A/N: Well... I had about half of this chapter written... but it seems to have disappeared. To where, I do not know. I’ve given up looking. It’s entirely possible I lost it to a frozen computer and have simply forgotten... Either way. Starting this again from scratch, so I’m very sorry it’s taken so long.

Ah, also- I’ve made a little Malicious Intent community on livejournal- ‘fromrussia’- wherein I’ve only babbled aimlessly about the characters and posted a picture that I drew of Mishka so far. But, I do intend on posting other things there. Side stories, pictures, pointless babblings on characters, relationships, and certain situations. Things like that.

Chapter Warning: Blood, gore, and severe angst

--

Malicious Intent

by Kat-chan

chapter seven - the fine art of mental imbalance

--

Detective Winters sighed heavily, pushing his glasses up and tiredly rubbing his eyes. He’d been sitting, thinking, trying to work things out, but he was just having a hard time accepting this. He didn’t believe in werewolves. Just as he didn’t believe in vampires, ghosts, ghouls, boogie men, or anything else of the sort. It was simply ridiculous.

“Sun’s going down soon,” Winters glanced over at his new partner with a raised eyebrow, “It’s a full moon tonight, you know.”

“And?” His face was expressionless, blue eyes blank, “Please tell me you aren’t talking about werewolves again,” The smirk that danced over Jameson’s lips grew and Winters made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat.

“Well, even if you don’t believe,” The rookie detective tilted his head off to one side, looking thoughtful, “You’ve gotta at least admit that most of the psychos start coming out this time of night. Best to get home, where you’ll be safe, eh?”

“I’m a big boy, Jameson,” Winters deadpanned, “I’m certain I’ll be just fine. You can run along home, though, if you like,” A shrug of shoulders and a flashed grin, and Jameson stuffed his hands down into his pockets.

“Whatever,” The younger cop snorted, glanced toward the setting sun, and then walked away. Winters stared after him a long moment before returning to his contemplations.

--

Winters awoke with a start, though he couldn’t remember dozing off. His back was sore and his neck was stiff, and he was still sitting on the same bench he’d been sitting on all evening. He looked around the darkened park in sleepy confusion, wondering what had woken him, when it came again.

A howl. It was nearby, and Winters adjusted his glasses, squinting at the darkness with bleary eyes. There was a flash of something, and just that. A flash, and then it was gone, and the howl came again, from a new direction.

Despite himself, Winters jumped, spun toward the sound, and fell over backwards, breath leaving him as he hit the cold ground, at the sight of three large dogs staring him down.

No. Not dogs. Wolves.

His eyes widened. The lead wolf- painfully thin with an odd sort of honey coloured fur- lowered it’s head, levelling him with an unnerving, icy blue gaze as a snarl curled its lip. Its ears were back, its tail low. The two wolves behind it followed suit, one white and the other a very pale brown, and Winters scrabbled away on hands and heels.

“Jameson, you bastard,” He muttered as the three wolves advanced on him. His back hit a tree, and belatedly, he remembered his gun, which had been left in a top drawer because, after all, he was off duty and only going to the park to do some thinking.

The honey coloured wolf was so close that it’s hot breath fogged Detective Winters’ glasses, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. Winters could see, now, that the animal was obviously half blind, three long scars running across the right side of its face, making the eye a milky greyish colour.

He panicked, limbs frozen in fear, and did the only thing he could think to do. He didn’t scream. He didn’t kick out. He closed his eyes, and he waited.

Another howl in the distance, and the expected attack never came. He cracked one eye open to see all three wolves with their heads raised, looking off to the left. A low growl from the lead wolf, and then the three of them took off, sprinting away.

Panic washed away and Winters felt boneless. He covered his face with one hand and breathed heavily for a few moments, before he forced himself to his feet, and he ran.

--

Mishka woke to warm sunlight across his face, and Laine’s even warmer body curled against his side. He yawned and stretched, hummed happily in the back of his throat, and then twisted in Laine’s sleepy embrace to nuzzle the older teen’s cheek. Russet eyes opened fractionally, and a smile twitched at the corner of Laine’s mouth.

“Morning,” He mumbled, pulling Mishka closer and returning the soft nuzzle, “Where’s Sasha?” Mishka gave a faint shrug, not really caring. He was comfortable, and he was content, and he didn’t want to think about anything if he didn’t really have to.

“Pro’lly ran back to his room as soon as the sun came in the window,” He reasoned, eventually. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet, and he wasn’t planning on doing so for quite a while, but...

“Daddy Mishka! Daddy Mishka! Get up! Up, up, up!” The tawny haired boy buried his face in Laine’s shoulder as the door flew open and a familiar head of blonde curls came bounding into his room and onto his bed. The small girl bounced, tugging on Mishka’s arm to get his attention. As if she didn’t have it already.

“Ugh... Let me sleep, little one,” Mishka grumbled, muffled against Laine’s skin, “We were out all night...” The little blonde was not deterred, though, pulling harder on Mishka’s arm.

“No, no! You have to come see! Come see!” Finally, Mishka relented, forced himself to sit up, and levelled the girl with an only halfway playful glare.

“What do I have to come see?” He asked, quite patiently, as Laine snuggled into the warm spot that Mishka left behind.

“A new puppy, Daddy Mishka! He was borneded last night!” With a suffered sigh, Mishka nodded, shooing the girl away so that he could get up.

“Alright, alright,” He ran his fingers through his bed-mussed hair, “Just let me get dressed. I’ll be there in a minute,” The girl squealed, and clapped and rushed out, slamming the door shut behind herself. Mishka groaned and, with a bit of effort, extricated himself from the sheets and Laine’s tightened grip.

--

Ylenia’s eyes were on him as he crossed the room. In her arms, a small, writhing bundle of blankets, all the little ones gathered at her feet and chattering excitedly. Mishka grinned, parting the soft blankets to peer in at the tiny, scrunched up face inside.

“She went into labour just after the moon rose,” Ylenia spoke in a hushed voice, rocking slightly to pacify the squirming newborn, “I made sure that she did not survive the birthing,” Mishka couldn’t wipe the pride off of his face, barely listening to Ylenia’s words as the infant grabbed at one of his fingers and held on tightly.

“It’s a boy?” He asked quietly, and Ylenia nodded. Another broad grin and Mishka leaned down to nuzzle his new son affectionately, laughing when the boy sneezed at the tickle of hair against his nose. He drew back again, with a light kiss to the newborn’s forehead, and a pair of bleary blue eyes blinked up at him, out of focus. A small yawn stretched to boy’s mouth and his grip on Mishka’s finger tightened before he let go altogether.

“He’ll need formula,” Ylenia said in a tone that told, rather than asked, Mishka to go grocery shopping. Any other day, he would have bristled. This time, he laughed, and sprinted off to get Laine out of bed.

--

Mishka rested his cheek on Laine’s bare shoulder, eyes closed as the water beat down against his back, hot and soothing and lulling him easily back to sleep. Laine was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to wash Mishka’s hair, pushing the younger boy away from time to time, only to have Mishka grumble something indiscernible and snuggle back into his chest.

“We’re going grocery shopping?” Laine asked, with a light prod to Mishka’s exposed ribs when the Russian teen remained unmoving. Another muffled mumble, thin arms snaking around Laine’s waist, and Mishka gave a faint nod.

“We are,” He replied bitterly, his exhaustion catching up with him. With a soft snort, Laine caught Mishka’s jaw with his fingers and tipped the sleepy face upward.

“I‘ll go,” And at that, Mishka opened his eyes to glare, his grip on Laine’s waist tightening.

“No. I want to go with you,” Mishka insisted, stubborn, if nothing else.

“Whatever,” Laine gave a slight shrug and tilted Mishka’s head back a little further, letting the water rinse away the shampoo, and bending to nuzzle at Mishka’s ear as he did so. Mishka made an indistinct noise, wrinkled his nose and turned his head away from the scratch of stubble against his skin.

“Go shave. I’m a big boy now, I can wash myself,” And with that, he shoved Laine away and closed his eyes against the slide of soapy water on his face. Against the sudden nervous bubbling in his chest that he couldn’t identify and couldn’t quite put a stop to.

Laine sighed and stepped out of the shower without another word.

--

“I forgot how much I hate doing this,” Mishka was grumbling, drumming his fingers against his thigh as he waited impatiently for the cashier to finish scanning the cans of formula. His cheerful mood had faded quickly- first to exhaustion, then irritation- rolling further downhill with each passing moment.

Laine just smirked at him, dragging a wad of crumpled bills out of his pocket and silently nodding toward the woman at the cash register as he paid her. Mishka made an annoyed sound and grabbed the bag, stalking off ahead of the older teen.

“Honestly, who does that bitch think she is, anyway?” He cursed under his breath, kicking at a stone, squinting as he stepped back outside into the sunlight. He paused only a moment, letting Laine catch up before he started stomping his way home, “Making me suffer through a supermarket... I’m the alpha male! I’m supposed to order her around! I‘m supposed to-”

His rant was cut short as Laine’s arm wound around his waist, tugging him close and slipping a hand into the pocket of Mishka’s jacket. The tawny haired boy blinked once before looking up at Laine with a confused, slightly surprised expression. Laine was staring straight ahead, a small smile on his lips.

“Moron,” Mishka muttered, and carefully slipped his arm around Laine’s waist, too.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Mishka didn’t complain anymore, and Laine didn’t comment. They were just a block away from their building when Mishka froze. His eyes widened. And then he was gone, tearing himself away from Laine roughly. He’d taken off running before the grocery bag even hit the pavement. Laine blinked in confusion, staring after Mishka for a long moment.

“What...?” And then it hit him. The stench of blood in the air. Thick and heavy and fresh, and coming directly from their shitty little second story apartment. Mishka was already inside the building and halfway up the stairs when Laine’s feet finally caught up with his brain.

Laine reached the top of the stairs as Mishka skidded to a stop in front of their apartment, about ready to rip the door off of its hinges when it opened on its own. There was a flash of white and black and red, and then Mishka was on his back, struggling and snarling under Sasha’s weight.

“Do not go in there,” The albino growled, pinning Mishka down and doing his best to avoid the snap of teeth and swipe of claws. He was covered in blood, mostly his own, his shirt torn in long, deep, raw scratches. Inside the apartment, there was only silence.

“Let me the fuck up! Svoloch‘! Khuyesos'! Poshel na hui!” Mishka was screaming, fighting against the boy on top of him, “Get off of me! Get the fuck off of me!”

Laine didn’t move from the top of the stairwell. His fingers curled around the banister tightly, knuckles whitening. He jumped when Sasha slammed Mishka down against the floor again.

“You can’t go in!” Sasha shouted back. For a moment, Mishka was silent. Too stunned to react, staring wide eyed up at Sasha before a sudden burst of rage and strength sent Sasha flying back against the door. He tumbled backwards into the apartment, the sick, slick sound of the back of his head hitting the blood splattered hardwood floor echoing.

“Mishka, no!” Laine shot after him, but Mishka was already inside. He ignored Sasha, who had already pushed himself up and was trying to curl into a tiny ball, clutching at his head and sobbing softly.

It wasn’t hard to find Mishka. The choked cry from the little ones’ room had Laine there in an instant. Just in time to see the tawny haired boy sink to his knees beside the old, abused crib in the corner, clutching at the gnawed on, splintering wooden bars. Laine closed his eyes and turned his head, taking a long, deep breath before he could look again.

The walls were smeared in red, entrails strung across what used to be a pale blue carpet. Too many pairs of wide, innocent eyes, frozen in terror and staring blankly ahead. Slumped against the wall by the crib, Ylenia’s battered and torn body, curled protectively over the little blonde whose name Laine had never bothered to learn.

“They’re all gone...” Mishka’s hand shook as he reached through the bars of the crib toward his newborn son. It fell short, fingertips just brushing a tiny, unmoving hand, “All... they’re all...”

“Mishka,” Laine tried to sound assertive, tried to sound sure of himself. He needed to get Mishka up, get the three of them out. Get away.

“All gone... they’re...” There was a soft thump as Mishka’s head fell forward, his voice dropping as he began to mumble to himself in Russian. Laine swallowed thickly, keeping his gaze trained on Mishka and Mishka only.

“Mishka,” He said again, taking a hesitant step closer. There was no response. If Mishka was even aware of Laine’s presence, he wasn’t acknowledging it. Another deep breath and Laine forced himself across the room, grabbing the younger teen’s shoulder’s and shaking him roughly, “Mishka!”

He barely saw the flash of rage in Mishka’s eyes. Barely had time to jerk away before Mishka spun on him, on his feet and bearing his fangs in a split second. There was blood staining his hands and soaking into the knees of his worn jeans.

“They’re all gone!” It was a broken scream, and Laine couldn’t help but stumble backwards, “They’re all fucking gone! The whole fucking pack! We’re the only ones left! We- We’re... They’re all...” Mishka collapsed again, falling on elbows and knees as a sob shook his frail looking frame. His fingers curled tightly into fists, claws digging deep into his palms, “Oh, God... it’s happening again... Mama...”

“Mishka...” Laine tried again, quietly, dropping down beside the younger boy and curling over him. His arms snaked around Mishka’s waist, his cheek pressed against Mishka’s back, “We need... we need to leave,” There was a soft sniffle, the faintest nod of a head.

“Need to go before they come for me again...” The honey haired boy kept nodding, pushing himself up slowly, “They’ll come... Need to...” Laine tensed, closing his eyes. Mishka, he realized, wasn’t there. He took one more deep breath and gently pulled Mishka to his feet.

Laine cleaned Sasha’s injuries silently, kept his eyes trained on the torn flesh over the albino boy’s ribcage, the split skin across the back of his skull, the blistering sunburns over his cheeks and the backs of his hands and arms. Mishka hadn’t moved from the corner he’d curled up in, with his knees drawn up close to his chest, his eyes dull and unfocused. He was mumbling to himself again.

They were holed up in a small, cheap hotel room, most of their belongings left back in their blood drenched apartment. Laine had rushed the two younger boys out, unable to stand the stench any longer. He’d very nearly had to carry them- Sasha weak from blood loss and a mild concussion, Mishka quickly slipping away from reality.

Sasha tried his best to explain what happened, fighting unconsciousness as Laine tended to his wounds. He’d been sleeping, of course. He always slept through the day. He’d heard the little ones screaming, heard Ylenia yelling, the baby crying, deeper voices snarling. He’d known that he wouldn’t be able to protect them. He’d tried anyway.

“Grown men,” He said, wincing as Laine smoothed calamine lotion over his blistered skin, “They were grown fucking men, and they... They slaughtered a room... full of... full of children... didn’t even...” His eyelids drooped, head lolling slightly, and Laine gently smacked at his sunburnt cheek, startling him out of it with the burst of pain, “Blyat! I’m fucking awake!”

Laine shook his head and stayed silent, pushing at the younger teen’s shoulder until Sasha turned around. He frowned at the blood matting Sasha’s silvery hair. The bleeding had stopped, but the gash was wide. Sasha would need stitches.

“I hurt them, though... One of them... I don’t think he...” The albino boy started to drift off again when the jab of a needle at the base of his skull jerked him awake, “Ow! What the fuck is with you?!” Still, Laine said nothing, massaging the back of Sasha’s neck as he waited for the anaesthetic to set in. Sasha grumbled something under his breath, but seemed to relax again at Laine’s gentle touch, “Anyway... One of them- I think I cut him deep enough that... he would’ve bled out before... bled out... before they could get him to a hospital...”

When he was sure Sasha wouldn’t feel it, Laine started snipping away at the matted hair, the top half pulled up into a ponytail to keep it out of the way. When it was cut as short as he could manage, Laine grabbed his razor and shaved the rest off, careful not to touch the wound anymore than necessary.

“There were...th-three of them...? I’m not... not sure... Too bright... couldn’t...” Sasha sagged suddenly and Laine quickly prodded him, jamming a finger into freshly bandaged ribs. The younger teen jumped, and then turned his head to glare.

“Stay awake, Milovenia,” Laine snarled, digging into the tender flesh for another moment before he shoved Sasha’s face back around and set to work again, “How old were they?”

“Early... maybe mid-twenties? Not... not much older’n you...” The pale teen was already slipping again, eyelids feeling too heavy to hold open. He growled at himself and sunk his claws into his own forearm, tearing at the already fragile skin, “You almost done? I need... Need coffee...”

Laine made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. He didn’t want to think beyond right then, easier to focus on his stitching. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He couldn’t trust Sasha to stay awake without him there, and he couldn’t leave Mishka alone... He certainly couldn’t take them both with him.

He grit his teeth and concentrated on the faint popping sound of needle pushing through skin.

“Fuck!” Winters slammed a fist down on his desk, unsettling papers and rattling his lamp, “What do you mean, all the evidence is gone? How the fuck can it be gone?” Jameson gave a lazy shrug, trailing a fingertip over the top of Winters’ computer monitor.

“The lab was raided,” He replied, “Pretty much everything was destroyed, but the samples from the crime scenes were all taken. Whoever it was, they were obviously trying to fuck up our case,” Winters’ fist hit his desk again.

“This is bullshit!” The older detective got to his feet quickly and turned to leave, when Jameson continued.

“One of the forensic scientists was killed, too,” He produced a folder and dropped it on top of the others, “He was found last night, torn to shreds behind his apartment building. Massive head trauma, throat torn out, gutted, fingers chopped off... It also appeared as if he’d been partially eaten...” Winters turned again and raised an eyebrow at his young partner.

“They’re connected,” A statement, not a question. Jameson nodded.

“There were four different sets of bloody footprints,” He flipped open the folder and pointed to a few of the photos, “A pair of boots- Dr. Martens, it looks like- two pairs of sneakers, and a set of high heels,” Winters leaned over to inspect the photographs, and then grabbed the folder with Detective Fieldings’ file.

“There were footprints in Sarah’s apartment...” Winters muttered, more to himself than to Jameson, “It’s right... What the hell?” In place of the paperwork and pictures, there were only sheets of blank printer paper, “Fuck!”

Nine days. It had been nine days.

Sasha was getting antsy, still tired and sore and desperate for his safe, dark bedroom and his soft, warm bed. His skin was peeling, and his head kept on pounding, and every breath pulled at the healing gashes over his ribcage, and all he really wanted was to get laid and then go into hiding for a few eternities.

Mishka wasn’t improving. He stumbled along when Laine led him here or there, but he didn’t seem to register any of it. He rarely slept, but when he did, he always woke with a scream for his mother and tears on his cheeks, nails digging deep into his arms or palms or thighs. His eyes were still unfocused, his lips still moved around incoherent mutterings.

And Laine... He was trying. Really, he was, but he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was lost. Mishka was supposed to be on the warpath- ordering him and Sasha around, disembowelling anyone in their way as they tracked down the bastards who had destroyed their pack- not cowering in the corner of a cheap hotel room, locked up inside his own mind.

Without their leader, what was left of the pack was crumbling. Laine didn’t want to take over, and Sasha was too weak to. What could they do?

“Hey,” Laine looked up as Sasha came back out of the bathroom, towelling his hair dry, careful not to touch his stitches, “Shower’s free...” The older boy grunted and gave a slight nod, but made no motion to get up. Instead, he glanced over at Mishka, and then sighed when he noticed the tawny haired teen scratching holes into his arms again.

“Stop that,” He ordered softly, pulling Mishka’s hands away and wiping at the blood with the hem of his own shirt. For a moment, Mishka stared up at him, confused. But then it was gone, and Mishka’s eyes were dull and empty and focused just over Laine’s shoulder.

“I’m so sick of this,” Sasha was at Laine’s side the next second, shoving him away. He growled and grabbed Mishka’s jaw, forcing the younger boy to look at him, “Snap out of it, you selfish little prick!”

No reaction. Sasha snarled, red eyes narrowing dangerously. His hand slipped down to curl around Mishka’s throat, dragging the tawny haired boy up the wall until they both stood. Laine, in turn, took a handful of silvery-white hair and yanked.

“Let him go,” Laine’s voice dropped low, close to Sasha’s ear. The albino’s grip tightened, and Laine pulled just a bit harder, “Milovenia.”

“Fuck you!” Sasha’s gaze darted to Laine’s face just briefly, and then back to Mishka. He slammed their pack leader back against the wall, “Wake the fuck up, Petrov! You fucking coward! Fucking pussy little bitch! Snap the fuck out of it or I’ll break your fucking neck!”

“I said fucking let him go!”

Sasha skidded over the top of the bed and tumbled off the other side, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Laine shook away the silver strands of hair that clung his fingers as Mishka slid down the wall again, slumping back into the corner.

“Bastard!” Laine turned just quick enough to catch Sasha as the albino slammed into his chest. They fell to the floor in a flurry of swinging fists and snapping teeth, drawing blood and leaving bruises. Both intent on maiming one another.

It was a hard kick to Sasha’s ribs that ended the short fight. He yelped as his back hit the corner of the bed frame, and then crumbled, clutching at his ribs as he felt blood spill from his reopened wounds. Laine, for his part, blinked up at the ceiling in confusion.

“If you ever touch him again...” The green haired teen started, sitting up quickly and twisting to look at Mishka, “I swear to fucking God, Aleksandri, I will fucking kill you,” Laine’s eyes widened as Mishka turned his head, raising a thin eyebrow at him.

“Fuck,” Sasha coughed. Laughed, “If I’d known you’d do that, I would’ve tried to kick his ass a week ago... Shit... Did you have to kick me in the ribs?” He shook his head and pushed himself up as well, pulling his hand away from his wounds to make a face at the blood.

“You deserved it,” Mishka snorted, tipping his head back against the wall. He wasn’t at all surprised when Laine pulled him into a tight hug.

-end chapter seven-

The ’little ones’ weren’t all Mishka’s. The blonde was actually his cousin, and most of the rest were ‘strays’ that he’s picked up along the way. As for why Ylenia was protecting Mishka’s little cousin, rather than the newborn... I didn’t really think out exactly how everything happened, but chances are, the little girl was the closest to her when they were attacked.

And... :ahem: I’m... really sorry for how that came out. It wasn’t how I’d originally intended this chapter to go, but... Well. :rubs the back of her neck sheepishly: