Chapter Text
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do
I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you
The job was beginning to grate on Wolfwood, like tiny specs of sand in the desert that gradually build up until your skin is raw and bloody before you even notice it.
Each mission, each person killed for no reason, each life taken. It wasn’t a job he’d even signed up for but what choice did he have?
The Eye of Michael never asked him what he wanted when they took him from the orphanage for their “special program”. Who would look after Hopeland after he was gone, killed in some job gone wrong? Certainly not The Eye, that he was damn well sure of.
No, they made sure to emphasize that the building was only under their protection due to him- or more specifically the ruthlessly high pile of bodies he’d collected. The second he made a misstep, let up for even a goddamn second, he’d be killed. If not by a monster then by The Eye themselves.
He wasn’t really sure why he was still going ‘cept for the orphanage of course but he had a job to do, and god damn was he gonna do it.
Wolfwood had been prepared to be sent off again on a hunt, as he usually was. This involved tracking down some kind of disturbance several towns away, meaning cheap motels and even cheaper saloons, roughing it with hardly any good showers in between, and at times chasing something that was damn slippery and took even more towns and more tracking to finally catch.
But instead, Wolfwood was given a rather odd request. It seemed whatever this was had the organization on edge. The mission had to be hush hush even from Wolfwood himself. The details had been given to him in a letter that read as follows:
“Addressed to Punisher, you will be instructed to lay low in the town of December for a few months and assimilate with the townsfolk. We have reason to believe a creature we have been warned about for a very long time may be approaching it. We aren't sure of its intentions yet but you must guard the perimeter of town nightly, adjusting shifts for sleep. If you see anything that seems suspicious you must report to us immediately. If the creature happens to see you or becomes too close to the town, you have permission to attempt to engage them but try to be discreet. Signed, The Eye of Michael.
“Tch, discreet” Wolfwood scoffed, “you try to be discreet killing a damn monster”. And with that, he ended up back in December, the shitty little town he was born in with the orphanage he grew up in.
He knew he should probably return to Hopeland to visit, after all, when would he get this opportunity again? But he wasn’t sure what he was more afraid of, that they would recognize him, or that they wouldn’t. So he didn’t, he couldn’t go back there, not yet at least.
Three months had passed into the job that all things considered, was rather comfortable. The Eye had situated him in a small townhouse, one closest to the outskirts of the town where you could see more clearly into the vast desert cliffs and mountains. The townspeople just assumed he preferred living further out.
The townhouse also had a small stable for his horse Angelina. The Eye gave her to him for the sake of convenience and nothing more, and it being The Eye of course, she wasn’t exactly a normal horse. He did his best not to get attached, she was replaceable just like him after all, but he soon found that he cared for her far more than he thought he would. She was a fast and sturdy horse with a black coat and a white stripe across her nose in a shape that eerily resembled a cross.
He worried about her during his more intense missions and would often elect to leave her at whatever shitty motel he was staying in, but she had saved his ass multiple times and he had to admit that a part of him enjoyed having her around. She was good company, after all.
The town itself was nothing special, small mountains surrounded by small trees and shrubbery lay on the outskirts where Wolfwood's house resided. Behind them, large red canyons were visible in the far distance. There was a decent layer of desert vegetation, though how much longer the vegetation would last Wolfwood did not know.
Water was a constant struggle for several towns lately, and no one was quite sure as to why, but that had been the story of this god-forsaken planet. Wolfwood once heard a rumor that somewhere out there was a small lush forest full of huge streams, but he wasn’t sure if he believed that. Sounded like a fairy tale to him.
The vegetation was enough to provide semi-decent cover for the few small animals that would be out there, but those weren’t what Wolfwood was worried about. A few horses and cattle dotted the landscape, it was a small town so there weren’t many, but it had a few ranches.
In the last few months, Wolfwood had actually been a bit of a farm hand on them. Sometimes his job found him doing the last thing he’d expect- one job even had him pretend to be a priest to catch a monster hidden in a church.
Luckily, he had a decent amount of experience with animal wrangling from growing up in Hopeland- they made even the youngest kids work on that damn farm. So that was how he’d been spending his time, doing odd jobs for the townsfolk here and there, then returning to his townhouse at the end of the day.
Wolfood took up his usual nightly post. It was a quiet night, the sky sprinkled with a few stars, the only sound being the soft chirping of crickets.
He sat on the rusty old chair on his front porch, the cigarette in his mouth slowly wafting smoke out into the night sky, a flask of whisky ever ready in his coat.
His massive rifle sat on his lap, to be aimed at a moment's notice. This was no ordinary rifle, it’d been hand-crafted by The Eye themselves. Ten times heavier and larger than your everyday one, the average person would probably keel over trying to hold it steady let alone handle the recoil. That little thing was what earned Wolfwood the nickname “The Punisher” in certain circles.
The principle the average townsfolk lived by was that a simple rifle by their bedsides would be enough to ward off any dumb fool who decided to wander into their homes, but most of them were vastly unprepared for the other kinds of things that could come uninvited. To the townsfolk, a howl in the middle of the night was simply an old coyote, but Wolfwood knew better.
His trained eyes scanned the horizon for any strange movements, listening closely for any howls that sounded to be coming from an animal that was just a bit too big. He exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke into the night, “well, I guess it’s gonna be another quiet night then” Wolfwood spoke softly to himself, but almost as soon as he’d said it he heard something.
The sound of branches snapping, then the sounds of howling in the distance that followed. Three of them, he figured, and then the sounds of growling, of snarls, the tearing of flesh and teeth snapping. He quickly realized what was happening.
A few nights ago was when he first noticed them, a pack of werewolves circling at the farthest corners of town. Wolfwood figured they might be starving or desperate and decided to go after some cattle, but oddly enough there were no reports of dead cattle.
He wasn’t entirely sure what they were up to but whatever it was probably wasn’t good, so he let sleeping dogs lie. None of them had done anything quite yet, and Wolfwood wasn’t necessarily in the mood to get into a fight with three werewolves for seemingly no reason.
He’d simply sent in a report that he saw them to The Eye and continued to observe. But postage took a while, though knowing The Eye they’d probably find a way to get it faster.
That very same small pack was now seemingly fighting a fourth werewolf and by the sounds of it getting closer to Wolfwood's townhouse, and by extension the town. Wolfwood's house was the one closest to the outskirts for a reason. He would be their last chance, their last line of defense.
The werewolves were approaching from the desert canyons that provided them cover, even if they were only fighting each other it would be a disaster if they got too close. Humans who had never seen them before would be terrified and run, or worse, shoot at them, and the werewolves would return the attack in kind. He couldn’t let that happen.
He made sure he had as many vials as he could on hand, held his rifle tight, and ran off to at least scare them off or die trying.
The scene he arrived at after tracking them to the cliffs was a shocking one, to say the least. All three werewolves were now bloody, a mess of tears against flesh. One werewolf, however, stood out.
It was huge, taller than the other three in comparison, and those werewolves were by no means small. But it had clearly been attacked by all three of them. It was exhausted and panting, but had a look of pure rage so frightening and a growl that raised all the hairs on Wolfwood's neck.
The other three werewolves were debating backing off when Wolfwood shot two rounds into the air as a warning. Frightened by both the bigger werewolf and the now sounds of shots fired into the air, they decided to hedge their bets and run off. It seemed that the growl and defensive stance the bigger werewolf was putting on was a bit of bravado because as soon as the three werewolves left it collapsed on the ground in a heap, exhausted and full of bloody wounds and deep gashes.
Wolfwood knew this would be an easy kill for him and that he should eliminate the threat, one less werewolf was one less human death after all. As Wolfwood aimed his rifle down at the heavily injured and exhausted werewolf, the barrel of the gun staring down its face, it looked up at him with an expression that unsettled him.
It was not the look of wanting to flee, of desperation, or of anger at being defeated that he encountered often in all his years of hunting monsters.
No, this was a different look, one of acceptance… of relief almost, and that scared Wolfwood. It was far too human for his liking.
He realized while gazing deep into the werewolf’s enormous bright blue eyes that a strange feeling of deja vu overtook him, he had definitely seen those exact eyes before.