A/N: "don't own the plot, it belongs to swing-set-in-December, the amazing Jen, on Tumblr," the caramel-skinned teen lamented as she typed away on her iPod, eyes glued to the writing and not the keyboard. "or Boyd, though Sinqua Walls has told me I'm awesome. However, I own Bryanna Jae "'Yanna" Johnson. And yes, I gave Boyd my black family's stereotypical last name. Sorry if you're disappointed. Oh, and follow me on Tumblr: thankyou—foreverything." she sighed heavily and trudged off to her computer to edit and add this to her rapidly-increasing Fanfiction library where it would be published later in the month of July since she was lackadaisical that summer.
Meow. Interesting author's note, huh? Welp, I needs a life that doesn't include filling prompts on Tumblah all day. I'm getting a cable box for my television tomorrow. I'm never getting out of bed again except to add to my Fanfictions and play The Hunt, so expect more nonsensical headcanons. Hey Ferb I know what we're going to do today.
Onto the story, on-onto the story. I just Jay-Z'ed my way into perpetual awkwardness. Is anybody reading this anymore?
Okay, now it really starts. I'M ENGAGED TO STEPHEN LUNSFORD AKA CREEPER MATT CAMERAGUY! IT'S ON TUMBLR Y'ALL.
Prologue: Raising Bry
Some days, Boyd DeAngelo Johnson just wanted to flop onto his too-small twin bed, bury his face in a pillow and scream. Actually, this had been everyday since his father had been diagnosed with cancer—his father who'd been dead for almost two years now. So, the short story was, Boyd had a lot of feelings bottled up, and no way to release them.
But he was deigned to a long life of taking care of his eight-for-two-weeks-year-old sister Bryanna Jae, since his mother did none of that, and hadn't since his father was diagnosed with lung cancer when she was pregnant with 'Yanna. Age 8, and Boyd Johnson was on his own—aside from a mother with perpetual post-partum depression before she even gave birth and a father with untreatable lung cancer.
Bryanna was seven weeks old when Beacon Hills Elementary for the summer, and his mother—who was returning to her old self—retreated back to her bedroom with Oprah. Boyd had to learn, via the near library's internet, how to make bottles, change diapers and take care of a newborn. Nobody else was, after all. Once, his paternal grandmother, affectionately referred to as GiGi, threatened to tell Social Services about the less-than-spectacular living conditions herself if "my goddamned recluse of a bitch-ass daughter-in-law Amaya Jaylynn Johnson didn't get her fat ass out of bed, take care of her motherfucking baby daughter instead of making her eight-year-old son do it, and maybe even visit her dying husband in the damn hospital." And, fortunately, unfortunately, she never made light on the threat again.
And it hadn't changed a bit since that summer, not until he turned sixteen and Derek Hale, all icy blue eyes and the smell of crisp leather, had offered him something—a gift. The gift.
And, two months later, there he was at the ice rink, accompanied by formerly-epileptic blonde bombshell Erica Reyes and teenage parent-killer Isaac Lahey. The star of the lacrosse team, Scott McCall was there too, and fighting was imminent. Fangs were bared, skin was slashed with claws, and Boyd finally received his gift—a chunk of his chocolatey flesh ripped out of his side, and as a reward, fangs, claws and chin hair whenever he got particularly emotional. No matter the emotion.
Boyd, despite his pack, was the lone wolf.
While everybody else got into major fights, his life was still dedicated to Bryanna and always would be. His little sister was his lifeline.
Amaya—he wasn't sure when she became Amaya, and no longer Mama to him—came downstairs for dinner and to shower immediately after. She communicated with nobody during these times, and retreated upstairs after the tasks were complete.
But one day, he'd returned home with Bryanna after he'd picked her up from her bus stop at the end of the cul-de-sac they lived on, and Amaya Johnson sat cross-legged on the ripped, stained floral couch.
As they walked up the street, Bryanna complaining about how heavy her backpack was and how much homework she had and how—ew—that boy she didn't like, Taivon, had sat next to her at lunch and when she tried to move away from Taivon the lunch monitor Mr. Jackson hadn't allowed her to, Boyd's heart pounded, feeling as though it was going to tear past flesh and bone and pound out of his chest. Something at the house wasn't right.
And when they came in, Amaya Johnson was on the couch watching the Oprah Winfrey Network Channel, acting as though the past eight years hadn't happened and she hadn't abandoned her children to grieve.
He ushered his baby sister—practically his daughter, the haughty voice in his head reminded him—upstairs to start homework before dinner so she didn't forget and glared at his mother.
"Amaya,"
"Boyd, oh, my love, you've grown up quite a bit," her voice was distant, as though she wasn't just in front of him. "I bet all the girls are just falling for you, aren't they, my handsome boy?"
"Get out," he said in a stern voice. Boyd was tired of her bullshit, not talking to anybody for eight years and then one day coming down and acting like nothing happened, when in truth, what the hell hadn't happened?
She refused to leave, saying she paid the bills. More bullshit. Social security paid the bills that kept Bryanna at bay chatting away on the phone with one of the other girls at school and curled up in bed watching the latest Disney Channel antics while Boyd was off at Derek Hale's how to werewolf good camp with Erica and Isaac for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes. At the rate he was going, he'd never be a good wolf. But that was beside the point. The point was that, fucking hell, his mother was breaking plates on the tile floor in the kitchen.
"Bryanna Jae Johnson," he yelled, standing at the foot of the steps. "pack a bag like you would for a sleepover and put some of my clothes in there, please! Get books, the portable DVD player, whatever you want."
[Text to: Erica] my crazy mother is the bane of my existence.
Seconds later, a reply came through, a simple "why?" with a sad face, and Bryanna came bounding downstairs. Boyd grabbed his wallet, typing a reply.
"Bry, do you have everything?" he asked, and the girl nodded confidently. She wasn't a forgetful girl. "I'm not coming back for anything, did you get my iPod and phone chargers?" another nod.
[Text to: Erica] she came out of her room and spoke to us. but i still hate her.
Hate was a strong word, he repeatedly told Bryanna. But his mother was worthy of many words.
[Text from: Erica] you're always welcome at Derek's.
He was welcome at Derek's. If he didn't bring the third-grade hurricane. But Bryanna had the skills to charm the pants off anybody she came into contact with. The parents of her friends loved her. Teachers wanted her in their classes. Boyd had raised her right.
"Boyd, are we takin' Mama's car?" she asked as he grabbed the keys and shoved her out the door.
"Yes, Baby," he answered patiently, stroking down her frizzy hair and replying. Her nickname was Baby. Baby this, Baby that, Baby here, Baby there. She was only referred to as Bryanna when she disobeyed, and then normally it was Bryanna Jae. Bryanna Jae, did you get a referral today? Bryanna Jae, did you have to sit out during recess? Bryanna Jae, I told you to clean your room.
She was Bry-Bear on the days when she came home crying.
Flashback
Bryanna Johnson trudged off the bus, her face tear-stained, her eyes red, clutching the teal handle of her Shake It Up messenger bag. Boyd slung the purple strap over his shoulder and scooped up the then-seven year old. "Bry-Bear, what happened?"
"They said you were," she hiccuped, her face buried into his neck, smelling of baby lotion and vanilla soap. "a-a drug addict and I said no, it was a youth group and they all laughed, but you are, you're in a youth group with Isaac and Erica."
End Flashback
[Text to: Erica] will be there. is it okay if i bring bry-bear?
He had no choice, so he hoped the answer was yeah, bring her. It's cool. Something along those lines.
[Text from: Erica] sure, I can't wait to meet her.
Boyd turned his phone on silent, threw it onto the passenger seat, and buckled Bryanna into the rarely-used booster seat in the back driver's seat.
"Boyd?" she asked once they were driving towards the Beacon Hills Preserve.
"Yes, baby?" he answered patiently. Bryanna was precocious, one of the only gifted students of color, and with precocious came inquisitive.
"Where are we going?"
"You know how there was a blonde girl in the newspaper when you were reading it yesterday? She fell from a rock wall and hit her head?"
Bryanna nodded.
"Well, Baby, that girl is one of my best friends; Erica. And Erica and her friend Isaac are staying with Derek Hale. We're going to the Hale house,"
"The one that the lady burnt down?" she cocked an eyebrow curiously, as Boyd could see from the mirror.
"People are still living there. It's being rebuilt," he explained, pulling up to the house and grabbing his phone and the backpack.
This was going to be a long week.