The ground is constantly shifting beneath him
Chapter one: Enter the Alphas
Stiles is going jogging this morning. His dreams are still haunting him, worse than usual, from the night before. Jogging isn't normal for him, but nothing is normal for him lately. But, its summer, he's in a pretty awful mood, Scott's out of town, and jogging is all there really is to do at 3:30 A.M. in Beacon Hills, CA.
He is running through the moderate dark of the full moon night when he sees it, a flash! It must be a mirage he tells himself because nothing could possibly be that large, move that fast, and look that beastly. Not in his boring town he thinks to himself aloud. It must've been a product of his sleep deprived mind, an illusion formed by fears instilled in him from watching too many horror flicks.
The only reason he had decided to go on this stupid run in the first place was to give his uncontrollable ADD body a distraction, a distraction from his problems and dreams. The ones he'd been having far too often as of late, the ones of his mother dying slowly due to her sickness, painstakingly slow as Stiles is forced to just sit there and watch, the dreams where he is forced to relive his worst memories, the constant pressing reminder of his greatest loss and in turn greatest debilitation in life.
He knew he couldn't believe what he just saw. The glaring red eyes of the creature scan over him as it's stopped for a moment to glean him over, to assess him. Then the next moment it was gone, gone back into the night where it came from. So its eyes were probably just a reflection of his destructive thoughts and emotions he thinks to himself. He apprehensively forces himself to believe it as he forces himself to continue on with his run. He keeps on hoping that his efforts will reward him with sound sleep, a sleep without dreams, and a reprieve from his onslaught of nightmares.
As he runs down the street he hears it, the solemn howl of a lone wolf, the cry of a wolf with no pack. The worst part of the cry is the edging feeling that it shouldn't have happened. He could swear that someone told him that there hadn't been wolves in the Beacon Hills area for decades if not centuries. But, Stiles being his stubborn hyperactive self continues moving despite the uneasy calm settling upon him. His only goal had been to end up so mind-numbingly tired that he couldn't dream anything. His hope was that he could sleep in his room, basked in the full moon's light filtering in through his window, peacefully. Maybe, he could get his mind to be empty, at least for one night.
That's when Stiles started drifting off, lost in his own thoughts. His mind separating from his body as his sleep addled brain failed to notice or resist. He unintentionally started slowing down, down to a walk? No not a walk a trudge really, the trudge of a man whose soul wasn't with him. And, he began to drift down the road in a zombie like state. Hey this is what's been happening to people he thought to himself through the fog, not that it really helped his brain focus and come back to control itself. So he continued drifting up towards the bend in the road.
That's when the headlights of the black Camaro appear from around the corner. Derek sees him drifting around in the night and slows down to a halt. He rolled down his window and says "Hey! Kid what are you doing out like this in the middle of the night? It's not safe."
…..
No response, Stiles just sort of drifts his eyes across Derek lazily as if he isn't really there, sleep drunk and unfocused.
That's when Derek recognizes him.
"Stiles are you okay?" He asks in a moderately concerned voice.
…..
Still nothing.
So Derek parks his car and gets out. And he comes around and half pulls half shoves Stiles unresponsive body into his car. He falls into the leather seat in a haphazard manner that's painful. "Ouch," he gasps distantly.
"Great another case of lunar syndrome," he breaths out exasperated as he moves back to the drives seat and starts heading for Stiles' house.
Derek quietly sneaks open Stiles' window and hauls him in quietly. Stiles stays in his bed with almost no trouble at all. Few sounds even came from the boy as he was being dragged through his second story window by Derek, while being carried like a sack of potatoes. But, as Derek leaves he hears it. Stiles' troubled moan ringing in his ears. "Mom"he sighs maudlin. The desperate sort of muffled plea escapes him in the darkness of the night, cloaked in the teen's paranormally induced silence.
