Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/12949965. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage Category: M/M Fandom: Supernatural_RPF Relationship: Jensen_Ackles/Jared_Padalecki Character: The_Literal_Moon Additional Tags: Alternate_Universe_-_Werewolf, Alternate_Universe_-_Fairy_Tale, Alpha/ Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Blood, Bestiality, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Arousal During_Rape, Werewolf_Mates, Claiming_Bites, Scratching, Underage_Rape/ Non-con, Knotting, Crying, Mentions_of_Myth_&_Folklore, Rimming, Rape Setup, Walks_In_The_Woods Stats: Published: 2017-12-29 Words: 4074 ****** Help Me Get Home ****** by octopussy_(deannawincester) Summary The forest holds no fear for Jensen, at least none that he knew of today when the sun beat down in dappled spots through the treetops. He knows the paths, the animals, the rivers. But in the disappearing light, the forest seems strange and unfamiliar, the trees bent into impossible shapes and the river ahead rushing like a flood. He sees figures out of the corners of his eyes and Jensen knows that he is in danger here. Mama, Mama, help me get home I'm out in the woods, I am out on my own. I found me a werewolf, a nasty old mutt It showed me its teeth and went straight for my gut. - Lauren Oliver, "A Child's Walk Home"  Jensen has stayed out too late. If the orange flare of the setting sun shining above the treetops ahead of him isn’t enough of a warning, the changes in the ambient sound of the forest are clear. The forest hums with the small sounds of evening—night birds calling, insects chirping, and rodents scuttling through the foliage. If he hadn’t waited for one of his mother’s muffins or spent extra time talking with the Widower Dowd or sat down to eat his lunch in a meadow just off the path, he would already be at home stoking the fire. His father will certainly point out every misstep that led to Jensen standing at the river crossing as dusk falls. Jensen knows the stories, feels them like hands on his shoulders as nighttime comes. Tales of mischievous fae, ravenous night creatures, and paths leading travelers to their deaths. The forest holds no fear for Jensen, at least none that he knew of today when the sun beat down in dappled spots through the treetops. He’s spent more time in this forest than in his own home in the four years since his tenth nameday. He knows the paths, the animals, the rivers. Knows the routes hunters prefer to take between Redvale and the lesser hamlets, has found routes that get him to his destinations to deliver messages, packages, and medicines even faster than the hunting trails. He’s proud of his relationship with the forest, proud to be the youngest in his family trusted to transport the goods that townfolk bring to his father for their friends and distant family members. But in the disappearing light, the forest seems strange and unfamiliar, the trees bent into impossible shapes and the river ahead rushing dangerously. Jensen tries to laugh at his own fear and, though he fails, forces himself to behave as if this journey feels like every other time he’s returned home down this trail and over this very bridge. He may be late tonight, but surely the night’s full moon will provide enough light for Jensen to finish the trip once the sun has disappeared below the treeline. Though the water seems more tumultuous than Jensen has ever seen it, he makes himself stop to the right of the bridge before he crosses. It is something of a tradition to drink from this spot, the grass disrupted by two hard-packed indentations perfectly fitted to Jensen’s knees that have remained intact despite the water’s seasonal rising and falling, protected by the shape of the riverbank. Jensen crouches and nearly over balances into the water, thrown off by the relative lightness of his pack after a long journey and the fatigue of his muscles. He drinks greedily from one scooped hand, the other using the bridge to keep himself upright.   Jensen’s about to stand when he hears it, a series of howls. The pack sounds close, just upriver. Far too close to where Jensen is standing in the soon-to- fall-darkness. There aren’t any stories about wolves, the threat is too real to be any fun around a fire. Jensen has seen the aftermath of an encounter with a pack, seen the body of a hunter who followed a deer too far and encroached on their territory. Wolves don’t usually come so close to the bridge, but perhaps that is just a daylight rule. For all Jensen knows of the sunlit forest, it is a foreign land to him at night. The pack takes up their song again and they’re moving ever closer. The reeds are rustling and Jensen hears the splashing of paws at the edge of the water. Jensen should cross the bridge, should get as close to town as he can, but he doesn’t have time. He scrambles to his feet and retreats into the trees. Perhaps he can conceal himself in the forest well enough to avoid notice. Better than standing and waiting on the path. He pauses behind a large tree, hoping that if he stands still the pack will take another route, will disregard his scent. But when several wolves, big as ponies, emerge from the reeds, their eyes seem to find Jensen in the dark immediately and he knows he must run. All of Jensen’s sense of direction abandons him as he turns away from the path and sprints into the forest. Wolves growl and then howl back at the bridge, but there is not enough distance between him and the pack. When he isn’t immediately overtaken, Jensen turns to look behind himself, certain that he’ll see the slavering jaws of a wolf snapping, and he falls. ===============================================================================   Jensen wakes up face down in a field of grass. It’s dark. It takes a moment for Jensen to remember where he is. When he realizes and rolls to his side, there are no animals to be seen around him. The path is out of sight too, along with Jensen’s pack and his clothes. Instead of his shirt, breeches, and shoes, Jensen is barefoot and wrapped in a peculiar robe. The fabric slips over Jensen’s skin easily with every movement, no friction whatsoever, and sparkles in the skant moonlight like light reflecting off the surface of a clear pond. Aside from the sheen of the fabric, Jensen can see straight through it. He grabs at the edges, hoping to better cover himself, but his fingers pass through the fabric. It dissolves at his touch, becoming a million tiny dewdrops before reforming into cloth. Fae-made, Jensen realizes. He frantically looks around, certain that he’ll see the moth-like bodies of faeries hovering above him or the hoods of a troupe of brounies huddled in the underbrush. Still nothing. Jensen stands hurriedly and flushes as he realizes again how little the robe covers. It’s worse than wandering the forest naked, the sparkling of the dew drawing attention to the curve of his belly, the pink of his nipples, the pattern of his freckles, and the soft smallness of his penis. The cloth has fallen from his left shoulder, but when Jensen tries to adjust it, the fabric dissolves again beneath his touch. The bareness makes Jensen feel itchy, but he pushes the hyperawareness aside. He has to get home. That fact is all Jensen knows in the curious light of the moonlit forest. The trees and shadows are so long, the air quiet and deafening with unidentifiable sounds by turn. Jensen knows he is in danger here, turned around in the night and wearing fae-made finery. But there is no sign of the path. Jensen has never traveled this part of the forest, does not know its landmarks. Even though he can hear the sound of water, he knows that the noise may not be his own familiar river, but another that might lead him deeper into the forest instead of closer to home. Jensen has no idea of which direction he should walk in, but he has to start moving. He cannot wait for the creatures that undressed him to come back or for some other being to find him. He chooses a direction and begins to walk. The undergrowth beneath Jensen’s feet is soft as the rug beneath his bed at home as if the path has been prepared, but how could the night forces know which way he would go? Every step exposes the entire length of Jensen’s leg, the smoothness of the cloth and the chill of the dark air making him shiver. As Jensen ventures deeper under the canopy, he passes a figure pressed against an ancient tree. Jensen whirls to look, but the shadow is empty of anything even resembling a body. He makes it several more steps before he catches a glimpse of something else out of the corner of his eye, this time a massive wolf sitting tame as a dog beside a bush. But headon, there is nothing to be seen. He ignores the figure the next time it appears beside him for as long as he can, but Jensen can’t help but spin to see if something or someone is following behind him. He can’t see anything, but the space feels odd, feels separate from the clear, cool night. Feels heavy with magic. Jensen turns forward as if he’s going to begin walking again, but glances back with his eyes before moving. There’s a man beside him, tall with an angular handsome face and eyes that shine with every color of the forest. He’s in a fae-made robe like Jensen’s, his shoulder-length chestnut hair shining as if prepared specifically for the occasion of their meeting. When Jensen turns back, the man is nowhere to be found. There’s a clearing ahead. Jensen can see the unfiltered moonlight shining in it and he darts toward it. If there are no trees or bushes to hide behind he’ll be safer. He passes the wolf before he reaches the clearing. Jensen stumbles as the beast lunges at him. But it’s not an animal that slams into Jensen’s back. Instead, Jensen recognizes the man who has been lurking behind him. Jensen falls into the clearing, the man’s hands on him keeping him upright. Jensen’s just aware enough to notice that his attacker seems able to grab the cloth of the robe, to shove Jensen with his grip on it. The knowledge that the man is something other or more than human freezes Jensen’s blood, tangles his senses so that he doesn’t even know how to resist. The attacker forces him down, bent over a fallen tree, and lifts Jensen’s dewdrop robe. The feeling of the slick cloth sliding up over Jensen’s ass breaks the spell over him and he screams, tries to break away. He knows what this is, has seen animals at it in their pens and once caught a glimpse of the Mason boy underneath Garrett the blacksmith in a barn. The tree trunk scrapes Jensen’s chest, belly, and underarms as if the front panels and sleeves of the robe are nothing but water. Even with all his strength, Jensen cannot move out from under the man above him, pinned by an immovable chest and pelvis. Jensen suddenly becomes aware of the bulge of a penis pressed against his lower back. Jensen uses his nails, reaching back to grab and gouge, but the man does not seem to even react. Jensen hears the man spit and then feels his pelvis shift so that a damp hand can prod at the tender space between Jensen’s buttocks. “No! Please,” Jensen’s voice breaks as tears begin to spill down his cheeks. “Please, don’t!” The man curls over him so that his words are spoken right into Jensen’s neck. His voice is deep, the tone unaffected by Jensen’s fear. “Hush, little one. We’ve been chosen for this.” The man’s cock burns as he pushes with his hips and his hands to shove the blunt head into Jensen’s ass. Without pause, he rams himself into Jensen, fighting for every quarter, sending searing pain through Jensen’s body. Jensen collapses where he’s draped over the tree trunk, his urge to fight obliterated by the excruciating pain that seems to radiate up his spine, through his hips even to his legs. He’s never felt such agony, not even when a nail went through his boot or he broke his arm falling from a tree. He’s shocked by the loud, hurt sounds punched out of his body with every thrust of the cock inside him, but seems unable to control them. Jensen’s moans match up with his attacker’s grunts too well, as if they’re singing in harmony. The man forces himself deep and the way suddenly feels slick. Jensen feels certain that he’s bleeding now, ripped in a place he cannot see and has never so much as touched. The rhythm of it lets Jensen focus away from the pain, on the banging of his hips against the tree bark, the movement of the grasses in his field of vision. He can almost believe that what’s being done to him doesn’t hurt anymore, convinces himself that he can survive this so long as he doesn’t think about where he’s being torn apart and churned up inside. The man slows with a frustrated growl deep in his throat. “Nothing’s happening,” he says. The entire forest seems to respond, the wind picking up to shake the tree boughs, the water burbling, the grasses rustling. Jensen does not understand the language, but the man above him seems to, replies as if actual words are being spoken. “It didn’t take this long when you chose me. Maybe he’s not the right one.” A thousand night birds seem to respond, indignant and harsh. “I am being patient,” the man argues, then grumbles under his breath, “We should be tied by now.” The forest voice’s response is deafening, turns Jensen’s stomach turns liquid with fear even though he cannot make out the words. The man continues thrusting, growling words of dissent that Jensen can’t make out clearly. To Jensen’s horror, the pressure, the movement inside him begins to cause small good-feeling twinges in this stomach. Despite the roughness of tree bark against it, his cock begins to lift and fill. Jensen’s suddenly glad of the unforgiving trunk and every mark it leaves on his torso because at least it hides his arousal from his attacker. But even as Jensen has the thought, the man takes a deep breath in, scenting Jensen’s neck and hair as if he can smell Jensen’s tumescence even if he can’t see it. “That’s it, little one, you know your place here beneath me.” He pulls himself free of Jensen’s body and for one bright moment Jensen thinks it might be over, but then fingers pry at his opening, dig into his insides. He’s slippery there now, somehow even more slippery than when the blood began. “The change has started,” the man says matter-of-factly and Jensen somehow knows that he’s speaking to the voice of the forest again. Faintly, as if over vast wastelands of distance, Jensen thinks he might hear, or maybe feel, words in the way the clouds shift above them, but he cannot make them out before the man shoves back into him with a howl that raises the hairs on the back of Jensen’s neck. Instead of thrusting, the man stays pressed deep in Jensen, rutting in short twitches like the pigs and dogs that Jensen has seen breeding in the mud. The motion keeps him close, weighing heavy enough that Jensen feels like he’s suffocating. The man’s cock touches a new place in Jensen’s body, a place that makes him feel urgent like a full bladder. Jensen can hear the wet sounds of their bodies slapping together, can identify the sucking noises of his own asshole and buries his face against his arm in shame at his body’s betrayal. The cock within him seems to get larger with every aborted stroke, swelling to an unimaginable size. It seems as if it will rend Jensen in two as it expands, deforming his belly and altering the topography of his guts. Jensen screams. He has no hope of stopping what’s happening to him, but without the rhythm there is nothing to distract from the livid pain in his hips and ass and back and stomach. The man howls again and he sounds like a dog, like the wolves down at the river. Jensen’s heartbeat thunders in his ears, an echo of his escape from the pack only hours—or has it been days’ worth of night?—before. The shape of Jensen’s attacker begins to change over him, coarse hair growing and bones snapping as they remake themselves. Jensen knows the stories of shifters, of moonlings who become wolves when the moon hangs full in the sky, but they can’t be true, this cannot be real. Claws dig into Jensen’s shoulders as the beast shuffles closer to keep its massive cock in Jensen’s body. The animal is enormous, pressing Jensen flat against the fallen tree tightly, the bark scrubbing away the skin of Jensen’s face as it fucks into him with vicious thrusts of its powerful hips. Even if Jensen had space to pull away, he can feel that they are too closely connected. It sinks in dully that this must’ve been what the beast meant by saying they should be tied. Seed begins to pour from the beast, scalding Jensen from the inside. There’s no more room left in him. Seed floods out in wet bubbles and trickles even with the bulk of the monster’s cock wedged in Jensen’s body. It streams down Jensen’s legs, a thin, sticky mess as if he’s pissed himself. The beast sets its teeth into Jensen’s shoulder, cutting so deep that Jensen thinks he might lose consciousness. But while his vision wavers and blood sluices down his shoulder, Jensen remains awake, aware of everything being done to him. The monster shoves at him, tests the depths it can reach in Jensen’s stomach, lifting his feet off the ground as if frustrated that the seed is escaping rather than pooling in Jensen’s belly. The motion yanks at the meat of Jensen’s shoulder, but the animal’s bite does not loosen. The tree bark rubs Jensen’s cock raw as the beast drops him back down to the ground and he squeals with the overwhelming feeling of the direct pain pushing him to an unexpected, unwanted climax. He had thought the wolf would finally relinquish its grip once it was sated, but it settles on top of him, panting with exertion and still tied into him. Jensen’s climax fades into a strange irritation, like the too-light brush of hair or a breeze over his skin. Only the sensation appears everywhere with the same intensity, giving him no option to scratch. As he watches, small hairs begin to sprout in a thick, uniform carpet on his arms and hands. Jensen thinks he even catches a glimpse of a thatch between his eyes. The fur grows faster than any natural thing Jensen has ever seen, turning from an annoyance into an itch that makes him writhe. As Jensen’s body changes the shimmer of his robe turns to morning dew, catching on the fine hairs of his tawny-red fur. Then his bones begin to move. Jensen thought he had hurt before, but now his very bones are on fire, placed on an unseen anvil to be reshaped like horseshoes with hammer and tongs. The bones stretch and pull his skin, organs, and ligaments with them, making him longer, changing the way his joints fit together. When it ends, Jensen groans. The absence of bone-altering pain makes the mutilation between his legs—his hind legs now, for he has become a wolf as surely as his attacker—feel like a minor irritant. He would crumple to the ground if not for the weight of the wolf in and on him. The entire world around Jensen has changed nearly as much as his body. He can see through the forest almost as well as he could in the daylight. He can smell the wolf on his back specifically, could recognize him again in an instant. Worse, Jensen can smell the alteration in himself. Yes, he’s bleeding and the smell of his own climax is distinct from that of the wolf’s, but he smells slick mixed with the blood and the wolf’s seed pouring from him. Somehow Jensen knows that his body produced the slick itself the same way it hardened his cock, the same way his brother says that willing women create honey to ease men into their bodies. When the forest speaks this time, Jensen understands. He recognizes that the voice belongs not to the flora and fauna, but to the Moon herself shining above them. With his legs still trembling from being fucked by a night creature he doesn’t believe in, Jensen has no trouble accepting this realization. You should not handle him so roughly, Jared,  she says. You would have me seduce what’s already mine?The beast snaps back, speaking with the same disembodied feeling-words as the Moon, its teeth still buried in Jensen’s flesh. I would have you cherish the gift you have been given, the Moon responds, full of distaste and power. He is a child.The beast—Jared—snarls. Jensen thinks he must imagine how bright the Moon suddenly shines overhead, but he cowers away from the angry light instinctively. All the more reason to treat him with tenderness. He is your mate, not your bitch. Mate. The word is not an unfamiliar one, but Jensen can feel that this usage is different than any he’s heard before. A thousand other words echo in him—lover, partner, ally, brother, husband—and they all add up to mate, without any truly touching on its meaning. When the Moon says “mate,” there’s a terrifying depth beyond anything Jensen can comprehend. As if his confusion is an actual question, the Moon comforts, He is yours and you are his. You walk in the moonlight side-by-side forever now. Jensen doesn’t miss her use of the word forever, tries desperately not to fall into a void of his own despair at the possibility that she’s speaking in realities rather than hyperbole. The weight above Jensen changes, Jared’s cock shifting inside Jensen’s body until it slips out entirely. Jared shuffles awkwardly off of Jensen’s back. Jensen doesn’t dare move even after he’s unpinned, his breath returning in great gulps. Jared noses at Jensen’s rump and Jensen yelps, shying away, the pain returning in full intensity. Without a conscious command, Jensen’s new tail tucks down between his legs, protecting the place where he’s split open and bleeding. Jared nips at his tail, his irritated noise a command that Jensen innately understands. It takes Jensen two tries, but he figures out how to lift his tail intentionally. Jensen expects to feel teeth or another penetration, but Jared begins to lap at his hole, cleaning blood and seed from his fur. You will learn to enjoy my knot in time,Jared murmurs, his tone is one of reassurance but the words make Jensen tremble. When Jared is satisfied with Jensen’s damp, tongue-groomed fur, he circles around the fallen tree as if evaluating the beast that Jensen has become. It is the first time Jensen sees his mate clearly in this form. Jared is as large as he felt, perhaps as large as Jensen’s father’s plow horse. His eyes are the same mix of forest colors that Jensen noticed peering out of the dark as Jared hunted him, shockingly human in his wolf face. Jared’s fur is mostly brown, with dark facial markings and a nearly white underbelly. Beneath his massive body, Jensen notices the wet tip of Jared’s bloodied cock still protruding from its sheath and looks away quickly, flushing to think that the entirety of this animal’s cock has been inside him. Jensen hears no thoughts, feels no reactions from Jared, but he must be satisfied because he nuzzles at Jensen’s throat. Jensen has never felt more vulnerable than he does with his unpredictable mate’s razor sharp teeth so close. Perhaps Jensen’s fear transmits to Jared in some way because he laughs, the sound half mental and half a chuffing canine vocalization. Come, little moonling,he commands. Without waiting to see if Jensen will follow, Jared lopes into the dark shadows of the trees. Each of Jensen's legs trembles as he scrambles back far enough to be clear of the tree and fall down to his fours. Jensen shakes at the edge of the clearing, turning his face upward to the Moon for help, for comfort, for salvation from this surreal nightmare. I want to go home, Jensen whimpers, knowing he sounds even less than his age. Your home is with him now , the Moon chides. With your pack. Jensen whines, an unfamiliar noise that he could not have made yesterday that somehow better expresses his hurt, his fear better than any sound he could have made with his human throat. Go, moonling , she commands. You don’t want to get lost in this forest. Tail between his saliva-damp hind legs, Jensen goes. 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