The next evening, Ace couldn't take it anymore. Lying in bed, his mind refused to settle, no matter how hard he tried.
Frustrated, he insisted on leaving the hospital. Since he seemed fine physically, the doctors had no choice but to let him go.
But once he got home, the unease only grew. The house was too perfect, too human.
Photos of Gerry as a toddler lined the walls, along with school certificates and awards.
○ His room was worse_a shrine to mediocrity, filled with comic books, figurines, and posters of superheroes.
"This is a nightmare," he mutters, flopping onto the bed. The mattress squeak under his weight, and he groans in irritation. "What kind of life did this kid even have?"
For a moment, Ace's thoughts drift to Gerry's life, but the image of Barry quickly pushes everything else aside. His mind racing again.
The thought of being part of the enemy's family fills him with dread and anger. What if Barry came for the Hunters and killed him too?
What if he could never return to Barry because of this body?
Why would his spirit be trapped in Gerry's body of all people?
But then, another idea creep in. What if he could use this to his advantage? What if he could help end their enemies once and for all?
Even then, doubts claws at him. If he succeed and goes back to Barry, would Barry even take him in? He knows Barry too well. The man wouldn't listen; he would only see him as the enemy, another human.
Ace's head throbs, his thoughts spiraling chaotically.
What if he isn't a werewolf anymore?
The possibility jolts him upright. Desperation surging through him as he concentrates, willing himself to transform. He braces himself, closing his eyes and waiting for the familiar heat of the shift.
Nothing.
His pulse quickens. He stares at his hands—fat and clumsy compared to his real ones. Gritting his teeth, he tries again, focusing only on summoning his claws.
Still, nothing.
Anger flares. He clenches his fists, slamming one against the wall with all his strength. The strong wall cracks under the impact, the sound echoing in the silent room.
A twisted smile spread across his face. "I must still be a werewolf," he murmurs. "No human can do that."
Turning toward the mirror, he stares at his reflection—foreign and strange. A new determination hardens within him.
"If only I can transform fully into a werewolf, then I can go back to Barry like that. He would listen to me in that form. Or…" His voice trails off as an idea forms. "Maybe I can use this body to my advantage. He already sees me as a younger brother and refuses to accept my love. But what if…"
A knock at the door startles him. His thoughts scattering. Panics and he dives under the blankets, pretending to sleep.
The door creaks open, and Jonathan steps inside.
"Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?" Jonathan's voice is laced with concern.
Ace clenches his jaw, irritation bubbling inside him. What would Barry think if he knew Ace was this close to the enemy? And he doesn't do anything about it.
"Fine," Ace mutters, his gaze fixed on the wall.
Jonathan sits on the edge of the bed. "Gerry, I know what happened yesterday freaked you out. It's probably eating you up, but I want you to know you're safe here. Everything will be fine."
Ace doesn't respond.
"I feel like I should tell you about those creatures," Jonathan continues, "but I don't want to overwhelm you right now. What matters is, they can't get in here. We've got protections in place."
Ace's ears perks up. "Protections? What kind of protections can keep those things away?" He tries to sound believably afraid.
Jonathan hesitates . "You wouldn't understand. But it's some kind of an ash—something they can't pass through."
Ace's heart races. What if the ash keep him trapped too?
"Gerry, I promise, you're safe. Those things can't touch you here. They don't even know you exist unless they've been spying on us." Jonathan smiles reassuringly.
Ace forces a tight smile. "Okay." he says wanting Jonathan to leave him alone to think clearly.
"If—"
"I'm tired. Can you leave now?" Ace cut him off sharply.
Jonathan hesitates, then stands. "Alright. Rest up." His gaze lingers on the cracked wall. "What happened to that?"
Ace shrugs. "Found it like that." he says not trying to find a convincing lie.
Jonathan frowns but doesn't press further. He assumes it was damage from the werewolves' attack and quietly leaves the room.
As soon as the door closes, Ace throw off the blankets. Almost all night, he tries to transform, desperate to bring out even a flicker of his old self.
But no matter how hard he tries, nothing happens.
Sitting on the floor, his body aching, Ace wonders why it was always about Barry. His head throbs with frustration, his mind full of memories of everything he had done for Barry—only for Barry to never truly appreciate him.
"Maybe he doesn't care that I'm dead," Ace mutters bitterly. "He's probably already moved on, planning another attack without even thinking about me. And that attack might kill me too."
The thought drives him mad.
He storms to the window and leap out, heading straight for the fence. He has to test the ash.
He had always known werewolves couldn't pass through it, he needs to confirm himself, he can use it to confirm if he is still a werewolf now or not.
When he reaches the boundary, he tries to cross—and couldn't.
The invisible barrier burns his skin, forcing him back. Fury and frustration surges inside him.
So he is still a werewolf. But this body refuses to transform.