A bunch of Zach/Claire centered oneshots brought on by me watching my old universal monster video tapes. Enjoy while you can humans.


Zach and Claire: Unleashed (The Wolfman)

WARNING: Character deaths. If you like Sylar head for the hills.

The moon pulsed and throbbed high above the high school. It poured rage and hunger into his head, and the sounds of partying teenagers were drowned out by drums and chanting in a language older than English. A language used in a time when man and beast hunted as one…and sometimes were one. All his Wiccan beliefs and faith which he normally turned to in trying times drained out of his skull to be replaced by the sounds of bones cracking and flesh throbbing. His blood was like steam in his veins and the pentagram in left palm burned like a brand, but glowed red with infection. The bite mark on his shoulder bleed and oozed yellow pus.

Zach could smell her now. Not peaches and cream like he thought she would. She smelled like honey and fruit. And raging hormones. His vision was dimming, colors becoming swirls of grey and white. He heard his own heartbeat, resonating off his ribcage. His limbs swelled as muscles doubled their mass, his body was gearing up for the change.

He was stronger now. With sharper senses. But this was no blessing.

He was cursed.

Soon he would change. Soon he would kill again, just like he had the night before. Luckily he had awoken with deer blood on his lips, not human. But soon that would change. He was to near a large human gathering, the beast was to restless. But he had to find Claire. Had to see her one last time. She had something he needed. She was the only thing that could stop him now. He knew even if he changed before he found her, the beast would track her down.

Werewolves always killed their loved ones first.

He loped down the hall, moving in a way more animal than human. He smelled her scent, took it in like it was candy. Gods it was so beautiful. Almost as beautiful as her. Then he heard the scream. First Claire’s, then….he couldn’t remember her name. A red haze descended over his vision. Mist and fog swirled in his brain until.

Can’t remember his name. Can’t remember his family’s names. All he remembers is blonde hair and eyes that reeled him in whether he wanted them to or not. All he sees is her. All he smells is her. All he feels is pain. He growls low in his throat as his body expands as though someone was pumping fluid into his muscles. Skin rips, fur wet with sweat ruffles. Clothes strain but hold…barely. Bones snap and crack, becoming broader and stronger. The head becomes something in between The Wolfman and The Howling.

He (It?) remembers things he has not done. An unbroken genetic history of his bloodline, seen through the eyes of his forbearers. Hunting prey that’s now extinct. The mewling of his first liter with his first mate. Silver weaponry biting his flesh. The howls of pack mates and children and lovers and rivals as they die, celebrate, or mourn. But he also remembers enemies neither animal nor werewolf nor human, although they might look human. Enemies who can fly, walk through walls, or spit poison and death. They all smell the same. Molten metal and decaying flesh. The same smell mingles with Claire’s. And he snarls.

He hears crashing. Hears moaning. Then he smells blood. Not Claire’s, but it’s enough to drive him into a frenzy. He’s on all fours now, moving in a way not quite wolf, but not quite simian. A bastard walk of a thing born of wolves and apes. The decayed, metallic scent fills his nostrils, blocks out the Honey and punch scent of his intended. He rounds the corners. See’s a prey animal (Human? Can’t remember.) Held to the wall by nothing, the top of her head missing.

She’s on the floor. Broken. Hurt.

He see’s thing that hurt her.

He howls.

Thing turns. Surprised. He smells the surprise and confidence from thing in coat and hat. He also smells Thing’s fear. Thing talks. He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t want to. Thing’s voice is more poisonous than Thing’s smell. Thing moves hand. Something hit’s him, something he can’t see or smell, but he hears a whoosh of air. He flies back as though a mighty blow had struck him. But he couldn’t see it. Thing had hurt him without even touching him. This makes him confused. Confused make him scared.

Scared make angry.

He falls standing, jumps high, feels cold on his chest as Thing uses power. There’s no scream of pain or fear. No final groan of pain turned to a gurgle as blood rises in throat. Just a sigh. Jaws come away from Thing’s throat. Prey dead. Now need eat. Flesh taste good. He hungry. Want to eat so he eats. Smell bad. Taste good. Another smell. Fruit. Yucky. But honey. Good. He never smells molten metal and decay. No want to. She’s making noise. Loud. Hurt ears. Her eyes are bleeding water.

He walks toward her. Blood on snout. He takes piece of prey in his mouth and drops it in front of her. An offering. She like? She makes louder noise. Reaches for something on the floor. Metal. He reaches for her. Palm up. She like? He was strong for her, he killed great prey for her, he bring her good meat. Strong meat, tasty and tender. She like? She pick up metal thing. Points it.

She like?

She points it at him. Makes different noise.

Sounds like….

“I’m s-s-sorry.”

Metal thing make noise. Hurt ears. Hurt chest. Chest burn. Heart burn. Silver make heart explode in chest. Another noise. Lungs fill with blood. Another. His head disintegrates.

Zach falls dead. His body human before it hit’s the floor. The smoking gun he had given to her this morning clatters to the ground. She’s screaming and crying and cursing all at the same times. If it would kill her, she’d turn the gun on herself. But it wouldn’t. Noah stared at the body for the longest time. Mouth agape. Piss staining his pants. Peter had taken one look at the grizzly seen before him, thrown up, then fainted. Sylar was lying in bloody pieces behind him. Zach’s headless body leaking blood, silver still cooking internal organs.


Zach didn’t know were he was. Maybe his grandparents were right, maybe he was burning in hell for worshiping heathen gods. It didn’t matter. Claire was hurting, but she’d done the right thing. The good thing. The merciful and humane thing. And no matter where he was, he’d wait for her. Forever.



In case you haven’t figured it out yet, this little series will deal with the Claire/Zach pairing. With a few monstrous twists. Next up, Dracula.