully, he’d found neither.

But he saw Gabe’s car, and that alone almost sent him into a spiral. No wonder Tank had sounded so wrecked; the driver’s side had crumpled like paper.

As he raced through the parking lot, Milo caught a glimpse of Tank’s motorcycle parked in a large puddle to his right. He’d been right; they’d come back here. Thank god.

Once at the entrance to Tank’s building, he pressed the buzzer for their door and waited. Nothing. He pressed it again. When he was met with the same result, he started pressing every button, hoping someone would let him in. Eventually the door unlocked, and he pushed through.

Milo bounded up the stairwell to Tank’s apartment, slipping and catching himself several times on the rain-slick steps. His throat tightened when he turned a corner and spotted their door at the end of the hall, slightly ajar.

As he walked towards it, he texted Asher:

At Tank’s place, door was left open

After a few moments, his phone buzzed with a series of replies:

shit

txt updts

or call

davids not bakc

When he reached their door, Milo pushed it open further and crept into the apartment. The curtains were all drawn and the lights were off, but Milo could slightly make out a series of objects on the floor. He felt around for a switch and flicked on a light.

All the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen were open and empty, silverware and broken dishes littering the floor of Tank’s tiny studio. Milo could practically track Tank’s movements, following the dents along the wall where they had hurled each cup and plate and fork and knife.

Then his eyes landed on blood—a piece of broken glass on the floor, glistening crimson along its sharp edge. Milo trailed the fat red drops to the closed bathroom door. The sight and faint smell of Tank’s blood made his head spin.

“Tank?” he called out.

A smear of blood glinted on the door handle. He gave two soft knocks. “Tank, please,” he tried again, “I know you’re in there.”

A wretched voice answered from the other side of the door, “Go away.”

He ignored them and tried the handle, grimacing at the slick feeling of fresh blood on his hand. Luckily, they’d left it unlocked.

Pushing the door open, Milo peered inside the dark bathroom. Tank was a huddled mass in the corner of their shower, head buried in their arms.

“I said go away, Miles!” they shouted, raising their head just enough to glare at him over their arms, eyes glinting with fury.

Milo flinched but didn’t leave. Crouching down, he spoke in as calm of a tone as he could muster, “Where’re you hurt, Tank?”

“Get. Out.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Milo replied, “Can I turn on the light?”

“No,” they snapped.

“Okay." Milo took out his phone and turned on his flashlight instead. He tried to ignore the trail of blood leading to Tank as he opened up their mirror cabinet, then the one under their sink.

“What’re you doing?”

“Looking for your first aid kit.”

“I don’t have a first aid kit,” they sneered.

Milo shined his light at Tank, who shrunk against it, burying their head again in their arms. They were soaking wet from the rain and shaking terribly. He cast the light away from them.

“Just leave!” they moaned.

“No. You’re injured, and since you have nothing to treat it with, I’m taking you back to Ash and David’s,” he retorted.

A snarl gurgled up from deep in Tank’s chest as Milo approached.

“You can growl at me all you want, I don’t give a damn.”

The snarl grew louder the closer he got. But once he kneeled down in front of them, it began to change, breaking up and losing its bite.

“I know,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes as Tank began to cry, “I know, Tank.”

He placed a tentative hand on their arm. They trembled under his touch, but didn’t pull away. 

“Just come with me, please. You don’t have to talk about it. You can be as angry as you want. I don’t care. I just want to make sure you’re safe,” Milo said as he set his phone down, flashlight to the floor.

“I-I am,” they lied, their sobs warping their words. 

“You’re bleeding from somewhere, I saw the blood in the kitchen and in here. So no, you’re not,” Milo countered. 

“…it’s n-n-not b-bad,” Tank lied again. 

“Can I see?”

Tank hesitated, then raised their head. Milo couldn’t make much out. He flipped his phone around, so the light pointed up at the ceiling.

He choked down a gasp at the sight of Tank’s face. The gash just under their left eye was deep, blood still pumping out slowly, drenching their cheek and dripping down their neck. It was in their hair, on their clothes, on their hands.

“Not that bad, my ass,” Milo muttered, “Tank, this needs a healer.”

“No. No healers,” they choked out, tears leaving trails in their blood.

Milo knew accepting any sort of medical help was difficult for Tank. They never talked about it, but he assumed there was some sort of trauma or pride or fear stopping them. He was trying to be understanding, he really was, but it was all too much. It was late, he was spent, Tank was bleeding, and Gabe was dead.

“Fine,” Milo spat, “You either go back to Ash and David’s and let me sew it up, cause it’s going to need stitches, or I stay here and call a damn healer. Your fucking choice.”

That shut them up. Their sobs subsided and they glared with all the fury left in their trembling body before muttering, “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

————————————————

At the sound of the front door opening, Asher sprang up and raced to the hall. "Tank?"

David stood in the doorway, rainwater dripping like tears from his lashes. He looked as stoic as before, but now a sickly tinge covered his features. 

"David," Asher breathed, "Was it...was it him?"

"Yes," he muttered, walking inside and shutting the door, "What happened?"

"What d'you mean?"

"You thought I was Tank." David stopped in front of him. 

"I just uh...hoped..."

“What happened?” David repeated, his voice low and tense. He didn’t have the time nor energy for hesitation. His stare bored into Asher, demanding an answer.

"T-Tank saw Gabe's car," Asher spluttered. David's eyes widened. "They called Milo when they saw it. He had to tell them what happened, he—we couldn’t lie to them. Milo went to their place. He texted me when he got there but he hasn’t updated since.”

Of course. Of course they couldn’t have just waited to tell anyone until David got back. Or until tomorrow, like he told them. David pulled out his phone, turning off ‘do not disturb’. There were more missed calls and texts, but none from Milo or Tank. He pulled up Milo’s contact and called him. 

“Hello?” Milo’s voice oozed with trepidation. 

David’s was dry and sharp. “Is Tank ok?”

“…yes. We’re heading to my car now, we’ll meet you back at your place.”

“Are they hurt?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David started getting another call. He ignored it. 

“Um…” David could tell Milo was choosing his words carefully, but for David’s sake or Tank’s he didn’t know. “Yes, but it’ll be ok.”

David gripped his phone tighter, but kept his rising worry out of his tone. He needed to stay level, anything less would just be detrimental to everyone’s safety.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Take them to a healer.”

David heard Asher mutter ‘fuck’ behind him. There was a long pause on Milo’s end, filled only with the sound of rain and Milo’s breathing as he walked. 

“Milo.”

Finally, he replied, “We’ll be at your place soon.” And with that, Milo hung up.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

The buzzing in David’s head started again, echoing those from his phone. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket as he stormed past a bewildered Asher and into his bedroom. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“David? David, what did Milo say? Is Tank ok?” Asher called out as he followed, making the wasps in David’s head angrier. He watched David tear through the drawers of his desk, searching for what, Asher didn’t know. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Asher called his name several more times before David seemed to hear him. He whipped his head around.

“Is Tank hurt?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Yes,” David replied before continuing his search, “But Milo says it’s fine, so I’m hoping it’s not too bad. They won’t go to a healer, no surprise there, so they’re coming back here.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… 

“Who is calling you?”

David finally found what he was looking for; he pulled out the key and clipped it onto his key ring. “The pack. Someone must have found out. Maybe the wreck was on the news or someone saw it like Tank did. They’ve been calling since I left the morgue.”

David pushed past Asher again and started heading towards the front door. He fought back the wasps in his head. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… 

“Are you going to answer?” Asher asked as he followed. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“No.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Why not?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

He opened the front door. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “At the pack meeting.”

“David they can’t wait that long,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “They already know. Or they’ve at least heard rumors. You need to talk to them.”

“Well, I don’t have the time!” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “I’ve got to get to my dad’s house and figure all this shit out,” David growled. The wasps were winning; he was starting to lose focus. He turned to leave. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Then let me do it.”

David paused. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“What?” he asked over his shoulder. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Asher’s voice took on an edge David had never heard from him before, “Let me go with you and answer the calls,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…“I’ll still be near, so you can get to your phone if you need to. But this way, you won’t be distracted, and the pack won’t be left in the dark all night.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David wanted to say no. Having Asher near right now felt like a liability. But he was right. buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…The pack already knew, and keeping them in the dark was only going to incite panic. That and David needed the buzzing to stop, both from his phone and his head. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David unlocked his phone and handed it to Asher. 

————————————————

“Hey, can you see who just texted me?” Milo asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. 

Tank wiped their hands as well as they could on their jeans before picking up Milo’s phone. 

goin w david 2 gabes

key undr mat

b back l8r

“It’s Ash,” they reported, “He’s going to Gabe’s place with David? He said the key is under the mat and they’ll be back later.”

“Why’re they—nevermind. Can you text him back and let him know we’re almost to his place and also ask if David has a suturing kit? Password’s 0209.”

Almost to ur place, u got a suture kit?

tank???

The one and only, how’d u know?

u txt dif

y do u hav milos phone

He’s driving

oh rite

r u ok

Im fine, suture kit?

david says in bthrm

Gotcha

y do u need it

Dont worry bout it

————————————————

“…yeah Kelsey, it’s true…I know…we don’t know that yet…yes, tomorrow morning at 11…okay…hey, you text me if you need anything…okay…okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, try and get some rest…I will…bye K.” 

Asher ended the call and trotted after David, who was already unlocking Gabe’s front door. He rubbed his eyes in the brief moment of silence before David’s phone started buzzing again. 

“Hey, Mika…yeah, it was a car crash…”

David was stuck in the doorway. The foyer loomed before him, both nauseatingly familiar and eerily alien. His childhood home was now as much a husk as his father was. It made the wasps in David’s stomach writhe. 

Asher was staring at him, David could feel it. So, he took a step inside. Then another. And another. It almost felt like trespassing. 

There was a David who used to live here. Who at seven years old had learned the virtue of honesty when he admitted to breaking the kitchen window. Whose first loose tooth was yanked out by a string attached to the front door. Who used to visit every week after he moved out. Who mended the roof and repainted the baseboards. Who spent countless hours listening to his father’s stories by the fireplace.  

That was not this David, the David treading across the floorboards like a thief. 

He reached his father’s study and unlocked it with the key he’d retrieved earlier. Asher ended his call and said, “I’ll be in the living room. Let me know if you need anything.”

David nodded and walked into the study, closing the door behind him. 

It smelled like him: rosemary, leather, and something distinctly Gabe. The scent should’ve been comforting, but it just stirred the wasps up, making him lightheaded as they whirled.

David switched on the desk lamp. Everything was just as he remembered:

Books lined the walls, organized alphabetically by last name. Stacks of paper sat neatly on the outskirts of the desk’s surface, leaving the middle open for work. A lumpy mug David had made in high school held a collection of pens and pencils. 

David walked around the desk. Three picture frames adorned the polished oak. The first held a pack photo from the previous year’s Solstice. The second held a candid of David’s mother, sticking her tongue out at the camera as she ran through a yard sprinkler. The third held a picture of Gabe and David on their most recent camping trip, their faces wild and beaming. 

On the back of Gabe’s chair hung his jacket. David felt the black leather—soft with use and dedicated upkeep. 

The wasps were stinging his eyes; David pressed his fingers into them, seeing sparks as he crushed the bugs behind his eyelids. He collapsed into the seat and focused on his breathing, forcing the wasps in his chest to move in an orderly fashion. Not here. Not yet. He had a job to do. 

David opened the largest drawer of the desk and began to gather what he needed. 

————————————————

"Shit, Tank, this looks really bad.”

Milo sat back on his heels; the cold of the tile seeped through his pants and into his skin. Tank stayed still in their position on the bathroom floor as Milo leaned in again, holding the needle tight in his hand.

After a moment, he leaned back again, exclaiming, "Fuck, I don't know how to sew stitches! I mean, my mom taught me to sew but skin is so fucking different than fabric. It moves and bleeds and-and, for fuck's sake, it's your face, can we please get a healer?"

Tank scowled but didn't reply, biting the inside of their cheek to keep from snapping.

"Alright, fine. Okay. But I'm gonna have to go slow. I don't know what I'm doing and, again, this is your face," Milo warned them.

"Just let me do it, then," Tank muttered. 

He dismissed the offer, "No, you've got your shaky hand."

"I can use the other."

"No, cause that's not your dominant hand. You've got to do this with your dominant hand, and that's your shaky hand. You're gonna scar real bad if you—”

"I don't care about scars."

"You'll care about this one."

"I have other scars on my face, I really don't care."

"You'll care about this one."

Tank looked away, the weight of the night and how they got there in the first place pulling them back down into silence. Seeing he’d won, for now, Milo breathed deep and tilted Tank’s head up slightly with one hand. He held the needle close to their cheek, whispering, "Okay. I'm gonna start."

Tank winced as the needle pierced their skin, and Milo almost called the whole thing off. But he kept going, and they quickly stopped wincing.

Milo was laser focused, doing his best to keep the stitches small and tidy. But when he was about halfway done, a tear rolled down into the gash, stirring Milo from his concentrated state. He used a gentle thumb to brush away the tears on Tank's cheeks.

"I'm not crying cause it hurts," Tank whispered, "It doesn't hurt."

"I know," Milo murmured, "...almost done."

Despite the circumstances, a sort of morbid satisfaction stirred in Milo at the sight of the bloody rift closing under his hand. It felt good, felt right, to be pulling something back together when everything was falling apart. 

When he finished the last stitch, Milo placed a large bandaid over the gash. Tank stared down at their hands while Milo put away the suturing kit. 

As he began scrubbing the dried blood off his hands in the sink, Tank explained:

“I didn’t mean to do this, you know.”

Milo stayed quiet, giving Tank the space to talk more if they wanted. But the silence just made them feel more pressured to defend themself.

“Well, I did mean to throw that glass, I just, I didn’t mean for it to throw itself back at me,” they clarified.”

“Okay,” Milo said. His tone came out of his mouth light, but fell heavy on Tank’s ears. 

“I wasn’t trying to draw attention to myself,” Tank asserted, their anxiety rising.

“Okay,” Milo repeated. The discussion didn’t need to go any further. He didn’t even know why it was happening in the first place. 

Tank blinked tears from their eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t purposely pull everyone’s attention from Gabe.”

Milo turned around and leaned against the sink, trying to defuse them, “I believe you, Tank. I know you. You would’ve let yourself bleed out in that shower before ever coming to me or anyone else for help. Especially tonight.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Of course it’s a bad thing, Tank!” Milo threw his hands up, gripping tightly onto his braids.

“How is that a bad thing?!?”

“Because you can’t—I just—ugh, I can’t have this conversation right now. I need…I don’t know what I need, but it’s not any more of this,” Milo shot. 

Tank’s face twitched from the blow. They staggered to their feet. “Fine. Then I’ll leave.”

“What? Tank, no—”

“You stitched me up. Thanks. Now I’m leaving.” They threw open the bathroom door. 

Milo followed them down the hall, grumbling, “Tank, you don’t even have a ride.”

“I’ll walk.”

He rolled his eyes. They were being ridiculous.  “That’ll take you forever, especially in this weather.”

Tank whipped around, hissing, “I don’t give a fuck. You don’t need me here, you said it yourself.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Well it sure did fucking sound like it.”

They stormed towards the door, but Milo slipped in front of them and blocked their path. 

“I just meant I don’t need to talk about that anymore!” he exclaimed, gesturing to Tank’s cheek, “We can talk about Gabe. We can talk about how we feel. We can talk about the future and the pack and what this all means going forward. Or we could not talk at all! But I don’t want to talk about shit that’s already happened. I don’t want to talk about shit that didn’t even happen in the first place. That’s not productive.”

“I don’t care about being productive,” they spat. 

“But you care about David, right? If you won’t stay for yourself or for me, stay for him.”

“He’s not even here.”

“But he’ll be back. And you know how he gets; he’s going to need us.”

“He doesn’t need me.”

“Yes, he does,” he groaned. 

Milo’s phone began to vibrate. 

Tank cried out, “No, he doesn’t! He doesn’t need my mess on top of everything else going on.”

As Milo dug his phone out of his pocket, Tank shoved past him and raced out the front door. 

Milo’s heart stuttered at the name on his screen. He rushed to the open door, yelling into the storm, “Tank, stop! Tank, please come back! Tank!”

Tears welling in his eyes, he leaned his weight against the door frame and answered the call. 

“Mom?….yeah, it’s true. Gabe’s dead.”

Wails erupted through his phone, scraping Milo hollow. 

————————————————

David found everything in under ten minutes—unsurprisingly, given how organized Gabe was and how pressed David was to leave. 

When he’d gathered the last of what he needed, he locked the study and walked into the living room. Asher was pacing, on another call of what seemed an endless barrage. He glanced at David and was summoned by a jerk of the latter’s head. 

The two left the house and drove back home, Asher answering calls and texts the whole way back. When they reentered their apartment, they heard Milo’s voice trickling down the hallway:

“Yeah, I know…no, but I’m sure we’ll find out more tomorrow…Oh, David and Ash are back. I’m gonna talk to them and then head over…no the rain has died down, I’ll be fine…yeah…okay, I will, I promise…okay, see you soon…I love you too, ma.”

He looked up at David and Asher. 

“Is Tank okay?” Asher asked. 

“Huh?” Milo replied in a daze. 

“They had to get stitches?”

“Oh right…um, yeah they fell on their way to their apartment after they saw the crash. The rain made their stairwell slippery and they busted their face open. But I stitched them up, best I could,” Milo lied. 

Asher nodded before getting another call. He answered, walking away into the kitchen. 

“Where are they now?” David asked, clutching a  handful of manila folders, a briefcase, and a familiar jacket. 

“They uh,” Milo looked away, “They left.”

The buzzing picked back up in David’s head. “Left?”

“…we got into a fight.”

David breathed out slowly, muttering under his breath, “Tank.”

“No, no, it’s my fault! I was distracted, I wasn’t careful with my words, I wasn’t listening to them. They left, I don’t know where, and I was gonna chase after them but then my mom called and…” Milo wiped the back of his hand across his face. 

The sight of Milo’s tear-streaked cheeks turned the hum in David’s head into a cacophony. 

“I think I’m gonna stay at hers tonight,” Milo croaked as he gathered his things, “She’s really upset.”

“Of course,” David replied, internally cursing that he couldn’t bring himself to say more. 

“I um, I’ll be at the meeting tomorrow. I’ll text Ash for the details,” Milo babbled. He stopped by the front door. “David. If you need anything, you text me. Or call me. You hear?”

“I hear,” David lied, the buzzing in his head drowning everything out.

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Wear Headphones :]

Transcript:

Mmh- I... Oh wow. Ahgh! Mmph! I'm gonna GET SILLY. ALL OVER.

Ah-ghg. *exhale* Fuh-fuck. Heh-heh... I got too silly.

End Transcription

*coughs* this was actually going to be a comic but I Don't Have Time For All That. So if you want to see the incomprehensible version its below *coughs*

And heres v1 staring at fuckin nothin if you want it for some reason??

Since this is a lot of clips here is the audio source dumping ground (not in order)

Clip 1

Clip 2

Clip 3

[thatsit-thatsthepost]

hmm. in light of NtN being popular again I have decided to get back on my transfem Natalie Goodman bullshit 💜

[basil-the-scorned]

[righteous-r0de0]

and what if they visit gabe’s grave before the wedding? i know it’s “just a cement block in a field of cement blocks” but what if?

and also what if they have an outdoor wedding, something with plenty of foliage coverage for their vampiric friends…

perhaps…the campground?

hmmm???

[daily-gabriel]

Day 141: good lord this blog ain't even daily rn

[haxxydraws]

clay + abi

gabe outfits

[penumbra-mayhem]

And All That Follows (ch. 3)

aka: Silence Slips From My Tongue, It’s the Only Thing I Can’t Hold In

Emergency pack meeting and Gabe’s funeral

Ch. 2 // ao3 // 3.9k words

(TW: grief, funeral, vomiting, mentions of car accident and drunk driving)

——————————————

Sept 4. 2017, 10:01 am

The pack den had been nothing special when Gabe first began renting it. Just a vacant floor of a small, rundown office building. There were only two offices in use—one for himself and eventually one for David—to manage Shaw Pack and Shaw Security business.

The rest of the space had been cleared of all desks and cubicle walls and ergonomic chairs; they’d been replaced by a clunky circle of assorted couches, ottomans, plush recliners, and beanbags. The gray, compacted carpet was smothered in various rugs, and a scattering of vintage lamps replaced the harsh overhead fluorescents. Gabe had also expanded and refurbished the tiny kitchen, recognizing how important communal eating was for pack bonding and cohesion.

Since he was a kid, the den had been David’s favorite place in the world, where he felt most loved and safe. For years, it was filled every other week with the warm rumble of his father’s voice. David always sat at full attention, taking in every word, every gesture. He’d then go home and emulate Gabe in the bathroom mirror, imagining the day he’d command that room with the same grace and power and love.

He had never hoped nor dreamed that that day would come so soon. But now it had, and David felt woefully unprepared.

The pack had just had a meeting the evening before. Nothing had changed, everything was just as it had been left and yet already the den felt different…colder. David picked his way through the space, switching on each light in the hope that the glow would bring some semblance of comfort. It didn’t.

Looming near the final beaded lamp was Gabe’s seat—an understated pinewood chair with suede maroon cushions and brass rivets. David avoided going near it for as long as he could, but eventually he ran out of lamps.

The closer he got, the further away the chair seemed. David grew frustrated as his heart began to race. It was just a chair. Sweat pooled in the crevices of his palms. It was just a fucking chair. His chest became unbearably tight. Just turn on the damn lamp. And the wasps. The wasps were thrashing in his stomach.

David barely made it to a toilet before he was heaving. Between the night before and the lack of any meal since then, it was a wonder he had anything left to throw up. His body shuddered as it tried to expel every frantic bug from his stomach.

Eventually they were gone, but then everything ached. His vision was swimming. His whole body was shaking. How the hell could he lead this meeting when he could barely even stand?

Somehow, David got himself into the kitchen. He filled a glass full of water and downed it, then filled and drank another. He knew he needed to eat. He knew it, but even the thought of food brought him close to throwing up again.

The den pantry was always stocked, Gabe had made sure of that. David grabbed the easiest food to digest—a pack of saltine crackers—and gave himself the goal of eating five. He managed three.

He was interrupted from his session of glowering at his fourth cracker by the sound of the den door opening. Staggering to his feet, he left the kitchen and watched as a tower of pink confectionery boxes shuffled into the room.

“Ash?” he croaked. Fuck, his voice sounded wrecked.

“Hey, David,” Asher called from behind the boxes. David rushed over and grabbed a few, revealing his friend’s face—smiling despite his evident exhaustion.

“What’s all this for?” David asked as he followed Asher into the kitchen.

“We always have food at meetings,” he explained, “I figured nobody would really feel like cooking, so I went to Roedersheimer’s before I got here.”

David gawked at the heaps of baked goods now spread out on every surface in the kitchen. He felt sick and couldn’t quite tell if it was from the guilt of Asher doing his job for him or the overwhelming sugary scent flooding the space.

“Thank you, Ash,” he choked out, “I’ll pay you b—”

“I’ve got you, David. You and the pack,” Asher insisted, a gentle hand on David’s shoulder.

David nodded. Speechless, he left the kitchen and wound his way to his office. It was a little thing, sparsely decorated and organized for maximum efficiency. Collapsing in his rolling chair with a groan, David checked his watch:

10:14 am

The usual early arrivers would be there soon.

He’d led a few pack meetings before, when Gabe had been ill or caught up in something he couldn’t get out of. But those had been different. Those hadn’t mattered. Not like this at least. What David said, what he did, would directly affect the future of the pack. He needed to appear strong. They needed an Alpha. They needed Gabe. David was neither. He had no idea how to be an Alpha, and he certainly didn’t know how to be his father. He’d only been Beta for two years. And that was a completely different role, with different expectations and responsibilities. How the hell could he—

His spiral was interrupted by a small knock. Looking up, he saw Asher leaning in the doorway of his office, holding a donut and a scone: maple-almond, David’s favorite.

Whenever Gabe and David had a particularly early gig or meeting, the former would always stop by Roedersheimer’s beforehand and buy a chocolate croissant and a maple-almond scone. David would always protest the treat at first, declaring it was too early for something so sweet. But in the end, he could never resist.

“I can’t,” David admitted weakly as Asher walked in and placed the scone on his desk, “I-I don’t have the stomach for it.”

“You’ve gotta eat,” Asher countered softly. He sat in the chair opposite David and took a small bite of the oreo-pistachio-cinnamon monstrosity he called a donut.

David’s stomach twisted. His eyes darted between the scone and Asher and the wastebasket in the corner. He clenched his jaw; Asher was right. David reached out a hand, grimacing at how hard it shook, and grabbed the scone.

It tasted like the sun rising.

The wasps were confused, stirring up at the food, calming in Asher’s presence. But despite the unsettled feeling in his gut, David kept eating. He had a job to do, and this was part of it.

Asher eyed him over his donut, a small smile on his face.

——————————————

Sept 4. 2017, 10:58 am

People were still filing in. David stood near the door and addressed them as they entered, just as Gabe used to do. He was surprised by how many people had been able to come on such short notice; nearly the whole pack was present. Even Tank, who slipped in quietly and hid in their usual corner, hoodie drawn over their face.

They’d hoped no one had noticed them, but David had. He saw them and the large bandage covering their cheekbone. He breathed deeply against the worried sting that sight brought.

At 11 am, David moved to his usual low-backed chair beside Gabe’s seat and sat down. Everyone looked at him. In that moment, he was certain his tan skin had suddenly turned clear and everyone could see what a wreck he was inside.

When David spoke, he put as much strength as he could behind his words, “I understand that an emergency meeting can be quite disruptive to your lives, especially on a Monday, so I’m appreciative of everyone being here today. As I believe you all know by this point, last night my father was killed in a car accident. He was struck by a drunk driver. Although I have not received a full autopsy report yet, I have been informed that after an initial assessment it appears he died instantly. I say this to hopefully provide some relief and assurance that he did not suffer; he may not have even known the car was coming.”

The new information on how Gabe had died coursed through the pack. Some looked relieved, others enraged. Murmurs rose around the circle, allowing David to take a deep breath before continuing, “I spoke with a funeral home this morning. I’ve arranged for the service to be held this Thursday. You will all be sent the information for that day as soon as I’ve finalized the arrangements, which should be later today or tomorrow. I promise you all, this does not mean the end of our pack. Although his death was unanticipated by us, it was not by Gabe. He had planned extensively for any situation in which he could no longer serve as our Alpha.”

“Are you gonna be Alpha now?”

All heads turned to eight-year-old Jamal as his mother shushed him. She apologized, “I’m sorry David, he doesn’t understand.”

David could have thrown up on the spot. His insides burned, his mind recoiling at the thought of anyone replacing his father. It didn’t matter if the kid didn’t know any better. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand. Nobody understoo—

“It’s alright, Leila,” David assured her, his tone calm despite the swarm in his brain. He dropped his gaze, breathing slowly. They had to choose a replacement. They had to. Too much time without a leader, and the pack could come undone.

“We will vote after the service, during our next scheduled pack meeting,” he declared.

“That’s in two weeks,” Christian immediately protested, “We can’t wait that long. We should just do it now.”

A faint snarl reverberated from the back of the room. All eyes locked onto Tank.

“Do it now?” they hissed, voice acrid with repugnance, “Gabe’s body isn’t even in the fucking ground yet.”

“Tank,” David interjected. It was less a condemnation and more a tranquilizer, his tone clear and commanding. Tank huffed but settled back down, lowering their head once more. Everyone’s attention returned to David.

“You all know that choosing a new Alpha is a serious undertaking. I do not want anyone to feel pressured or rushed in this decision. I am still pack Beta until another is chosen. I will handle all legal, technical, and leadership matters until our next meeting. Then, we will vote,” David decreed. When no one objected, he continued:

“In the meantime, if anyone has any need for counseling, I am in contact with a local therapist. I will send you all their information and can assist with setting up meetings. I’ll now open the floor if anyone else would like to say anything or has any questions.”

Silence.

David should have expected so. He was in a room full of people in states of shock and disbelief, neither of which typically inspire much conversation. He was at a loss, though. He’d done what he was supposed to, what he’d planned, but now what?

David glanced at Asher, who gestured with his eyes to the kitchen.

“Alright,” David concluded, “As usual, there’s food in the kitchen, gluten-free and dairy-free on the round table. Please eat, stay as long as you need. If any of you would like to speak with me individually, I’ll be here for the next half-hour. Meeting adjourned.”

——————————————

Sept 4. 2017, 11:45 am

Seeing that nearly everyone had trickled out, David got ready to leave. The day ahead was completely full, and he’d already had to stay at the den longer than he’d anticipated. As David stuffed his belongings into his shoulder bag, a voice reached out from behind him:

“David.”

“Not now, Tank,” he muttered over his shoulder.

They bristled, “You said if we wanted to talk to you, we fucking could.”

Dammit.

Tank tested David more than anyone else did. But they were right, he had said that. And as much as he was their friend, he was also their Beta. He was responsible for them, just as he was for everyone else. Sometimes even more so, much to his frustration.

He took a breath to placate himself before turning around and asking, “What is it?”

They faltered, David’s composure an unexpected response. Their verdant eyes locked onto their boots as they mumbled, “I’m sorry if I got blood on anything at your place last night.”

Of course. It wasn’t anything important, just another waste of David’s time. Why couldn’t they understand that he was monumentally busy?

“I don’t care about blood, Tank,” he grumbled, grabbing his bag and charging towards the door.

“Is there anything I can do? To help?” Tank blurted out, “Please, David, I-I wanna help.”

David’s breath caught in his throat. What was it? The way they were standing? The way they looked at him? The way they said his name? It was so subtle, he couldn’t tell, but something about Tank in that moment reminded him of Gabe. And that brief resurrection of his father stung in a way he didn’t know how to respond to. So he did the only thing he could and walked out without a word.

He heard Asher call out after him as he left. David knew he should turn around and apologize. He knew he was being unfair.

But he also knew that if he tried to speak, there was no telling what would come out of his mouth. Maybe he’d apologize. Maybe he’d cry or scream or throw up. Or maybe he’d hurt Tank, kick them while they were already down. That final possibility scared him more than anything else. It was something he couldn’t risk.

Tank was left frozen, unshed tears turning everything into a haze. “See, I told you,” they whispered, “He doesn’t need my mess.”

Milo opened his mouth to speak, but Asher beat him to the punch:

“No, hey, that’s not it. David just…he doesn’t know what he needs. He doesn’t know how we can help. And he doesn’t know how to say that. So, we just need to figure out what we can do and just do it. Okay?”

“...okay,” they mumbled, unconvinced.

“How’s your cheek holding up?” Asher asked, “That fall must’ve been nasty to need stitches.”

Tank’s eyes flit to Milo. Before he could explain, they replied, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Good. I told David I’d pack up the food, so if you want something, come grab it quick,” Asher said before heading to the kitchen.

When he was out of earshot, Tank whispered to Milo, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he whispered back, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

——————————————

Sept 7. 2017, 7:33 pm

Gabe was buried near the ocean, at a large cemetery with towering redwoods, lush ferns, and beds of pine needles and clover. The site reminded David of camping trips.

Following shifter funeral traditions, David had prepared a large feast for the end of the service, the smell of which wafted through the trees with the remaining hints of sunlight.

It is custom for shifter funerals to take place at sunset. The transition from day into night is chosen as an acknowledgment of both the individual’s passing from life to death and also their nature as a shifter—a being whose core is continually in flux and whose body flows between two forms.

Having a funeral on the edge of daylight also allows for vampires to be in attendance, which was important at Gabe’s funeral; there were quite a few he’d befriended over the years. The size of the crowd and the magnitude of Gabe’s impact was staggering. It felt like all of Dahlia was gathered around the open grave. Even the officiant, a sonal energetic named Sunyi, had known him.

She greeted each party as they joined the group. David stood at her side, enduring the inundation of tearful condolences with a stoic face and numb gratitude.

Frank and Deborah Talbot were some of the last arrivals, having just flown in earlier that afternoon. They were accompanied by their daughter Madelyn and her husband. Each embraced David, commending him for the service, the location, the music, the food.

David was clinging to his composure like a lifebuoy. His body was stiff, his words brief and stilted. He felt so ashamed of his behavior, acting so standoffish to the people who were the closest thing he had left to family.

He watched as Frank walked over to his son and crumbled into his arms, tear tracks glistening on his dark brown skin. Asher held him tightly, sending his mother a tender smile over Frank’s shoulder. She smiled back until it broke and she hid her paling face as it flooded with tears. Madelyn rushed from her husband’s side and embraced her mother.

Milo broke away from the crowd, his mother on his arm, and greeted them. Colm stood at a slight distance, reserved and quiet.

“Maribel,” Frank croaked, reaching for Marie. She embraced him, equally grief-stricken.

As the rest of the mourners found their place around the grave, Tank nestled themself into the back of the group, determined to not draw attention to themself. This wasn’t about them or their feelings or their stupid bandaged face. It was about Gabe.

Once everyone had gathered, Sunyi spoke, amplifying her mellow voice so everyone could hear:

“Alpha Gabriel Elias Shaw was better known as Gabe by everyone in his life. Although he was highly accomplished and deserving of every title awarded to him, he rarely used them. He once told me that he’d rather gain respect through his actions than through his name. And he did just that. Gabe was a man who led by example. He worked tirelessly to build his pack and his greater community. Fiercely protective, deeply empathetic, innately curious, Gabe was a man who sought to understand and support everyone he encountered. He was never quick to judge, though his morals were resolute and guided him always towards justice and peace. Believing in the power of words, Gabe rarely had to show how formidable his wolf could be. He was a man with a deep well of patience, kindness, and wisdom.

Gabe took on many forms beyond just human and wolf. He was one of the founders and Alpha of the Shaw Pack, which under his leadership has grown to be one of the most prominent wolf packs in the region. He was a man of service, devoting his free time to volunteering at the Dahlia branch of the Haven for Empowered Domestic Abuse Survivors. He was a passionate guitarist, as well as a talented and renowned, albeit sometimes experimental, chef.”

Faint laughter traveled through the group as people recalled the many unusual (and occasionally downright inedible) meals that Gabe had concocted when he’d been feeling culinarily adventurous.

Sunyi continued, “Gabe was a loving husband to his late mate, Amelia, and a dedicated father to his son, David. He was a dear friend and ally, which is evident by the sheer number of people in attendance here this evening. Gabe’s family and I extend our gratitude to you all. Thank you for gathering and honoring Gabe with your presence, your words, your silence, your mourning, and your celebration. I now invite anyone forward who would like to share any memories or thoughts about Gabe. With your permission, I will amplify your voice so everyone may hear.”

David could feel every gaze shift to him. He should speak. He was expected to speak. He was the Beta. He was the son. His hand clamped around his speech in his pocket, crumpling the paper.

He couldn’t do it. The buzzing in his head was so loud it paralyzed him. Everything he’d prepared to say felt meaningless. How could he possibly put to words what his father had meant to him? His father who was like the Sun, holding everyone together, lighting the way, providing warmth and life to everyone in his presence. David’s feeble attempt to speak would just disgrace Gabe and his memory.

Suddenly, he heard someone else speaking. David realized Asher had begun to share a familiar, endearing tale involving Gabe falling out of a pickup truck. Everyone knew the story; it was one Gabe told all the time. Despite this, the crowd erupted in bittersweet giggles, like it was the first time they’d heard it.

David wanted to crawl into the grave with Gabe and smother himself in soil.

And, in a sense, he did.

The rest of the funeral was a blur to David as he lost himself to the buzzing, to concentrating on not crying and not throwing up.

David didn’t hear Frank Talbot’s words—watery and hushed, despite Sunyi’s amplification:

“Gabe founded the Shaw Pack because he believed in the strength of community and the necessity for shifters to have a pack. He always said that a pack is more than just a bunch of wolves. It’s a family. It’s where you turn to for everything, the good, the bad, the ugly. The Shaw Pack extends beyond just Dahlia; it has members across the country. Gabe weaved people together with bonds so strong that neither distance n-…sorry…that neither distance nor death can break them. That was the beautiful thing about him. He brought people together. He made us feel less alone, and in that he dispelled our fear, eased our pain, and emboldened us to be our truest selves. I will…sorry…I w-will miss him d-dearly…”

David didn’t hear when Marie spoke, her prepared eulogy trembling in her hands:

“The author bell hooks once wrote: ‘Our mourning, our letting ourselves grieve over the loss of loved ones is an expression of our commitment, a form of communication and communion.’

She reminds us that grief ties us to those we have lost. Death causes the transformation of a relationship, not the loss of one. Gabe’s death does not take away that connection each of us has with him. Gabe remains a leader, a friend, a father, a husband, a kind and caring man. We will continue to look to him for guidance and strength. His memory will echo in our minds, as his presence and his actions will continue to ripple through the world for years to come.

bell hooks also reminds us that grief is to be experienced openly and in community. When we grieve together, we ease the burden. We strengthen our relationships in communal commiseration. We find Gabe in each other, through our stories of him, through our longing and our remembrance. To hide our grief is to hide our love for Gabe, to hide how deeply he affected our lives. When we share our grief, we affirm the positive impact he made; we keep Gabe’s spirit alive, and we keep each other’s spirits alive. To grieve is to live. So I will grieve in Gabe’s honor. I will live for him, as I do for all those we’ve lost.”

David didn’t hear the praises and memories from the countless people who loved his father. He didn’t hear the whispers of concern and support as people passed by him. He didn’t hear when the band began playing Gabe’s favorite song:

One morning I woke up and I knew // you were really gone // A new day, a new way, and new eyes // to see the dawn // Go your way, I’ll go mine and // carry on // The sky is clearing and the night // has cried enough // The sun, he come, the world // to soften up // Rejoice, rejoice, we have no choice but // to carry on…

It wasn’t until the end of the service that David resurfaced, when a wail erupted from someone nestled in the back of the group.

The Howl had begun.

The crowd rippled as people shifted into their wolves and started howling. David shifted as well, but when he opened his maw, no sound came out. His voice was locked in his throat, held back by shame and wasps and crumpled paper and disgrace and soil and the ever increasing belief that no matter how hard he tried, he would fail everyone.

[princedevitt]