Chapter Text
It happened one day while Sammie was out in a patch of trees some Saturday, practicing his music. He was writing a new song, strumming his guitar and softly singing the words. The sun was going down—he hadn’t meant to stay out so late, but he had an argument with his dad earlier that day about his music and he wasn’t ready to go back yet. Although, it was less of an argument and more of a sermon.
When he paused to consider the next words in the song, he heard a twig snap and glanced up, only to make eye contact with a wolf in the shadows. He froze.
It was like no wolf he’d seen before—its fur was a mix of dark brown and black, and it had blue eyes. It stared at him as it crept closer slowly. For a moment, Sammie was sure that that was how he was going to die, until it sat down about ten feet away and tilted its head.
If he ran, it would probably chase him.
Cautiously, Sammie kept an eye on it as he strummed his guitar. When it made no move, he started plucking the notes to the song again. The wolf’s tail wagged gently, and Sammie smiled nervously as he started to sing. He got about halfway through before stopping again, uncertain of the next words. Sometimes they came easy, but not this one.
“Hard to find the right words,” he told the wolf, and then immediately felt insane. The wolf barked quietly. Well, at least there was no one else around to see him lose his mind talking to it. “You hungry?”
The wolf barked again, which Sammie took as a confirmation. He searched through his pockets until he found what he was looking for. “I got, uh, some cornbread I brought to eat. Forgot about it.”
He offered it to the wolf, holding his arm out and saying a small prayer that it wouldn’t bite his hand instead—it’d be a real foolish way to lose it. The wolf got up and sniffed at his palm, then carefully took a bite. Its sharp teeth glinted in the nearly-faded light and Sammie resisted the urge to flinch away. When there was nothing left but small crumbs, the wolf licked at his hand, and Sammie pulled away with a laugh. It pressed its nose against his knees and he gave into the urge to carefully pet its head.
“You’re real nice, for a wolf,” Sammie murmured, scratching it behind the ears. He almost wondered if it could be a dog, but it looked too distinctively predatory in a way that dogs weren’t. “You ain’t got a pack?”
The wolf whined, resting its head on Sammie’s knee.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Sammie said, and knew then if the wolf decided to follow him home, he’d let it. He’d find a way to hide it from his parents—Lord knows they wouldn’t let him keep a dog, much less a wolf.
The wolf sniffed at his guitar and Sammie picked it up again. He played a few notes and the wolf’s ears perked up in interest, so he started to play another song. After a moment, the wolf let out a soft howl in tune with the music.
“You wantin’ to sing?” Sammie asked, continuing the song. The song didn’t have words, so instead he hummed along. As duets stand, it was messy, but it was one of the most fun ones he’d ever played. Wasn’t much that could top something like this.
When he stopped playing, he glanced at the sky and felt dread pool in his stomach. It was dark now, too dark. His ma would be worried, and his pop would be mad, and that meant more preaching about Sammie’s music belonging to the devil. It belonged to Sammie, though, and to everyone who could hear it.
The thought crossed his mind, as it had many times before, of running away. He could leave and be free of it all—the church and the people who just knew him as preacher boy, the sweltering cotton fields, the sweat that never seemed to leave his skin. He could go somewhere he could be himself, somewhere he could let the music spill out of his skin. Yet he could never manage to muster the courage to up and leave this place that had been his home for the past twenty years.
The feeling of a paw settling on his knee broke him from his thoughts. He met the wolf’s eyes with a sigh. He stood up and brushed his pants off. “I got to head home now,” he said, and the wolf stood up too. After patting it on the head, he turned to leave. Quiet footsteps followed behind him and he couldn’t help the small smile that spread on his face as the wolf fell into step beside him.
“You know, my daddy will be real unhappy if he sees you,” Sammie said, and the wolf cocked its head. “If you keep out of sight, you can stay. I don’t want him chasin’ you out.”
There weren't many places to hide around there—Sammie couldn’t even hide his guitar—but surely the wolf could find a way if it wanted to stay. He wanted it to stay, too. With it, he felt a little less lonely. Sure, he knew plenty of people, but there were some things he couldn’t tell them, some things he couldn’t say. Secrets and devils lingering in his heart—the way his eyes lingered on the bare back of another boy, the way his heart fluttered from a man’s smile, the way he liked boys the same way he liked girls. A wolf could kill, but it couldn’t be cruel. Other people could do both.
The church came into view, its peeling white paint barely visible in the dark. Still, it felt like a menacing figure, like the tall shadow of his father standing over him. Sammie passed the church, and then he was at the shared home. There were no lights or movement to be seen, everyone already having gone to bed. As he quietly entered the building, the wolf paused at the door, looking wary.
“Come on in, it’s safe,” Sammie whispered, and the wolf slowly crept in behind him. Sammie carefully put the guitar under his bed and slipped under the thin sheet. The wolf jumped up after him and settled by his feet. That night, he found it easier to fall asleep.
The wolf was gone come morning, which Sammie was glad for. Better for it to slip out unnoticed.
Today was Sunday. Dread filled his heart as he got up, and the previous day felt more like a distant dream. He would have to go to church and face his father, face the fallout of their argument. Sammie wished he could just understand—music was in his soul, in his very being. It was like religion to him. But maybe he understood that all too well, and the heresy of it horrified him.
When Sammie got to the church, he was one of the last ones there. His dad glanced at him, then his expression hardened and he looked away. For the entire sermon, he either didn’t look at Sammie or looked through him like he didn’t exist. The shape of his father’s disapproval could either be cold and silent or harsh and sermonizing. He wasn’t sure which he preferred.
He would have preferred something a little closer to acceptance.
After the sermon, his father called out for him to stay. Sammie obeyed with reluctance. When it was just the two of them, his father spoke. “Ruthie was worried sick, you know.”
Sammie bowed his head. “I didn’t mean to stay out so late, honest.”
“If you weren’t gettin' lost in that head of yours or that music, this wouldn’t happen,” he chastised, disapproval written in the lines of his face. “Where were you?”
“The woods down the road, but I didn’t go far in.” The honesty tasted bitter on his tongue, but he knew his father would know if he lied. There weren’t many private places around. If he was anywhere else, people would have seen him.
“Careful boy, you’ll meet the Devil in those woods.”
If his father had it his way, Sammie would meet the Devil just about anywhere. He’d be following him always, catching flashes of sharp shadows out of the corner of his eye. The Devil was nowhere, but he was supposedly in every nook and cranny of Sammie’s life, latched onto his very soul. When Sammie was younger, words like that had scared him, made him obey his parents’ every word and check under his bed every night. Now, he was just tired. The only devils he saw were the ones that lived in men.
“I’ll be careful,” Sammie said, instead of the words that threatened to pour from his lips. He swallowed them down, like always. He’d take them and let the emotions flow out in music instead.
(Sometimes, he thought if he was cut open, he’d bleed blues).
“If you put down that guitar of yours…”
Sammie sighed. “I need to get goin’. I’ll be back later.” He left before that particular sermon could start again, knowing that anything he said would be futile.
Because it was a Sunday, no one had to work in the fields, and that left Sammie free to disappoint his father all he wanted. He could head into town, spend time with some friends, and try to figure out the next words in his song. For this one day of the week, he could be just a little bit more free.
That night, the wolf came back. Sammie was heading home when he saw it by the side of the road. For a moment, he was afraid that it wouldn’t recognize him, until its ears perked up and it came to see him. Sammie crouched down with a smile and greeted the wolf, petting its head.
“You know, if you’re going to stick around, I should probably name you.” Of course, Sammie had no idea what to name it, but it would just feel strange not to give it a name. “Charley? No, you don’t seem like a Charley. Maybe Louis.”
The wolf tilted its head.
“I don’t know, I’m no good at names.” Naming songs was one thing; naming a living creature was a whole different one. “How about Jack?”
The wolf let out a small bark. It didn’t seem like disapproval, so Jack it was.
“Now that’s settled, you hungry again?” Sammie asked. The wolf nosed at his pants, which he took as a yes. He still had a few things on him that he managed to get in town, most of which wasn’t exactly good food for wolves. He had a bit of bread, but that was it, so it’d have to do.
As he fed the wolf, he settled onto the ground and spoke softly. “You know, sometimes I think about leavin’ here. Might be nicer somewhere else—Chicago, maybe.” He paused, idly petting the wolf’s ears. “I’d have to leave this place behind, everyone I know.”
The wolf looked up at him and whined.
“Yeah, that means you too. Don’t think I could take a wolf into Chicago. Besides, you could find someone else to take care of you, I’m sure.” Standing up, Sammie wiped the residual bread crumbs and saliva from his hand on his pants. “Alright, c’mon, Jack.”
Ears perking up, the wolf followed him home again.
The rest of the week was pretty standard—similar to his everyday life, except now he had a wolf following him around at night that he was feeding, cuddling with, and baring his heart to. Somewhere along the way, he figured out the lyrics that were escaping him. For now, Jack was his only audience (and occasionally his partner in music).
Something about the wolf caught Sammie’s attention, though. It was strangely intelligent and mostly docile. The more time he spent with it, the more he noticed. It almost seemed to understand what he was saying. If Sammie was a more superstitious person, maybe he would have been suspicious, but he wasn’t. Sure, it was strange, but he didn’t mind much.
The wolf became part of his life, and everything felt fairly normal.
And then Smoke and Stack showed up.