Hello, this is my first fan fiction for Heroes. It is my favorite television series, ever. So I just had to get in on the action in the fanfic universe. Before I begin I would like to give credit where it is due. The concept of Heroes is the intellectual property of NBC and Tim Kring. The other concepts, in this fiction, belong to me.

Now, before I begin everyone should know that this fanfiction is only semi canon to the actual Heroes timeline. I was thinking of setting this in the past or future; however, I wanted to keep with the present time because; (1.) I still don't know the Haitian Guy's name, (2.) Since it is a current serial I can't be 100 certain where everything is going, and (3.) I just wanted to have some of my favorite Heroes make cameos in this. Anyway, This will be primarily about my made up Hero's circumstances. Actual canon Heroes are here just to push the storyline along, and have some continuity with the actual Heroes universe. And yes, Sylar will make an appearance later in the story

I Was a Teenaged Werewolf

Rade Savage approached the palatial front steps of his family home with great trepidation. As the sun shone down upon his mahogany colored skin he took a brief moment to absorb the warmth. Even though life at the abode sucked a sunny day seemed to make everything alright. Out in the suburbs of Houston, Texas the Bennett's house was a very impressive sight to behold. It sat alone upon a sprawling expanse of neatly manicured grass and evergreen trees. The winding driveway led up to the picturesque French double doors. The mansion was a plantation styled house designed by Rade's stepfather, Walter Bennett. With it's white exterior and elaborate picture windows the lavish mansion was nothing short of magnificent. Everybody in the upscale neighborhood envied it.

Rade hated it.

He never considered the place a sanctuary. It was a house. It was somewhere he lived in order to avoid sleeping on the streets. And sometimes Rade thought that an existence on skid row might be better than life under Walter's three story roof. He had all the trappings of a privileged kid, but Rade would have traded them out in a millisecond for a new life far from here. As the young boy, newly fifteen, clutched the straps of his knapsack he felt the perspiration form between the crevices of his balled fists. Rade's nerves were on the edge of the edge. His stepfather, Walter, had come home early today. The dazzling black Mercedes Benz sat idle in the driveway. Years ago, when he was much smaller, the mere sight of the vehicle sent Rade scurrying under the bed like a frightened kitten. Rade knew that whenever Walter came home early it wasn't good. An early day off meant one of two things: (1.) He hadn't gone in to his practice (Walter was a criminal defense attorney) at all (due to an all night coke binge); or (2.) He'd gotten plastered on his lunch hour.

The early days off were occurring far too frequently. Walter's incessant drug and alcohol abuse had become habitual. His partners in law and employees were fortunate enough to never see him inebriated. Walter spared his vitriolic moods for those closest to him: his wife and stepson. Rade and his mother, Camilla, had endured the overwhelming brunt of Walter's drug induced furies for the last five years. And with each year the violence had gotten progressively worse. Rade hated Walter Bennett. His rancor for the man increased as the abuse escalated. After being punched, kicked, slapped, and body slammed for the better part of five years Rade had, inevitably, passed the fear stage. He now held nothing but contempt for his abusive stepfather.

After the tragic death of his father—Daniel Savage—at the age of nine, Rade and Camilla's lives both went careening into an ocean of despair. Camilla, the parental figure, completely abandoned her composure. Having left high school at the age of 17(to pursue a career in modeling) she was woefully under prepared for life sans her husband. That is when Walter Bennett; the smooth talking, handsome, famous, and wealthy, defense attorney took in the beautiful widow and her, then, nine-year-old son. But, what began as a Cinderella story transformed into a Stephen King novel, with no end in sight.

Rade sighed as he meandered toward the anterior porch. He took a seat on the front steps. Rade fumbled around inside his backpack until he felt what he needed. He reached for the nearly empty bottle of Aspirin. Fuck... Only two left, he thought, as an audible sigh escaped his lips. Rade, instinctively, downed both of them in one swallow. Never one to pop pills he had become a connoisseur of the little white tablets. When the first migraine struck, two weeks prior, Rade felt like he'd been run over by a locomotive and smashed beneath a hydraulic press. He could only compare the attacks to God doing construction work inside of his skull. After that Rade and Aspirin became great friends.

Rade inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. The aspirin began to take effect. As he sat on the stoop two stray dogs trotted down the street, following the myriad of scents that filled their collective snouts. Rade loved dogs. He always wanted one of his own. But Walter was an anal retentive neat Nazi. He would never allow them near his house. As the two canines ambled down the road they both paused and looked at Rade, momentarily. Rade smiled and waved.

"Rade, come in honey. I'm about to start dinner…" said a soft, almost whisper, of a voice.

Rade snapped out of his trance as the two canines strolled further down the street. He did not even pretend to be happy when he divined his mother. Camilla's makeup had been clabbered on. In fact, it looked airbrushed. Yet, Rade could still make out the faintest trace of swelling and bruising upon her ebony hued skin. He turned around and shook his head in disgust. Walter had gone upside her head with a vengeance while he was gone.

"I'm not hungry." Said Rade, pointedly, as he leapt to his feet and stormed past his mother. He fleetly navigated his way to his room. Rade hurried through the kitchen and made it to the stair well. He stalked up the stairs, nearing his enclosure, before a large shadow was cast…

Oh no, he thought, almost uttering the pontification aloud.

From the hallway emerged the sleek figure of a very tall, slender, sinewy, caramel complexioned African American male. His suspenders were down around his waist. The man's dress shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a white tank top beneath. He was lean but not a wimp by any stretch of the imagination. One could divine the intense workouts that he underwent to maintain his chiseled physique. He took a swig from the Vodka bottle clutched in his colossal palm. The man looked at Rade. His extraordinarily handsome features belied a fierce intensity, "What you doin home so late?" He inquired. His words were slurred. Rade sighed. Walter had been drinking for the better part of the day. He felt an extreme sense of unease as anxiety crept over him like a tarantula. Walter's moods were as predictable as the weather. When he was drunk, or hi, he was either a lush or a demon. Rade didn't feel too hot so he was hoping for the passed out lush.

"Hey Walter…" The young boy whispered, fumbling with his knapsack straps.

"What did I tell you about callin me by my first name?" Walter quipped. Suddenly, a cheesy grin alighted upon his lips. He stumbled over towards Rade and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. Walter's weight collapsed upon the boy's diminutive frame. Rade staggered as he steadied himself to hold up their collective mass. Walter turned his head and breathed in Rade's face. Rade felt the warm, stale, scent of Vodka tonics and Chardonnay combined with Gin and Coke. He wanted to puke. Walter just smiled; unaware that he probably even inhabited his own body. Rade breathed a sigh of relief.

Maybe he'll die of Alcohol poisoning...

"You call me daddy from now on…You ain't gonna live in my house and dissrespet me callin me Walter, ya hear me? I thought we had a bedder relazionshib than dat..." he garbled.

"Yes sir…" Rade mused. Even though Rade had refused to take Walter's last name—at least in private—he called him dad just to avoid confrontations. One thing Rade had learned since his mother married Walter was to go along to get along. If it would spare him or his mother a beating it was worth it. Rade helped Walter amble to the master bedroom where the elder man collapsed upon the bed. He exhaled, loudly, before belching. "Take my shoes off son…" he croaked. Rade shook his head in disgust. I hope you choke on your fucking vomit, you piece of shit. He pulled off Walter's crocodile skinned loafers and removed his socks. For a moment he just watched his drunken brute of a stepfather slumber. It was the most peaceful he had ever seen him.

When Rade was a small lad his fear of Walter was absolute. Rade still remembered, vividly, the horrible beatings and emotional abuse that he and his mother had suffered—and still suffered—at the hands of his malevolent stepfather. It got so bad that the both of them had some kind of cut or bruise somewhere on their person at anytime. The beatings were regular, twice, sometimes three times, a week. Rade was fortunate if he only left home with a shiner or a busted lip these days. Aside from numerous sustained injuries, such as a bruised tailbone and fractured rib, he was still alive.

Before Rade could even get the second shoe off Walter was sound asleep, snoring.

Pathetic, he thought. Walter, over the past two years, had degenerated into a wine-O. And, sadly, Rade liked him better that way. After he was done preparing Walter for bed Rade went into his room, shut the door, and plopped down on the mattress. He stared at the ceiling for several moments. Then he heard a knock at the door. He knew who it was, "I don't wanna talk, momma." He growled.

The door slowly creaked open, emitting the form of the tall, willowy, dark skinned beauty. The look that alighted upon her stunning visage was one of shame and sorrow.

"Honey, I'm so sorry—"

"Stop. Don't even say another word..." Rade said, as he turned over and clutched his pillow, "You always say the same thing, but we're still here. You'll never leave him. We're both gonna die shithole." Rade's face crumpled into tears. Camilla immediately went to his side and cradled him. Rade backed away.

"Why do you keep staying with him, momma? He's never going to change! He always says that he's going to stop but he never does!" Rade exclaimed.

"Sweetie, you know how he gets. He's not like this all the time—"

"But he's like this most of the time. And it just gets worse and worse! How many more beatings can you take mom? I get so scared that he is going to kill you! I hate him. I fucking hate him! I wish I could kill him--"

"Stop talking that way, Rade Savage!" She reprimanded. Camilla peered out of the bedroom door to make sure Walter hadn't heard anything.

That infuriated Rade, "You see? We have been walking on eggshells for years. We lie to everyone just to keep up an image, and its all bullshit!" As the anger came on Rade's headaches began to manifest themselves once again. He placed both hands to his temples and gently massaged them.

"Honey, calm down. You know how bad your migraines get…" said Camilla.

"Don't flip this, Ma. Don't try and change the subject."

"I told you we would leave when the time is right. I'm almost out of school now and I'll be able to get a good job. Then we'll leave, I promise you baby..."

"You say the same thing over and over again. But I don't believe you. I don't wanna be here any more; it is like being in hell. I wish I was dead. It would probably be better than this." Rade angrily crossed his arms together and fell back on the bed, exasperated. He had had the same argument with his mother for the past three years. After every beating Walter would come home with flowers, tears, and apologies. Soon it was just tears and an apology. Afterward he didn't give a damn. He knew that neither of them were going anywhere. Rade knew it would only be a matter of time before he killed them both.

"This is a situation that you made, Mama. I didn't have a choice. I don't deserve to suffer this shit—"

"Watch your mouth, Rade Savage! I am still you mother." She responded. Camilla sat down and clasped her hands together. She nodded her head slightly, before a single tear fell upon her cheek, "Sweetie, I am so sorry. I didn't expect for it to be this bad. I only wanted you to have a good life." At the pronouncement of those words did the tears fall from Camilla's eyes unbidden.

Rade sat up. His mother ticked him off with all the crying and whimpering; but, no matter how hard he tried to steel himself, he couldn't be under whelmed by her tears. "Ma, don't cry…" He pleaded, as he placed his gangly adolescent arms around her. Camilla reciprocated the boy's embrace. After several moments she slowly pushed away and took her son's face into her hands, "Pack up everything you're going to need. When he goes out tomorrow we're leaving, for good. I have some money stashed away that can keep us secure for the next two months..."

Rade's face remained expressionless, "How do I know this time is different."

"You just have to trust me, honey. I've let you down a lot in the past. But I promise you I'm getting us out of here. I don't know where we're going to go but it will be far from here."

And for the first time in along time Rade trusted his mother. Because, for some reason, the timbre of her voice had changed, and he detected it. She had finally gotten fed up too.

With that the dusky skinned beauty stood from her seat and walked to the door, "I'm going to finish up dinner. You take a nap for those headaches. How are they now?"

"Worse…" said Rade, forcing a smile. He was not lying. The pounding would not cease and sleep seemed to be the only reprieve. And even that was elusive now.

"Well, get some rest. We'll have to go back to the doctor's office when we get the chance."

"Maybe when we leave here they'll stop." said Rade, in a nonchalant manner.

Camilla smiled, "maybe."

With that she blew Rade a kiss and shut the door behind her. Rade listened as her gentle footsteps padded down the stairwell.

Rade laid back and closed his eyes. The migraines were intensifying, but he had learned how to tune them out by pretending that they weren't happening. He had taught himself how to do the same thing during Walter's beatings; so the migraines weren't much different. Rade fell flat on his face and fell fast asleep.

The nightmare was the same every single time.

He awakened inside of an oblique, savage, forest. Rade was stark naked and in mortal terror. The forest was deep and ominous, but just outside the clearing the petrified boy could see the family home. But Rade knew that—in spite of its closeness—it was really several miles away. And the wolf was in pursuit, once again. Rade heard the blood curdling howl and fled through the dense underbrush. The branches struck his naked form and the broken twigs cracked beneath his feet. He longed for them to cease their racket, as the sounds gave the wolf his precise location…

Rade screamed for help as he saw the shadow of the wolf. But no one answered because the forest was muffled in silence, save for the howls and grunts of the ravenous predator pursuing its quarry. Rade ran. He was exhausted, but his body did not allow him to quit. Blind fear and adrenaline powered his internal engine. Suddenly he heard the wolf, right behind him. Although he had never seen it he always knew it was a wolf. Something within told him so. The boy kept running as the creature gave chase. Rade finally made it to the edge of the forest, but for no reason at all, he stopped. He wanted to see it. Rade needed to see it. Shivering, he turned around to divine the beast. Rade's heart throbbed so hard that he thought it would give out, but still he looked. The creature was gargantuan, ominous and black. With gleaming golden eyes and ivory white fangs it raced toward him like a bullet. The sight inspired fear, but Rade could not get over how beautiful the animal was. In fact, he wanted to touch it, even though he knew he should run. This had been different from the other dreams. Because he always ran until he was safely in the house. So certain he was that the wolf wanted to devour that he never faced it, until now. Rade stood still, fear oozing from every pour. He reached out his hand, trembling all the while. The wolf came stampeding toward him when it lunged, tackling him to the ground...

Rade awakened, drenched, to screaming and yelling down stairs. He wiped away the sweat that mired his sienna skinned brow. The rapid beats of his heart began to, slowly, ebb, but the fear didn't subside. Rade's mother was screaming, particularly, loud tonight. The boy balled his fists up and jammed them into the mattress. He was sick and tired of Walter's shit.

He ran to his bedroom door and flung it open. Rade heard his mother's yelps and screams from all the way up the stairs. Objects were being flung around the kitchen, and Walter's hideous voice reverberated throughout the house. He swallowed hard. Rade hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen. He gasped in horror. Rade knew that Walter beat his mother, regularly, but he never saw it become this severe. The kitchen table was broken; food had stained the walls, and blood—Camilla's blood—smattered the floor.

Camilla was curled into a ball as Walter punched and kicked her all about the body while continually berating her, "You aren't gonna leave this house, bitch! Ever!" Rade didn't even stop to think. He ran and jumped on Walter's back, punching the older man furiously, "Leave my mother alone fucker!"

"Rade…don't—"Camilla croaked, through her battered and bloodied face.

"You little shit! This ain't none of your fuckin concern!" Walter roared. The older man managed to grab Rade by the back of his neck and pull the boy off. And just as quickly did Walter slam his fist into Rade's abdomen, sending the boy recoiling. Walter then snatched Rade up by the lapels of his shirt and flung him into the kitchen wall like he was so much garbage. Rade crashed, hard, into tiled white wall. It felt like his back was on fire. He looked up at the menacing form of his step father, and all he could feel was pure, unadulterated, rage.

"You want some more you little punk?" Walter prodded, "You tryin to grow some balls now? If you ever do that to me again I'm gonna fuck you up and then kill your fuckin mother!" said Walter. He turned back to the battered form of his wife, "You hear that you bitch? If you ever even think about leavin I'm gonna make this little bastard an orphan!"

Walter stormed over to Camilla's battered body and yanked her up by the arm, "Get up!" he yelled.

"I can't!" Camilla pleaded. She was seriously injured.

"If you don't get your ass up and clean up this fuckin mess I'll give you a reason to cry!"

The rage consumed every square inch of Rade's battered body. The headaches became more intense. Rade's head began to throb. But he didn't care. Suddenly, the pain of the migraines dissipated. Rade felt his body tense. Then he heard it. Rade heard the wolf. It was just like the dream only now he heard the bays and howls more distinctly. Rade stood up and charged Walter again. In one stride he made it across the kitchen, to the object of his hatred. This time Walter screamed. The black wolf ripped him limb from bloody limb.

"Boss, we might need to think about leaving. I got a full work up done. You really don't want to go in there." said Officer Osbourne. The tan complexioned man raked a hand through his dark brown hair. Always meticulous about his appearance officer Osbourne looked more like a GQ cover model than a plain clothes police officer. Kerry Osbourne, now in his early 30's, had been a member of the Houston Police force for the past 10 years. When he was a beat cop he saw a little bit of everything: rapings, muggings, beatings, and four day old corpses, just to name a few. But this was a new one for him. In fact, he didn't even have the words to describe his complete and utter revulsion.

"What's the problem Osbourne?" The gruff older black gentlemen asked, as he wiped away the humidity mist from his spectacles. Officer Ian Traylor was a big hulk of a man. One might presume that he was overweight, but his girth was pure bulk, from years of power lifting and a heavy meat intake. He shaved his head clean because his wife, Trisha, thought it would be a good idea to counterattack his male pattern baldness. It was the perfect choice because he had a nicely shaped head. Officer Traylor had been a member of the force for the past 25 years. He too had seen a lot of everything; and domestic violence cases—where murder was the end result—was no different.

"Sir, I seriously don't think you wanna see this..." Osbourne replied, "It's pretty messy in there."

"Ozzie, you act like I'm fine China. I've seen this kind of shit a million times before. I don't break." Officer Traylor stalked towards the front door, where a uniformed cop—Officer Patricia Wallace—stood vigil. Her fellow brothers (and sisters) in blue taped off the crime scene area as neighbors, onlookers, and, unfortunately, news cameramen watched.

"What we got?" Detective Traylor asked.

"Well, we have one African American Female, Camilla Bennett, wife of the victim. She's in pretty bad shape but she's alive…" Officer Wallace paused and swallowed hard, "And we have one African American male, Rade Savage—"

"He's a kid, boss. Found him lying naked on the floor. And he took a few good licks too. His body was covered in bruises…" Said Osbourne, as he took out a pack of breath mints and chewed them, one by one. Osbourne wiped a bead of sweat from his brow before he forced out the words, "Just the two and a half of them in there…"

Officer Traylor turned his heard nearly 360 degrees, "So, is he the suspect?"

"No way, nothing human could have accomplished—"Said officer Wallace before Osbourne interrupted…

"I'm thinking that it maybe related to the "Brain thief" murders..."

"Fuck me…" whispered Detective Traylor, "You mean the guy who killed Jackie Wilcox, up in Odessa?"

Osbourne and Wallace looked at each other momentarily…

"Well, the murder is grisly, but this doesn't fit his M.O." said Osbourne, "In fact, the victim is in fucking pieces and his brain is still intact. Maybe he's upgrading, becoming more violent?"

"Or maybe this guy has some enemies..." Wallace chimed in, "I mean we've been called out here before on domestic violence charges. I mean this Bennett guy wasn't exactly on everybody's favorite person's list--"

"Y'know what? Move out of my fuckin way. I need to see this my goddamn self. You two numb nuts aren't helping me none." The burly officer shoved his way into the palatial family home. Everything looked normal until officer Traylor made his way into the kitchen. He removed his handkerchief from his suit pocket. The putrid stink of the victim's insides filled his nostrils with pungent stench. Traylor wanted to gag. Traylor slowly made his way into the kitchen. In his 25-years-on the force he'd never seen anything that made him want to regurgitate. Traylor dry heaved, twice.

Blood painted the kitchen walls crimson. It was every where. The eating space looked like a tornado of blood and bile whirled through and destroyed everything in its wake. The body of Walter Bennett, what was left of it, lay covered as the crime scene team prepared to take it to the morgue. Traylor, unable to stomach the stench any longer, hurried back outside where Osbourne and Wallace awaited him.

"Where are the boy and his mother?" Traylor asked.

"The paramedics took them to the hospital. The mother was hysterical and the kid was unconscious." Osbourne replied nonchalantly.

"Well, let me talk to the mother then!" Traylor demanded, "Someone has to be charged with this shit. Whoever did this is a fucking maniac!"

"Boss, the mother is hysterical. They are talking about institutionalizing her. She keeps saying that a wolf broke into the house and killed her husband--"

"Well hell, it looked like something inhuman killed him! Did you investigate the Zoo or any animal shelters? Are there any leads on this? It can't be from around here, unless we count the stray dogs and that's pretty plausible with all the Pit bull maulings an--"

"We could do that Detective, but there is one problem..." officer Wallace interrupted, "There was no forced entry. If a wild animal had broken into the house don't you think there would be a broken window or door? Except for the kitchen the house is perfectly spotless."

Traylor composed himself. The beat cop had a point. "Well, I want to talk with the mother tomorrow morning. Maybe she'll be a bit more coherent after she has some rest..."

Osbourne winced a little, "Sir, I just got radioed and we are being taken off the case. The FBI is going to be handling this one; an Agent Audrey Hanson and Detective Matt Parkman have been assigned to the case..."

Traylor laughed, "Just my fuckin luck..."

To Be Continued

Matt Parkman and Audrey Hanson are the intellectual properties of NBC and Heroes.

All of the other characters are mine.