Chapter Text
Despite Coran’s vague age, he was a hard man to keep stride with. Many times, Keith attempted to fall in step with him, only to quickly get winded and fall back. Coran kept a steady pace while he pointed out various buildings, rattling off about their long history or whatever. Keith mostly tuned him out into the background, eyes trained on the ground. The less he knew about the town, the better; there was no use in getting attached to the village.
The only part that had Keith’s ears perk up was when Coran had mentioned Lance’s house. He followed Coran’s pointing finger to a quaint little shack, the outside decorated in different crops and flowers. Is that what Lance was? A farmer? As cute as the thought might be, imagining Lance in overalls with a piece of wheat between his teeth, it just didn’t seem fitting.
Embarrassing as it was to admit, Keith took a mental note of the address, just in case he wanted to bring the leftover pie and make amends, maybe even apologize if he could find the words. The thought was quickly shoved away though. He would not be doing that.
Eventually, the two of them arrived at a particularly messy building—or was it a house? It seemed like a weird Frankenstein-mix between a laboratory and someone’s home. Where the usual foundation would be something simple, like cobblestone, it seemed to be replaced with heavy hardware, bolts peeking out like the place was stitched together. The front lawn was a graveyard of metal scraps and rusted tools, an iron spine sticking out of the dead grass as if it were some twisted garden sculpture.
The door had the same reinforcements, the wood replaced with straight-up iron that gleamed dully in the overcast light. There was no room for a keyhole, or even a doorknob—just a small, scuffed-up keypad. Coran, for whatever reason, seemed to have the password. He used one hand to cover the keypad from prying eyes as he typed in the password with the other. He winked at Keith as the door quickly slid open with a mechanical hum, like it was some ancient beast reluctantly allowing entry.
Keith hesitated, eyes scanning the yard one last time, before finally trailing behind Coran into the shadowy interior.
“This is The Friend’s house! Isn’t it so ‘Ohio?’”
Keith jumped, heart hammering in his chest as Coran’s voice boomed right next to his ear. The words made him scrunch up his nose, irritation flaring. “Yep. Definitely Ohio.”
Coran flipped a switch, flooding the cramped space with harsh fluorescent light. The air was tinged with the smell of burnt metal and stale coffee, and the walls were bare, save for the sporadic grease stain. A compact kitchen clung to one corner, countertops cluttered with mismatched mugs and half-empty bags of instant noodles.
Coran led Keith past a narrow island toward another reinforced door. This one was battered, dented, as if something had tried to claw its way in—or out. There was no keypad this time, just a rusted handle that Coran yanked open with ease.
Inside, the room opened up into a chaotic wonderland. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with jarred animal remains—frogs suspended in cloudy liquid, bird wings pressed against glass. Intertwined were half-assembled gadgets that buzzed and clicked with a life of their own. A dusty photo of Coran, Lance, and some other folks shared space with a twisted metal sculpture that looked suspiciously like some sort of animal trap.
Webs of red string stretched between thumbtacked photos, a conspiracy map painted in snapshots and scribbled notes. Keith stared, half-impressed, half-unnerved. This person was his kind of crazy.
His gaze landed on a small, hunched figure at a cluttered workbench, hands delicately adjusting gears in what looked like a tiny mechanical spider. He squinted, trying to make sense of them, and then—
“You brought me to a child?” Keith’s voice was incredulous, eyes darting from Coran to the small, wiry figure hunched over the workbench. They didn’t look a day older than fourteen, lanky limbs disappearing into an oversized hoodie. He was ready to storm out, frustration coiling tight, but Coran’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, grounding him.
“This is not a child,” Coran said softly, his tone a quiet assurance that only made Keith bristle more. “This is Pidge, the town’s resident genius. If you’ve got a tech problem, you bring it to Pidge.”
“Pidge?” Keith echoed, skepticism thick in his voice. His eyes narrowed, as if expecting the punchline of a bad joke. “Your name is Pidge?”
“That’s what people call me, yes.” Pidge didn’t look up, eyes glued to their project, hands never faltering.
Keith shifted. “...And you’re not a child.”
“No,” Pidge confirmed, adjusting a tiny screw with nimble fingers.
“And you’re offering to make me gear for free?”
“Correct.”
Keith considered the offer. “I mean, there’s no harm in saying yes,” Keith finally admitted with a slight shrug.
“What are you looking for me to make? A trap? Like a bear trap?” Pidge asked, voice oddly resigned.
“Uh, no, actually.” Keith shook his head, dismissing the idea. “Just a motion sensor, maybe have it connected to a camera. That’s all.”
Pidge finally glanced up, curiosity etched their face. “You’re not gonna try and kill this ‘monster’?”
“No?” Keith replied, though it came out more like a question. “I just want to prove it exists, not kill it.”
“Huh.” Pidge blinks, adjusting their glasses.
“What?” Keith frowns.
“No, nothing. I just figured when Lance said there’s a monster hunter in town….” Pidge trails off, eyes flicking over Keith like they’re piecing together a puzzle.
Keith exhales sharply through his nose. “Ugh,” he groans. Of course. “Lance told you too?”
Pidge smirks like they’ve been expecting that question. “If you have a secret, you never tell Lance.”
“Lesson learned,” Keith mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t trust Lance.”
“Now, I didn’t say that.” Pidge raises an eyebrow. “He’s loyal when he needs to be.” Then, after a beat, they tack on, “Just not to new incomers that manage to push his buttons.”
Keith scoffs. “Fair enough.” He shrugs, not taking the bait. He knows he messed up—he can finally admit it.
“So,” Pidge starts, leaning against their workbench. “You want me to whip up a simple motion sensor? That’ll take a day max.”
Keith hesitates. “Are you sure you want to do it for free? I can definitely fund your expenses.” He still has that stone-cold cash from the ‘Dream Demon’ incident. Should be enough to cover whatever contraption Pidge puts together.
But Pidge just waves a dismissive hand. “Nah, it’s real simple. Don’t worry about it.”
Coran, who has been fiddling with some old wiring in the background, suddenly pipes up. “See, Keith? Pidge is as smart as a ‘low taper fade’!”
Keith grimaces. “Genuinely, I don’t think you know what that means.”
“I do! But maybe you don’t.” Coran argues, all wide-eyed conviction.
Pidge cackles, the sound sharp and quick, and Keith feels a weird warmth settle in his chest. It’s not romantic or anything, but it’s fuzzy. Light. Like standing near a fireplace and realizing it feels kind of nice. Is this what friendly banter feels like? He shakes his head, clearing the thought. He’s here to find a monster, not make friends.
He steps away, halfway out the workshop door. “Whatever. I'll be back in a day or so to pick up that motion sensor. In the meantime, I’m gonna go home and rest.”
–
Keith had woken up early that next morning, before the sun had risen. He had planned to record something for his podcast—update his listeners on his run-in with Coran and Pidge and lay out his next steps. He got as far as setting up his microphone and laptop before a sharp knock at the door interrupted him.
He checked the time. Still early. His eyes narrowed.
Grabbing his dagger just in case, he swung open the door, half-expecting some random burglar or maybe even the mailman.
He did not expect Pidge.
“Hey, Keith.”
“Oh,” Keith exhaled, shoulders easing up just slightly. Without thinking, he tucked the dagger into his pocket before they could notice. “Good morning, Pidge. Finish the sensor?”
Pidge snorted, hefting up a decent-sized box. “That, and some other gifts.”
Then, without waiting for an invitation, they shoved past him into the house.
Keith huffed. At least Lance had the decency to ask before barging in.
With an unceremonious thud, Pidge dropped the box onto his coffee table. Keith grumbled under his breath, shutting the door and shuffling over to stand beside them.
“What’s in the box?” he asked, already reaching for the lid.
“The sensor with that camera you wanted,” Pidge said. “All you have to do is place it wherever you want, and it should be good to go. No real work on your part, of course.”
Keith lifted a brow. “What else?”
“Straight to the point,” Pidge mused, nodding approvingly. “I respect it.”
They gestured to the contents of the box. “There’s an enhanced flashlight in there—no need for batteries. A new voice recorder for your ‘adorable little podcast,’ as Lance put it.” Keith immediately bit his cheek, refusing to react to that. If Pidge noticed, they didn’t comment.
“It uses less battery but has much better quality,” they continued. “Oh, and there’s a regular old compass. Just in case you get lost. I had the idea to add in GPS directions, because I can, but I figured you’d be the type to get annoyed by the constant guidance. So it’s normal.”
Keith nodded, impressed despite himself. “I appreciate it. Are you sure you don’t want any money for all this?”
Pidge waved a dismissive hand. “I’m all good.”
“Okay, then. Thanks, Pidge. I owe you.”
Pidge visibly stiffened. “Don’t say that.”
Keith blinked. That was… a weird reaction. Too sharp for a joke, too serious for them to be messing with him. He took note of it but wasn’t really sure what to do with it.
“…O-kay?” he said slowly. “Well, seriously, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
With that, they turned on their heel and left, leaving Keith standing there, watching them go.
He frowned, turning back to the box. Did he say something wrong?
–
Keith waits until after lunch to go exploring in the woods. As helpful as Pidge’s inventions were, they didn’t provide everything he needed, so he waits for the town’s market to open, slinking in as soon as he can to grab the essentials—protein bars, water, paracord, and a map of the area, just in case. He moves through the aisles quickly, keeping his head down, grabbing what he needs, checking things off his paper list.
Once his basket is full, he heads toward the checkout, scanning for the fastest way out. He spots an open self-checkout and makes a beeline for it, only for someone to cut in front of him at the last second, practically materializing in his path. She hums softly to herself, completely unbothered, and Keith has to pull up short before he collides with her. He’s about to say something when she turns to face him, and—
Oh.
She’s gorgeous. White hair, sharp features, the kind of presence that makes the world blur for half a second. And when their eyes meet, Keith feels like he’s just walked headfirst into a dream, like his brain has short-circuited before he even had a chance to process what’s happening. Despite being perfectly secure in his own sexuality, he feels entranced , like he’s been hit over the head with something heavy and vaguely magical.
“I’m sorry,” she says, clearly in a rush, “Can I cut in line?”
Keith, against his better judgment, lamely responds without thinking.
“Uh-huh.”
She smiles, grateful, and turns back around, and the moment her gaze is off him, Keith feels like he’s been dropped back into reality. He blinks hard, trying to shake off whatever the hell that was, but it lingers, leaving him annoyed at himself. Just because a beautiful woman exists doesn’t mean he has to stand there like an idiot. He’s not even into women! He’s got no reason to be acting like this!
Scowling, he grips his basket a little tighter and exhales sharply through his nose, forcing himself to focus. He’s got better things to do than lose his mind over a stranger in the checkout line.
Once he arrives back home, he unpacks his haul, methodically fitting everything into his bag—protein bars tucked into one side pocket, water bottles strapped securely in place, paracord coiled neatly at the bottom, the map folded flat against the inner lining, and Pidge’s inventions carefully tucked into the bulk of the bag. He’s about to zip it all up when he hesitates, his fingers hovering over the bag’s opening.
He debates it for only a moment before deciding, Yeah, better safe than sorry. With practiced ease, he connects a sheath to his belt, slides a dagger into place, and gives it a quick tap to make sure it’s secure. Satisfied, he slings the backpack over his shoulders, adjusts the straps, and heads out the door.
“This is Keith Kogane. The date is October 4th, and the time is 1400 hours.” His voice is steady as he speaks into his new recorder, his thumb pressing down on the button. As he steps outside, he locks the backdoor behind him, testing the knob once to make sure it’s truly latched before descending the porch stairs in quick, confident strides.
He moves through the backyard with ease, stepping over patches of uneven ground, sidestepping a large fallen tree trunk, and slipping into the shadowed entrance of Altea’s forest. He keeps walking, his boots crunching against the dirt, his eyes flickering over every detail around him.
“I am currently entering Altea’s forest, where the town’s so-called ‘monster’ is rumored to live,” he continues, his tone measured, analytical. “I will update any findings.”
With that, he clicks the recorder off and slips it into his front pocket, keeping it within easy reach. His other hand drifts toward his belt, fingertips brushing the hilt of his dagger. Just in case.
–
Keith follows the compass, heading south, the needle jerking slightly as he moves. He stashes it away in his pocket when he stumbles upon the remains of a landmark—Hunter’s Rest. Once a hunter’s lodge, later converted into a museum, now nothing more than a wreckage swallowed by the forest. Keith had searched for records detailing what the museum once showcased, but he came up empty.
Great. Another thing to ask the townsfolk.
The building itself is barely recognizable, its skeletal remains jutting out from the earth like the bones of some ancient beast. The walls have collapsed inward, and the roof is a distant memory. More unsettling than the decay, though, are the claw marks. They scar the surrounding trees, deep grooves carved into the bark as if something massive had torn through the area in a fit of rage.
Keith crouches, his fingers brushing against the forest floor. He slings his backpack forward, digging through the pockets until his hands brush against the motion sensor. He gently grabs ahold of it, lugging it out. Keith fiddles with it until it’s standing, and hides it behind a bush– out of sight from anyone looking for it, but still visible enough to take pictures when triggered.
While still in a deep squat, Keith stares at the scattered debris, until he spots tufts of fur, coarse and dark, clinging stubbornly to the undergrowth. He picks up a small strand, rubbing it between his fingers. It’s thick, not like anything from a deer or a bear.
Then—
A twig snaps.
Keith's body tenses, muscles coiling like a spring. He whips his head toward the sound, his eyes locking onto a pair of wide, startled ones staring back at him from the shadows.
“Relax… I come in peace.” the figure says.
“If that’s true, why are you lurking in the shadows?”
“Why are you lurking in the shadows?”
Keith grits his teeth, rising to his full height. “Maybe I don’t come in peace. I could easily attack you with my dagger, you know. Take one step closer, and it’s going straight into your chest.”
“Alright, alright! I’m just a simple baker! Seriously, I'm not trying to attack you!”
“...Come out with your hands up.”
“I thought you told me not to come any closer!!” the man yelps.
“Just,” Keith groans. “Just come out.”
The man stumbles out from behind the bushes, hands raised high above his head in exaggerated surrender. He’s wearing a thick, earth-toned sweater, sleeves slightly too long as they bunch around his wrists, and in one of his hands, he holds a raw steak like some kind of bizarre peace offering.
“See?? I come in peace!” he insists, shaking the steak slightly for emphasis.
Keith sucks in a sharp breath, forcing himself to relax as he slides his dagger back into its sheath. He lets his eyes sweep over the man, trying to make sense of the whole situation, before settling on the mark on his forehead.
“You’ve got something on your forehead. Dirt, maybe?” Keith says, tilting his head.
“Oh! It’s Ash Wednesday…?” the man offers weakly.
Keith furrows his brows. “It’s a Friday.”
The man freezes for half a second before clicking his tongue. “Okay, you got me. I was doing face masks with my friend earlier, and I guess I didn’t wipe it all off.” He scratches at his cheek sheepishly, but makes no move to remove the mark.
They both stand there, unmoving, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“Well… are you going to?” Keith finally asks, gesturing vaguely at his own forehead.
“No! No… I– I have a bad batch of acne there. So it’s like. Might as well?” The man shrugs, though his voice rises an octave in clear nervousness.
Keith narrows his eyes, not entirely convinced, but decides to let it slide. “Right. Well… I’m searching for a monster.”
The man lets out a low whistle, tucking the steak under his arm as if it were a book. “A monster? I’m guessing you’re the town’s new monster hunter.”
“Lance got to you too?” Keith sulks, crossing his arms.
“Who do you think I was doing the face masks with?” Hunk grins, waving a hand over his still-smudged forehead.
Keith exhales sharply through his nose. “Fair. But yes, that’s me.”
Hunk tilts his head, squinting slightly like he’s sizing Keith up. “Be honest, did the government send you?”
“No, not at all. I’d never work with them. I just run my own podcast.”
“Oh, that’s cute!” Hunk beams.
Keith blinks. “…Thanks.”
The guy is weirdly friendly. Like, suspiciously friendly. But not in a bad way. Just in a Lance-adjacent kind of way. It makes him think of the unfinished pie sitting out on his kitchen counter. Maybe he really should pay him a visit.
“I’m Hunk, by the way.”
Keith raises an eyebrow at the strange name but bites his tongue. He’s met weirder– like Pidge. Instead, he nods toward him. “I’m sure Lance already told you everything about me?”
Hunk nods enthusiastically before pausing to double-check. “But you’re not here to hurt any monster?”
“No. Just prove they exist. Why does everyone assume I’m on the hunt for it?” Keith throws up his hands.
Hunk shrugs, shifting the raw steak to his other hand. “Well… you are called a monster hunter. One can only assume…”
Keith sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “I guess you’re right.” He exhales, glancing around at the claw-marked trees and wreckage of Hunter’s Rest before turning his attention back to Hunk. “We both know what I’m doing here, but what’re you doing here?”
Hunk raises an eyebrow. “Would you be surprised if I said the same thing?”
Keith frowns. “Really?” The idea that someone else might be tracking the creature as well sends a spark of unease down his spine. But no—Hunk had already said he was a baker, hadn’t he? So then… Why was he out here?
“Well,” Hunk continues, shifting on his feet, “the ‘monster,’ as you want to call it, actually saved me from a really bad run-in with the town’s most hated person. Scared him off. So I figured… maybe he’d appreciate a steak or something.”
Keith blinks. “ He ?”
Hunk rubs at his arm, glancing away. “Well, I feel better calling him a ‘he’ versus an ‘it.’”
“Just seems a bit too… humanizing.”
Hunk’s gaze sharpens, eyes narrowing. “For someone who doesn’t want to kill the creature, you are quite insensitive.”
Keith presses his lips into a thin line, then exhales. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” The words taste dry on his tongue, but he figures he might as well play nice. He’s gotten pretty far with playing nice —if the free gear is anything to go by. “I guess I’m just wondering about your experience with… him. You said you had a run-in?”
“I did.” Hunk’s grip tightens on the steak. “And that’s all I feel comfortable sharing.”
Keith watches him carefully, noting the slight tension in his shoulders, the shift of his weight from foot to foot. Whatever happened, Hunk isn’t eager to part with it. But Keith isn’t worried– he knows he’ll get what he wants.
“How did you even learn about our forest creature ?”
Keith exhales sharply through his nose, answering honestly. “An anonymous tip.”
Hunk frowns. “I bet that ‘anonymous tip’ was given by the town’s most hated person. He’s the only one who’s ever had some trouble with him.”
“Oh really? What sort of trouble?” Keith prompts.
“Well he— oh you’re good.” Hunk points at him, steak in hand. “I'm not sharing that information.”
“I was so close.” Keith smiles, not unkindly.
…Did he just tease Hunk? What is happening to him? “Do you mind telling me about the appointed ‘most-hated-villager’? Maybe I can chat with them?”
“I would, but I'm afraid he’d ruin the creature’s reputation. The ‘monster’, as you call him, really isn’t bad, he’s just trying to live his own life.”
“That’s what Lance said too.” Keith says before he can catch himself.
“And you didn’t believe him?” Hunk raises an eyebrow, defensively. Seems like Keith touched a nerve with that one.
“I believe that he believed what he was saying. But I personally hadn't had a run-in with this monster. But you have. Please, prove me wrong and say he has a good heart.”
“Lance, or the creature?”
Keith furrows his brows. “We both know I'm talking about ‘the creature’. Lance has his own morals he sticks to.”
“I have a feeling you trust lance more than you let on.”
Keith purses his lips. “Maybe I'd like to believe Lance's morals about this creature. But that's up to what you share.”
Hunk shifts his gaze across Keith’s face, searching for something. Keith, despite himself, allows him to. Whatever Hunk was looking for, he must’ve found it, because his shoulders sag. “Fine. I'll indulge.”
Keith can’t help the small smile that creeps onto his face. “Do you mind if I record the conversation? Just to put it on the record?”
“Sure, but you better not include my name.”
“I’ll respect it.” Keith rummages through his pocket for the voice recorder. When he finds it, he hits the record button with a soft click. “So, anonymous person, what was your experience with the town’s monster?”
“Well. I had gotten into a scuffle with the town outcast.”
“The supposed most-hated-villager?” Keith clarifies, more for his listeners than himself.
“…Yes. Him. well he had ended up cornering me in the woods, threatening to carve me up in the woods.”
Keith’s jaw drops. He was… not expecting that. Altea seemed like such a nice, quiet town– definitely not the type to have attempted murder. “Holy shit”
“Right?” Hunk continues. “Well it was late in the night, and I couldn't see 10 feet in front of me. But he started advancing towards me and i didnt know what to do– I'm just the town’s baker! Well, suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, this large creature leapt over me and started protecting me from the villager. He curled around me and growled, loud enough to scare them off.”
“What did it look like?” Keith prods. He was so glad he ran into Hunk.
“He.” Hunk corrects.
“I'm sorry. What did he look like?”
“Well, he was large. Like larger than me. Covered in this grey fur. And had this bushy tail.”
It fits the same description that Lance had given. What kind of monster is larger than a man, and as furry as an animal?
“A werewolf.” Keith breathlessly says.
Hunk swallows harshly. “I think I've said too much.”
Keith turns off the recording. “This is off the record. Between just the two of us, did it seem like a werewolf?”
Hunk shakes his head. “Seriously, I said more than I meant.”
At this point, Keith was talking more to himself than hunk. “No wonder you’re protecting this werewolf– his human form lives amongst you! Be honest, do you know who he is?”
Hunk stares at him with sad eyes before shaking his head. “I don’t. And honestly? You shouldn’t either. Whoever it is is a good person. And if you keep prodding where you’re not welcome, you’ll just be making enemies in the town.”
Before Keith could respond, Hunk turns and walks away, casually taking his steak further into the woods. Keith’s instinct is to follow, to press for more, but the sinking sun—casting long, eerie shadows over the trees—gives him pause. His grip tightens on the recorder for a second before he sighs and stuffs it back in his pocket. It’s best not to stay out too late, just in case something is out there. Well, correction. Something is out there, but Keith is not prepared to find it– him– quite yet.
With one last glance toward Hunk, Keith hesitates. Reluctantly, he turns and heads back to his house, the crunch of his footsteps in the underbrush the only sound as the last of the daylight slips away.