Author's note: Well, what can I say? Not the greatest movie ever, but it had werewolves, and I loved the character of Jake, no matter how Hollywood tried to ruin him. So here is another Jake ficlet.

Disclaimer: I don't own, please do not sue.


He stared up at the moon, so close to being full it almost fooled the wolf - but then the wolf pined for freedom, for the full moon to forcefully call him out. He held the wolf in though, his eyes empty and cold as he stared up at the silvery white orb in the sky.

Luna, she once had been called. Luna, the moon, the moon goddess to some. Also used for silver as well, the beautiful metal glistening as if it was the moon's light made solid. Luna, worshipped and feared and blamed for insanity many a time.

Jake had a feeling those ancient - and to modern society, ignorant - people were actually right, at least partially. He was a lunatic, a lycanthrope, someone who psychiatrists and psychologists believed was just deranged, mentally ill. But he was an actual lycanthrope, and he became that on the full moon - and he lost himself to the wolf, so perhaps in some ways he was a lunatic.

Whatever. He didn't care at the moment, not about that. Right now, all he felt was apathy towards others and hatred towards the wolf, the moon, himself. Right now, all he could feel was the dread of the next night, of the full moon's call and the wolf's howl of reply.

It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. He was born with this, he had no way of getting rid of it, no say in having it. Why couldn't he at least be at peace with it? Why couldn't he be open about it? Hell, these days, you could be gay, bi, straight, black, white, have blue hair, walk around with a million piercings visible and probably even more that aren't. Sure, there was some hatred, some fear or just some disdain, but that would always be there.

But what about him? Where was his place? It sure as Hell wasn't back home, and it didn't really feel like it was here either.

Hollywood. Anybody and everybody wanted to be there, at least once. You could be whatever you wanted to be practically. But something other than human, even if it wasn't even your fault, now that, that wasn't acceptable. That was something even the "freaks" of humanity would run from or throw a pitchfork at.

Werewolf. Lycanthrope. Lunatic. Wolf. Man. Monster. Animal. Human. Beast. Thousands of other definitions, and all of them fit him and none of them did and he wanted to run from it all. But how does one run from himself? How does one escape a monster, when you are the monster?

Tomorrow was full moon. Tomorrow, Jake would no longer be Man struggling with Wolf. He would be Wolf, conquering over Man, and he would be free of all the pesky thoughts that plagued the Man. And in the morning, he drink himself to sleep, wishing he had a piece of the solidified light of his curse.

How ironic that the moon, the element that when at its strongest, fullest phase freed the wolf, was called by the same name as the only poison to his body. How ironic that the silver light that gave the wolf so much strength could kill him when it was solid and tangible. How ironic that he was born both wolf and man, yet could never decide which he hated more.