hope dies here

who: oz and doc
where: diner on third street
when: mid morning

Oz had gone to put up more fliers. To be there. So if people needed help, he could give it. And he'd been doing that, right up until he'd seen the paper that day. The news hit him like a ton of bricks. He knew he shouldn't be surprised, but...some part of him was. He wound up going into the first place he came across and sat down, ordering coffee but not touching it. Instead, he sat at the counter, staring at the news article, reading and re-reading it. Over, and over.

Died of their wounds. Strains of rabies. He could read between the lines. He'd grown up in a town that had hunters, he knew how it worked. He knew how they worked. And god, no one had even been given a chance. As a werewolf himself, and someone who was going to try his hardest to help people around who needed it right now...this he felt more sharply than he had anything in a long time. He felt sick over it all. Despondent. Hollowed out. It had to be hunters. They just...

Executed. That was what. They had to have gone to the hospital, and just...executed people. People who were hurt, and confused, and who didn't deserve to just be outright killed, because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd been going to help. God, he'd been going to help. There were ways of controlling things, he knew, he'd been a cursed werewolf since he was a toddler, he knew lots of ways but--any choice those people had was ripped away. Because they were executed.

It was a nightmare. And Oz had never felt so helpless in his life. He was too late. And sure, maybe there were a few that had gotten missed. Maybe they'd call. Or maybe hunters would, and they'd hunt him down like a dog, because of what he was. Not ask him if he wanted to live. Or if he was going to take necessary precautions. Or anything.

Nothing was going to make this better. There was no help for this. He'd gone out with some hope in his heart that he could make a difference, and he wound up feeling like a haunted man.

If asked by someone he could trust, Doc would've confessed some concern over what had happened too. He wasn't as upset as Oz? What with not being a werewolf and all. But Doc wasn't happy either. There was a full month before the infected would've been a danger, something could have been done.

Teddybear could've hacked the hospital networks, gotten Doc a list. He could've marshalled Kurt and Frank to help him find the survivors, convince them of the truth. Who knew what damage had been done by some sloppy hunter's scorched earth approach? Would one of the survivors have been crucial to the future? Doc didn't know, but someone out there was fucking with his Balance, and he didn't like it.

He'd needed a walk to clear his head, and eventually the usual urge for coffee had touched down. The little diner was the closest place to sate it, and Doc didn't mind it being largely empty as he strolled in, grabbed his own menu, and moved to a table near Oz. He caught sight of the younger man staring at the newspaper, coughing faintly around a freshly-lit cigarette. "Pretty fucked up night, even in this town, huh?" he asked as a way of greeting.

Since the man had sat on Oz's left (typical, really) he had to turn farther around than other people would have to see him. He did so, after a moment it took to get his head together enough to respond, and he shifted sideways on the stool to regard the guy. "Very much so." he agreed, and his voice carried how he was feeling. One thing Oz had never mastered was subtlety, or hiding things. It just wasn't part of his make up.

Doc flipped open his menu briefly, not really reading it as he waited on a waitress, then flipping it shut when one arrived. "Fries and a coffee," he ordered simply, handing his menu back and nodding to Oz as he settled in. "Makes you wonder what's next, doesn't it? I mean, if the paper's right and this was... what, rabies, right? We should already be neck-deep in CDC agents and doctors around town." Which they obviously weren't; what would the Center of Disease Control need to do here? There was no disease of any kind to handle any more, but Doc always found it a good habit to try and poke logical holes in what people used as explanations for the stranger side of things.

"People don't die of rabies over night." Oz said, because he knew that much. Or thought he did. It wasn't like he had a medical background. Still, though, it was logic. People didn't die like that, or 'of their wounds' in such rapid, high concentrations. "They also don't all keel over because of woundings all at once." he muttered, remembering his coffee. He wrapped his hand around the mug, but didn't actually take a drink. He was still feeling sick to his stomach, and didn't think anything going into it would help matters.

"Don't need to tell me that," Doc agreed, noting the obvious turmoil on Oz's face. Was he involved in some way with what was going on? A hunter? Something else entirely that had a stake here? "Rabies, even advanced strains, needs a handful of days at least. And I heard there was some severe damage? But yeah, if they were fatal wounds, they would've been fatal faster." Which was a lot for a total stranger to offer up, but hey. Playing the knowledgeable card like Star hadn't burned him yet. "Sorry, I'm intruding. I read the article this morning, thought I'd offer my two cents. Bullshit is bullshit, doesn't matter where it's published."

Oz was left wondering the same thing. What Doc's story was here. How he knew, and how much he knew. If he understood what had really been happening the other night. If he was a hunter. If maybe he'd been tracking the person putting fliers up, and was testing the waters. "It's fine." he said to the intruding bit. "Bullshit is bullshit, and this qualifies." It qualified as a hell of a lot more than that as well, but...most of the world might not think so. Because those people weren't people anymore, they were scary monsters. Nevermind it was only once a month.

"Gonna be a lot of funerals this week," Doc murmured with a frown, shaking his head. And maybe a net life or two would be saved, but Doc couldn't help wondering what potential had been cut off prematurely just so some fool could feel like he accomplished something or put a few more notches in his belt. "I wonder if any of the families are going to ask for full autopsy reports." That would shed more light on the situation, for sure. He'd have to have Teddy keep watch. "And really, the whole story sounds fishy, y'know? Everything that happened Friday night, at the risk of sounding like a conspiracy theorist, was way too easily pieced together in time for the paper to make it to printing."

Hesitating as Oz eyed the man with his good eye, he was again wondering what it was the man knew. Though really, he'd be a step up if he wasn't claiming 'rabid animal' attacks. They'd been werewolves. Werewolves were pretty damn hard to miss, really, even if people continually did it. But they were big, scary, wolf-like creatures that shredded people, what was to miss? How did people manage to not figure that one out? In the end he nodded. "Yeah. It does." he agreed.

"So, what..." Doc trailed as his food and mug arrived, nodding gratefully, "Reading to make yourself angry? Or looking to see if any details don't match up?" He unscrewed a ketchup, dousing his fries in it and wolfing a few down. He caught the hesitation on Oz's face, wondering if maybe he should just say something. But he was already being direct with the fact that he knew something, revealing more might mark him as a local crazy.

"I was...thinking about ways to help, today, and then saw this. Looks like I'm a little too late." Oz said, not sure what that would tell the man, but it was truth, if nothing else. "Someone else decided to take a much more permanent stance on things." Genocidal as it was. God. All those people. Oz was still having so much trouble getting past it all. He knew things like this happened, he just hadn't ever been around when it had. And he'd already been thinking about how to go about helping people, things to set up, ways to tell people how to deal with everything...and now it just didn't matter.

"You and whoever was hanging ads around town," Doc agreed before stuffing in another fry, chewing slowly. "Whatever happened there last night? Well, someone wasn't interested in talking, were they? Zero tolerance has always pissed me off, as far as control policies go." It was sloppy and arrogant to decide you had that right. Even Doc, in a position like his, tried to steer clear of such direct influence. Even when he'd been wilder and free to act, he wasn't one to engage in multiple-count murder. And werewolves or not, it was murder. "I'm wondering if maybe there's something on the hospital security tapes that no one's bothering to check."

"I wonder that too, but getting ahold of something like that would be difficult." Oz said. Not to mention he didn't know what he would do with such information. He honestly didn't know if he could be trusted with it. In fact, there was a good chance he couldn't be. Oz had always had a very black and white view of the world, and this was no different. Someone had gone and killed a bunch of people who were otherwise innocent, and only because of what could have happened later. It...it wasn't right. He didn't admit to being the person who'd hung up the fliers. At least, not yet. "And no, it appears they weren't interested in talking. Or learning. Anyone can learn to deal with almost anything if they have the right information. There can be...precautions."

Difficult? Not to the sentient AI that watched over the twins, if it was inclined to help. "There's always ways," Doc said with a shrug. If they were already discussing the incident, what harm was there in discussing stealing security tapes? "And the problem there is that plenty of people out there, especially the sorts who get wrapped up in this sort of problem? They're not always looking to learn. Just to win. They want a victory to call their own, plain and simple. Giving them the potential of things going wrong scares them. Eric Martens," he introduced himself at last with a wad of fries going past his lips, "Friends call me Doc."

"Well, it isn't a win." Oz said darkly, not directing it at Doc, but it obviously was very personal to him. "...Jasper Osbourne. No one calls me Jasper, though. Everyone calls me Oz." Well. Except his wife, who called him 'J'. She hated his name. Thinking about her had him checking his wedding band, before looking back to Doc. "Nice to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances." he said. One thing he was belatedly noticing was Doc hadn't stared at the scars over his eye. Most people stared, or did that thing where they were trying not to stare, or trying to look like they didn't see it at all.

Scars didn't faze Doc, though he'd noticed the unblinking eye. He guessed it was ruined but not clouded over, and beyond that? Well, it was just one little hint towards thinking that Oz might understand more than what the papers said. Sure, normal people ended up with scars like that, but not many of them had those and suspicions about what people told each other was happening. "Good meeting you too, Oz," he said easily, nodding over. "And to some of them? It might be a victory. That sort of mentality makes for anything but good circumstances, though. So, Oz... public atmosphere aside? Mind me asking what you think went down, if it wasn't some incredibly convenient strain of rabies?"

Oz glanced around the diner, trying to think of what he could say. "Wolves, I reckon." he opted for. Even if he meant werewolves. "They generally don't carry rabies, though. Sometimes something else, but not rabies." And if Doc could read between the lines on that, then he was pretty sure he'd know.

"I'd say you have it right," Doc agreed with a knowing nod, tilting his mug for a swallow of coffee. "So obviously someone was looking to curb the spread of infection, just in the worst way possible." And that acknowledgment from both of them suddenly made things much easier; just knowing that the man sitting across from him knew the shapeshifters existed was a welcome starting point. "Of course, with the specifics of the problem? Well, the wildlife enthusiasts I've known always opt for the most extreme solutions." He'd done it himself in the past, though it was always limited to stopping needless deaths on the night of a full moon, not poisoning baseline humans.

It did make talking easier, knowing they were on the same page, so to speak. "That's been my experience as well with them. But that's not the way it should go. Those people...there are ways to live with the infection." he said, hating a bit how he was being likened to a disease, but it was in fact, the closest metaphor. That and a lot of people would consider it as such anyhow. "No cure or anything, but there are ways to go around things. Ensure no one else gets infected. Precautionary techniques. And...now none of those people will even get to try, or get the choice to try." he shook his head and looked down.

Oz might as well have been psychic with how he was capturing Doc's own frustrations over it all. "For all we know, one of them might have been able to help the next time trouble hit," he suggested thoughtfully, "Once the catalyst is in play? Everything changes, including the person it happened to. Some of them rise to the challenge, and they're damn good at it." It wasn't just werewolves, either. Every person who got plunged into this side of life had that chance, in Doc's mind. And there were far less of them. "Still time for precautionary techniques, at least. If there's any way to pin down whoever was responsible, there's at least a chance to avoid repeats of this."

Quiet for a few moments, Oz sighed. "Maybe." he said. Though I've just made myself a target, now haven't I. he thought. "It probably would have been good to have more people around helping deal." he said truthfully. Not that being a cursed werewolf was an easy life, but in a community such as this, a little bit of 'I've been there, here's how you deal' would have gone a long way. It was what he was trying to do. But he couldn't do it all by himself. He'd been hoping to help, and have others that would branch that same help out. And now there was just a large body count, and people who--if they had any brains in their heads--would go down into deep hiding, not wanting to fall victim to the same fate as those who were still hospitalized. "And even if we found out who was responsible...there's always more...enthusiasts standing around, just waiting for their opportunity."

"Well, in my experience?" Doc offered as he lit a new cigarette, "Sometimes you have to send a clear message, let anyone who's watching know that fuckery won't be tolerated." He was going to do some digging, non-intervention or no. Put some calls out, get that security footage, follow the trails as far as they'd lead. "I know a person or two in the area, it can't hurt to ask a few questions," he added, shrugging to downplay just how far he intended to go. "Besides, if those flyers were on the level? Whoever's playing cleanup might be looking to do some more damage."

"They aren't." Oz said automatically, then sort of wished he'd been a bit more subtle there. Internally, he rolled his eyes at himself. Really, having a secret like his, one would think he'd be a better liar by now. And yet he wasn't. He was fantastically bad at it. Then he actually mentally rewound, and caught what Doc had actually meant. "Wait, you meant--yeah. I've...well. Thought of that." he admitted, thinking he'd already sold himself out in the first place, he might as well not do the backtracking thing. He wasn't any good at that either and usually wound up rambling or something equally as unhelpful. "Looks like I might have made myself a target."

He was plainly surprised, but glad Oz had owned up to things. Doc was a sharp man, a practiced detective where the paranormal was concerned, and he would've guessed as much in time. But knowing he was sitting across from a shifter? The scar made more sense, so did the anxiety and frustration. "Depends," he said after a moment of consideration, "What sort of precautions you take? Circular trail on the number? Gloves when you handled the flyers? The boys in town aren't exactly a forensic team, so if you played it safe you shouldn't have much to worry about."

Oz generally didn't think about conventional means of finding people. Like fingerprints. So he'd definitely not done the gloves thing. "So far not that many...I was thinking a lot more along the lines of precautions against 'enthusiasts' if anyone called." he said. "Though the number's untraceable." he added. "A friend of mine's working on a detection system to see if whoever tries to contact me is bullshit or not. Still working out the kinks there." And by working out the kinks, he meant Maddie was still bitching at him a lot of the time, and working out spells. "I'm less worried about me though, and more worried about what happened." he said, nodding to the paper. "And what happens to the people who weren't in the hospital at the time. I've--I know how to effectively deal with things. But I can't help if they're all murdered before they even get a chance."

It sounded like Oz was doing what he could to cover himself, and Doc wouldn't try to pry into his phone detection system. If the other man felt safe with it? Fine. But his fears about the hospital... if deaths kept happening, there'd be a problem. Hunter or no, Doc wouldn't tolerate someone killing off people who'd had the bad fortune of being bitten. "Like I said, I know some people. And there's always a way to get the information you might need. So... if it found its' way to you? What would you do with it?" he asked curiously, not directly offering to help, but making it clear that he could.

Pausing as he thought about how to word things, Oz gave himself a second, finally sipping his coffee, which had gone cold, and he made a face. "Talk to people. Try to help them through what they're going through. There are a lot of...changes." he said carefully. "Things to get used to. Ideas to hold onto, precautions to take. Like...don't get into any fights. That's a big one. Taking damage can trigger an...episode." Or it could trigger a big hulking monster that wanted nothing more than to eat everyone's faces, but who was counting? "Tranquilizers can be used, pretty effectively, if you have people around you with them. Finding yourself a secure location for certain nights of the month." Like cages built into people's basements. Oz happened to know a guy who could put those in quite well, after all. Billy was possibly old hat at cage building by now. "...don't know what I would do with the information on what individuals were killing people." he added, quieter.

"Don't know I'd share that if I had it," Doc told Oz earnestly, smiling a little, "Some things are best played close to the chest." Or maybe he would; it was nearly a task unto itself if he considered it. A werewolf like the others, if he was guessing right, who only wanted to help his own kind? Would he resist the urge to hunt the hunters who were butchering them? Who would probably kill him just for existing? "Well, I took a flyer when I first saw it... so maybe some sort of patient admissions might get sent your way. It'd be a lucky break, if it happened," he said with a faint grin. Wasn't he just the accommodating, vaguely mysterious stranger? No wonder Star smiled so much, she had to love her job.

Oz eyed Doc for a long moment then, and finally nodded. "Would be, at that." he agreed. Lucky. Right. If nothing else, he could get information to them. If he got addresses, he could write something up. Just a...sort of 'this is your new life' file. It'd be safer. Anonymous, but he could really get the information across. He even knew things like dosages for tranqs. He'd been living with it his entire life, he knew one hell of a lot, and he wanted people to have that information from the get go. It could only help the situation, not hurt anything.

Doc wondered if Oz would trust that sort of help, figuring that by now, if he was genuine then he wanted to find every possible survivor before the hunters could. Gonna have to call Teddy, he mused, slurping down his coffee. "Luck's a good thing to have on your side, so here's hoping," he commented in a vague sort of promise. And really, it was the definition of indirect involvement. He'd follow both trails, the hunters and survivors. Maybe arm Oz with information, then have Frank or Kurt start finding out who was doing the executing. "And hoping that whatever happens turns out better than this did," he added with a nod at the newspaper.

"There's little way it could turn out worse." Oz pointed out. Total annihilation of the werewolf population, that could happen. He knew that. Like he knew that people could hunt down non-cursed werewolves as well, just not caring that there was a difference. Right now...he and everyone else with shifter blood was a target. The better it got kept under wraps and controlled by those who had it...the better.

Doc wanted to say it could always be worse, but it seemed like Oz was worried enough right now. He didn't need to think that people might come after his friends or loved ones, try using them to get to Oz himself. When it came to thoughts like that? Well, Doc lost a lot of his own control, and didn't want to inflict that on Oz. "No sense musing on that, you should focus on neutralizing the problems that are already there," he advised, digging out his wallet. "And even if there's no easy solution, I'm thinking there'll definitely be a starting point to getting things under wraps."

"I wasn't." Oz said. He also quirked the faintest half smile. "And don't tell me what I should and shouldn't be focusing on." he said, though there was good nature to it. "I know what I'm doing." And he did, generally. Like he knew how far the consequences could reach. After dealing with being a cursed werewolf for his life as he remembered--one picked up quite a lot of that. You just learned how to echo things out, look at consequences in an entirely new manner. It was never just how it effected you. Because it never only effected you.

Doc laughed softly, holding up a hand in mock-defense. "All apologies, it's part of getting old," he joked, "Anyone younger than you needs your advice. Drives everyone who knows me crazy." But the reprimand was good to hear, he could hope for some decisive action from this young man. I could use someone like him, Doc mused with a faint grin, deciding to consider it again if he ever met back up with Oz. "Don't suppose I could offer my number and ask for any leads you might find, could I?" he asked with a skeptical, expectant expression. "I get why if not, I'm a stranger who's obviously clued into things. That's a big variable to opt to trust."

"Sure, what is it?" Oz asked, figuring he may as well. "Obviously, you already have a number you can use to contact me." Not that it was a number that had his name on it by any stretch of the imagination. His own cell wasn't the number listed. It was just a tracfone that he'd bought a lot of minutes for and activated without putting in real details. "I'd appreciate if you had information, if you'd pass it on."

Rattling off his voicemail, Doc nodded his agreement at Oz's request. One couldn't ask for information without offering the same, really. "I'll definitely handle that," he assured the other man, "Possibly quick, depending on how things go. And if you find some leads, I'd appreciate a return on sharing. I know some people who might be able to handle things without drawing attention, which'd be safer for both of us." Because if he was judging right? There were a lot of hunters in town, there'd be a long list of possibilities to whittle down.

Oz nodded. He definitely knew that there'd be a lot of hunters around. If they weren't in town already--and he was thinking they were--then there would be a flood of them in the next month. It was just how things worked. Oz punched Doc's number into his cell. "I'll keep you informed." he said. Not that he had any information at current, but that wasn't the point.

"I'll hope for good news, then," Doc told him as he tucked a new cigarette in his mouth and pulled money from his wallet to cover his tab. "Keep safe, Oz. Well met, hopefully just as well the next time we meet," he offered somewhat formally as he slipped from his seat, rising. Doc could've lingered here over cups of coffee for hours, but now? Well, there was work to do. Phonecalls, records, contingencies to plan, existing theories to connect everything into. What did you expect? he mused, Work never stops.