Chapter One

WARNING: Please read the tags. I won't feel bad if you're upset over something that I warned you prior to you reading the story. That's what warnings and tags are for. Thanks to those who read :)

Tags: Angst, Recreational Drug Use, Werewolves Can Get High, Underage Drinking, Unplanned Pregnancy, Pack Feels, Family Feels, McCall Siblings, Drug-Induced Sex, Drug recovery, Suicidal Elements, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression.

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Teen Wolf.

The sight of the brick house brings a heavy weight upon my shoulders. Sighing I adjust my grip on the handle of the duffle bag, while dragging it up the cracked pavement. My hand stutters as I raise a fist to knock on the oak door.

After a few minutes of waiting I subject myself to sitting on the stoop. I dig out my phone and snort when I see it's 12:45 P.M. Of course no one would be home. Scott is probably at school and mom typically works all day every day. Their car isn't in the front either.

The neighbors glance warily in my direction. That elder woman across the street who accused me of throwing dog shit in her front yard is peaking out her blinds — phone tucked by her ear as she watches me "stealthily." I duck into the backyard and plop on one of the decaying lawn chairs. I don't need to be arrested outside my mom's house.

Digging through the sac slung around my shoulder I pull out a case of tiny white pills. I pop one in my mouth swallowing it dry with a wince. Shortly after time evaporates. The sun is blindingly white in the cloudless sky, and I wonder if maybe I'll fry like a chicken nugget. Deep fried. I snort, throwing my arm over my eyes to block out the sun and pretend to sleep. God, do I even sleep?

Mom is the first to arrive back. She screams loudly when she sees me lying in the backyard through the kitchen window. I wave sheepishly as she comes around the backdoor. "Halden, is that you?"

"Yeah Mom. Sorry I scared you."

Mom looks different. She's always been more on the lean side, but she's definitely lost a lot of weight since the divorce. I can't believe I haven't seen her in six years.

A shaky smile appears on her face. "I-I didn't know you were going to be here. Why didn't you call? I would have taken the day off."

Her arms are suddenly around me. My head tucked into her neck as she squeezes me the only way I know my mom can. "I missed you, Mom."

"I missed you too."

I pull back. "I didn't know I was coming…"

Her hand grips at my chin to tilt my face towards her. I grimace as she catches sight of the nasty green bruise on my cheek and the stitches on my forehead. "Baby… what happened to your face?"

"Dad didn't tell you?"

She seethes. "No."

"I… I was in a car accident a few weeks ago."

"A-a few weeks ago?"

I nod.

"Ohhhh-oh boy. When I…" Her eyes darken. "When I talk to him…"

"It's okay Mom. I'm okay, it…" It was a huge deal. A huge fucking deal. My entire world is turned upside down and I can't tell what's right from left."I'm in…" a million pieces and I don't know where to go from here. "Okay. I'm okay, Mom."

She catches sight of my duffle bag. "How long are you staying?"

"I don't know," I tell her, wincing at my helpless tone. "I-I can't stay with him anymore. I can't be there anymore. I…" I'm not okay.

Smiling, she starts to push me towards the stairs. "Go put your things upstairs. I was going to fix Scott and me a sandwich before I head in for my second shift. I'm pulling a double today. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, please."

I tiptoe upstairs. The hall is lined with family photos. Most are of Scott, but there are a few of me. A smile creeps on my lips as I see an embarrassing one of Scott and I taking a bath together; he had devil horns and I adorned a majestic soap beard.

The room I grew up in is still the same. Powder blue walls, anti-possession symbol patterned bed sheets. It even smelt like the awful perfume I lathered myself in at fourteen.

"Woah!" Jumping at the noise, I turn around. A much larger version of my ten-year-old brother stands in my doorway. It's sad to think that I wouldn't be able to recognize him walking on the street.

"Hey Scotty. It's good to see you."

Scott gapes. "Your hair is purple."

"Yeah… I wanted a change," I say. Hesitantly I tug on one of the lilac strands, I know theres almost an inch of roots; the same rich chocolate brown similar to Scott and my mom's.

He laughs. "Well, it looks cool." There is a silent I guess in his tone.

"Come here." I don't wait, striding over and wrapping around him. "I missed you."

Scott inhales deeply. "I missed you too."

"You're taller than me now."

"And you're shorter."

I scoff as he ruffles the top of my head like I'm the younger sibling. Ducking out of his grip, I tickle his sides where I remember a tinier, slightly chunkier, version of my brother that would convulse in fits of laughter. All I feel is sharp muscle. "When the fuck did you get so ripped?"

His cheeks burn. "I wanted to make first line in lacrosse this year. I've been working out all summer."

"Well, you look great. Did you already have tryouts?"

He beams. "I made first line." Suddenly his smile drops and I frown along with him. He doesn't elaborate.

"Isn't that a good thing?" I press.

He sighs. "Yeah… it's just…" shrugging, he glances towards the doorway. "Mom's done making the sandwiches. Let's go."

"How do you know she's-"

"Scott, Halden! Foods ready!"

I snort, this must be something Scott and mom do all the time. We trudge down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mom passes each of us a a sandwich with turkey, lettuce, tomato, and a huge slab of mayo.

"Does your father know you're here?" Mom asks while resting her lean elbows on the counter.

I shrug. "Maybe. I left a note on the fridge."

"You didn't think to tell him…?"

"Dad and I haven't talked in a few months."

The look of rage filled her face once more. "What do you mean by months?"

I swallow the bite of my sandwich before answering. "I moved out almost a year ago. I've been staying with him for a few weeks since the accident, but he hasn't actually spoken to me." I didn't want to tell her why we haven't spoken. As much as it pains me to say, it's not like a blame him.

"Hm," is all she gets out. She devours the rest of her sandwich, her eyebrows raised in that familiar 'pissed off' high territory. "I am going to go make a phone call. Make yourself comfortable, Halden. Let me know if you forgot where anything is." Pressing a kiss to my temple, she descends up the stairs leaving my brother and I alone.

"Mom said you were in an accident," Scott says.

"Yeah…"

He furrows his brows. "What kind of accident? It's not a… boyfriend? Right?"

My nails tap along the marble countertop. "No, of course not. I was in a car accident."

He tilts his head to the side.

I clean up my mess and shoot Scott an uncomfortable grin. "I'm exhausted. I think I'm going to take a nap."

His eyes are on me the entire way up the stairs.

I don't sleep. Lying dazedly in the bed as the drug buzzes through my veins like a fright train. My mind feels open, exposed, and enlightened. I feel empty.

There's a knock on the door sometime later. I open it to find my mom dressed in her nurse scrubs, curly hair pulled into a ponytail. "I'm leaving for work. There's food in the fridge… um, we don't really have much extra so you'll have to make do with what we have. We haven't touched your room, other than to dust and clean. So… everything should be where you left it."

"Thank you.""Hey Scott!" There's a muffled "what?" from behind his door. "Don't talk to me through the door. Get up."

He groans. Opens the door and slumps into the archway, hair a disheveled mess and looking so much like an angsty teenager it makes me want to barf.

"Late shift again for me. But I am taking Saturday off to see your first game," she tells Scott with a proud grin. She touches my shoulder. "You should come Halden."

Scott groans. "No, you guys can't."

"Oh, no, I can and I will. Come on, one shift isn't going to break us… completely." Mom adds the last part softly. Scott blinks at her with blotchy red eyes. "Hey, what's wrong with your eyes? You look like you haven't slept in days."

Or like he's been smoking a lot of pot.

Scott shrugs, stuttering out, "Oh, uh, it's nothing. I'm just — stressed."

"Just stress?" She frowns. "Nothing else?"

"Homework…"

"I mean, it's not like you're on drugs or anything, right?"

I don't need to see her expression to hear what she's actually saying. She spoke to Dad. He told her.

Scott raises a brow. "Right now?"

"I'm sorry, what do you mean "right now"? Have you ever taken drugs?"

"Have you?"

She exhales heavily, while giving up on the argument. "Get some rest." She rounds on me next. "You too. You look like you can use a whole weeks rest."

"Sure."

Mom treads down the stairs. Scott appears defeated, staring idly at the floor as if it's the cause of his demise.

"Something wrong?"

He groans. "Everything."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I just…" Scott deflates. "I can't play the game on Saturday. And nobody understands."

"Why can't you play?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he mutters angrily. "It's not like you care anyway. You haven't been around in years."

My back straightens. "Hey. I'm not Dad. Don't talk to me that way. I didn't choose to go with him, I didn't get a say. Guess what? I'm nineteen now and I came here."

"Yeah." He sits up and glowers. "Because Dad knows you're a druggie. And you have no place to go since your boyfriend's dead."

The air sucks out of my lungs, each word filling me with ice.

"Haldey, I'm sor-"

"Save it, Scott. I know. I'm… I'm a terrible person. Sorry, I just… you're right. I have no one else other than Mom and…" I don't even have my brother. "I won't try, okay. If you don't want me to make up for anything, I won't. I promise."

Twisting around, I lock my bedroom door behind me. Scott doesn't bother me as I slide to the floor.

thissucksthissucksthissucksthissucks.

"Fuck." My head thumps against the door.

I don't know how long I sit there staring at nothing.

There's a loud bang from the other room and Scott shouting. "They didn't see anything! I..s - swear, I-"

"And they won't. Because if you even try to play in that game on Saturday I'm going to kill you myself."

"Scott?" There's scuffling, and I rush to Scott's bedroom.

Scott is staring out his open window. His computer chair is turned over, and his laptop is frozen with a distorted buzzed haired teen on the screen.

"Scott?"

He jumps, eyes catching me. Then he looks around the room warily, and scratches at the back of his floppy haired skull. "Stiles and I were Skyping when the internet froze. I rolled back and fell out of the chair. It's nothing."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

It's clearly a lie, but it's not like I can prove it. Turning I move to leave his room but his hand reaches for my shoulder. "I didn't mean what I said earlier… I'm sorry about your boyfriend… and I-I want to help, I want you here," he whispers.

I try to pretend I'm not a cry baby, but I'm sniffling before I can stop myself. He wraps me in a hug. "I want to get better so bad. I want to be me again." Do I even know who me is?

Scott squeezes me tighter. "Come to my game on Saturday."

The next day I lounge around the living room watching Beacon Hills Newscast. Mom is at work Scott's at school, and I'm sick of staring at the stupid walls. I really would rather watch anything else, but apparently the remote is missing.

The front door opens and Mom enters carrying a bag of takeout. "I splurged," she says. "I couldn't help it. Scott's first game being on the field, and you're home. Can you do me a favor? Grab plates and forks. Scott was on his way home ten minutes ago from his friends house."

Searching through the cabinets, I find an array of mismatched plates. I sort them on the coffee table as Scott enters. He doesn't hesitate to immediately dig inside the bags.

"Hey." I sit beside him on the couch. "How was school? And whatever else you do in your free time?"

Before he can answer there's a loud "Scott McCall," shouted from Mom's bedroom. She's stomping down the stairs a second later. Scott hunches over to block the oncoming slaughter. "Do you want to explain to me why the Sheriff just called to let me know that Stiles and you are a key witness in a murder case?"

"Mommmm," Scott drags out while he motions to the food.

She does not appear impressed.

"Ugh, Stiles and I were in the forest the other night-"

Mom scoffs. "-the other night?"

Deciding they were going to be awhile I start to make my plate. It's kind of nice to know I'm not the only child that pisses off our parents. The last time I saw Scott he was the little golden child Dad dreamed of having over me, but he fucked up too bad to obtain. Mom would have murdered Dad if he took Scott after what happened, but he had his people to get me in the custody battle. He had to have something over my mother.

"Stiles and I went out into the forest and I dropped my inhaler… So, we went back for it, and we found a dead body buried by the Hale house."

I cringe. "The Hale house? Really? That's awful. I remember them from elementary school."

"Well, you'll never guess who buried the body," Scott says. But he doesn't have to say anything, Beacon Hills Newscast start blaring the name Derek Hale; one of the only survivors from the Hale fire. Also, two-years-older than me and was in my gym period my freshman year at Beacon Hills High. I remember it was in the middle of that year the fire happened, and the students were required to have a moment of silence for the eleven townspeople that perished.

The anchor informs they are completing DNA and blood tests to figure out if he is the murderer of Jane Doe, currently he's the only potential suspect they have. What is weird is that they have a detailed drawing of him, but no actual picture. You would think they would pull up some of his old year book photos, or a mugshot.

"He's pretty hot. He really grew into his ears."

Scott growls. Growls. Literally. I eye him and he coughs. "He's a murderer."

"Accused." I wink. "And damn if I don't remember that body from gym class…"

Mom rolls her eyes. "Seriously, Scott. If I have to hear anything like this from Sheriff Stilinski before you again you will be grounded. I promise you. And no more going into the forest. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Stiles wanted to-"

"-I'm pretty sure Stiles isn't putting a gun to your head." Mom sits on my right, placing me in the middle of the bickering duo.

"Not yet," Scott says.

Mom gives me an exasperated look. "Stiles is around a lot. Likes to climb through Scott's window in the middle of the night." She leans forward to peer at Scott. "Tell Stiles the next time he does, I won't refrain from hitting him with the bat. I'm upgrading to metal."

He snorts. "I'll let him know."

I wonder if Stiles is the person that was in Scott's room last night?

Mom finishes her meal quickly. Muttering "it's been a long day," and then she announces she's taking a bath; she's gone in a flash. Scott and I are left alone, which is awkward. Mostly because of the tension lingering from last night.

My own brother hates me. He thinks I'm a monster.

A nauseating feeling has me cleaning up my plate instead of finishing it. I put the leftover takeout in the fridge and go upstairs without a word. Scott doesn't say anything either.

I curl onto my bed. My life is such a fucking mess lately. It's always been shaky, but at least things were doable. Now I have a headache everyday just from the noise of everything.

My fingers slip through the dried out ends of my lilac hair, clumping up into my roots and twisting. I squeeze hard because there's so much pain thump, thump, thumping in there. Dad, Mom, Scott, and the accident.

I don't know how I'm going to keep fucking doing this.