Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf.

The Darach's Apprentice

Chapter 1 – Resurrection

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Matthew Daehler

Cold.

Coldness is the first sensation I feel. A coldness that penetrates so deep it feels like my bones are made of ice, that my blood is frozen solid in my veins, that my heart has frozen into a solid block of ice.

There is nothing, nothing in the universe, except the cold.

But then, slowly, other sensations begin to come to me, filling my mind as I achieve some form of consciousness, and I can "perceive" them, one by one.

First, darkness.

It's darker than I've ever seen, darker than anything I could possibly have imagined, the darkness somehow making it even colder. I couldn't have seen a white sheet of paper if it was held against my face; there's no light whatsoever, not even a trace of anything that could allow vision.

Second, silence.

Either my ears don't work here (wherever "here" is), or I'm the only person here, because I'm currently in the midst of the most profound silence I've ever heard. There is nothing; not the slightest sound. Not even the sound of my heartbeat, of my breathing, of blood running through my veins, of my muscles flexing and stirring.

Because none of those things are happening.

Third, stillness.

I'm not moving; not a muscle, not a nerve impulse, not even a cell, is in motion. I am completely, utterly immobile. I imagine this is what it would feel like to be a statue.

I'm dimly aware that my endless silence and immobility are becoming a prison, one that I should be desperate to escape from, but I can't even feel fear; I am eternally apathetic, blind, deaf and numb to my surroundings, unable to accomplish anything.

Fourth… light?

Then I see it; a pinpoint of light, impossibly far away. As I watch, the light moves closer swiftly, increasing in brightness and radiance as it races towards me.

I'm level with it now, a vast wall of searing white light, rushing off to the horizon in all directions. I gaze upon it, unknowing, uncaring.

But I become curious, intrigued; I've retained the tiniest trace of identity, just enough to prompt my curiosity.

I reach out, and touch the light.

There is an explosion of pure white light, the brightest light I could possibly imagine.

Fifth… memory.

And then it hits me with the force of a tidal wave.

Memories. My memories.

A lifetime's worth; every memory I'd ever experienced in my entire life, compacted into an instant, all forced into my mind at once and replayed, from beginning to end.

I'm only able to catch momentary images, brief snatches of light and sound. But all those images are enough to tell the story.

My story.

Childhood. Simple years, growing quickly.

Then, the first darkness. Going to that party to meet a friend... being grabbed by an older boy, feeling the sick rush of terror.

The fall, the stinging splash, thrashing desperately to stay on the surface, but sinking, inexorably dragged down.

My first death.

Then, after an instant of darkness, light again. The old man, Lahey, over me, yelling at me to stay quiet about this, to tell no one.

Shifting again, growing old through the years, but always carrying that shadow over my soul, that memory of death, of darkness.

Then, the most important memories since that black day.

The Argents' funeral. Seeing Allison, smiling to myself. Seeing Lahey, feeling the hatred surging through me.

Finding out, the next day, that he was dead.

The night of the full moon, giving Jackson the video camera, seeing his body change and contort over the video feed, transforming into something monstrous.

The Kanima's clawed hand, resting against the outside of the car window.

My own hand, pressed against it through the glass.

The bond, filling my mind, a surge of power, of electricity between our minds. The link between a Kanima and its master.

Pictures. Taking pictures of each of my targets, each of the murderers who had killed me once. And then Jackson killing them, tearing them apart in my name, for my vengeance.

Snuffing the life out of the one victim that Jackson hadn't been able to kill for me, suffocating her in the hospital.

More deaths. More carnage, all for my sake. For my revenge.

Suddenly, a flash of horror, as I realize that scales are growing on my left side, replacing the normal skin.

The need, the desperation to find answers, to prevent this change from getting worse. To save myself.

Finally, that final night.

The party, feeling the horror as those kids tossed me into the pool, yelling that I can't swim, desperately thrashing in the water until Jackson grabs my arm and pulls me to safety.

The police station.

Taking McCall, Stilinski, Derek Hale, the sheriff, and McCall's mom hostage as I wait for the bestiary, the only way to find out what's happening to me.

The station coming apart in a furious barrage of gunfire and tear gas.

Running, fleeing the scene while Jackson holds off my pursuers.

Then those final moments. Running across the bridge, and straight into that old man, Gerard Argent. His fist connecting with my face, knocking me to the ground.

His hands, gripping my throat as he plunges me underwater, into the lake.

Screaming in my mind, for Jackson, for anyone, to help me.

Knowing, in my heart, that no one will answer.

Gerard's face, glaring coldly down at me through the water, his face morphing back and forth from his own face to images of Lahey's face from my first death all those years ago.

Unable to hold out any longer, letting the water fill my lungs.

A moment of searing agony, worse than anything I could have ever imagined.

Then, blackness.

And then…

I open my eyes.

Immediately, I suck in a deep breath of air, the deepest breath I've ever taken in my life, and then break down coughing. I roll over and retch, emptying my lungs of the water that pours out of my mouth. Slowly, gasping for air, I manage to sit up, but I feel extremely weak; I can barely support my weight.

I'm in a dark room, lying on a metal table under a spotlight. I glance slowly around the room, my breathing slowing as I regain control over my body.

I see a brief movement from the shadows and turn to face the source, trying to push myself upright and nearly falling over as my arm gives out, too weak to hold me up.

"Relax," a woman's voice says from the shadows. "Your body's still in shock, it'll take a while for you to recover. You're going to be very weak for some time; your muscles atrophied while you were in here."

I blink slowly, trying to wrap my mind around my current situation. I try to speak; my voice sounds hoarse and rasping, as if I haven't used it in a long time. "What… happened?"

"In layperson's terms, you died," the woman replies. "You drowned, and the police fished your body out of the lake and brought you here."

I glance around again, and this time I realize where I am; a dark, cold room with the walls lined with large drawers. A chill runs through me.

I am in a morgue.

"How… how am I alive?"

"Because I brought you back," the woman says, as if that should be obvious.

I rub my head, trying to focus. "Why… would you do that?"

"Because I needed help," she replies. "And because you have potential."

"Potential for what?"

"Power." The woman steps forward, out of the shadows, revealing herself. She's about my height, pale with shoulder-length curly black hair, and her eyes are cold. She walks slowly around the table, her eyes locked on me. "How would you like to have power beyond anything you could imagine? The power to crush anyone who opposes you, gain vengeance on anyone who has wronged you, make things right in your life… in the world?" She smiles. "I can give you that. The same power that I used to bring you back from the dead. You want vengeance. So do I."

"You?" I ask. "Vengeance for what?"

Her eyes narrow. "For this." And then she changes, her eyes glowing white as her hair disappears and her face distorts, hideous scars appearing, disfiguring her formerly beautiful face. I lurch backwards in shock. She remains motionless, letting me get a long look at her, and then the transformation happens in reverse as she returns to her original appearance.

"What the hell was that?" I whisper.

"That," she says, "is what was done to me many years ago. That's what I'm seeking vengeance for." Another ghostly smile crosses her face. "And I could use your help to do that."

"Who are you trying to get revenge against?" I ask.

"Werewolves," she replies. "A pack of them, far stronger and more vicious than the ones I know you've met. They did that to me, turned me into a monster and killed many others." Her eyes darken. "I'm going to kill them. And you're going to help me."

I blink. "And what if I say no?"

"Then I snap your neck and send you back to whatever afterlife you were living in before I brought you back. In your condition, you wouldn't have a chance of fighting back. But after we kill them, we can part ways, and you can live your new life however you want."

I consider for a moment, then nod. "Fair enough. All right, you've talked me into it. But I need to know exactly what we're going to do."

She smiles. "Oh, don't worry, I'll fill you in on the details."

I smile faintly and extend my hand. "Well, if we're going to be working together, we might as well be formally introduced. Matt Daehler."

"Yes, I know who you are," she replies with a smile as she shakes my hand. "Jennifer Blake. Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise."

.

A/N: Hello, everyone, and welcome to my new story, The Darach's Apprentice! As you may have guessed, the basic opening point for this story is that after Matt died in Season 2, Jennifer (who, for the purposes of this story, was already in Beacon Hills at that time, observing the situation and establishing herself prior to applying for a teaching job at the high school) revived him, bringing him back to life as a Darach. This will, obviously, lead to events unfolding differently than they do in the canon series. How differently, you may ask? Well, you'll just have to wait and see.

As always, I welcome any questions or comments you may have, so please review! (No hate, please!)

See you all next time!