Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine.
A/N: This chapter started out as, like, two hundred words and just kind of snowballed from there. Enjoy!
Stiles.
I wanted to kill him. Not literally, but in the way Kira has used the term after the game of dodgeball.
"AJ, find your anchor," Scott said, louder this time. I took another step towards them and then another.
Finally Scott's eyes flashed red. "AJ, stop!" I jerked, feeling like he'd hit me, and some of the anger drained away. His words seemed to break through the swirling barrier of simmering fury—kickstarting my brain again. I came to a halt, struggling to put a leash on the raw anger.
Not knowing what else to do, I pivoted on a foot, smashing my fist towards the wall. Scott's hand came out of nowhere, catching my arm a second before my knuckles made contact with the wallpaper. "Not," he said in a strangled voice, "a good idea."
I pulled my arm free, shaking out my hand. Stiles drummed a foot against the ground, looking thoughtful. "How'd you do it at the cemetery? One second you were you, and the next, you had claws and blue headlights." I glanced at him, confused, and Stiles rolled his eyes. "Your eyes were glowing blue," he explained impatiently.
I thought about it. "It happened after the ghoul bit me. The bite started aching and burning, like, really bad."
Scott dipped his head to the left slightly, making a gesture with his hands. "Pain triggers the healing process. And heightened emotions make the change that much easier. You probably didn't even notice the transformation."
I nodded. One second I had been hurting, and the next I'd had claws and had been the one doing the hurting.
Scott rubbed the heels of his hands against his forehead, sighing. "Look, the anchor is everything. It needs to be something that makes you you when everything else goes instinctual. Do you understand?"
I understood alright, but I still had no idea what my anchor would be. Stiles groaned, at my perpetual silence, maybe, and dropped into his rolling desk chair. Then he rooted around in his desk drawer pulling out some kind of snack. It was in a clear, crinkly package, and Stiles struggled to open it. He had just gotten one side ripped open when the house door opened, and footsteps sounded up the stairs. Stiles' eyes got wide, and he turned frantically, looking for a place to stash the spongy snack.
Eventually, he grabbed my hand and stuffed the squishy tube into it. Then he turned towards the doorway, a completely new look on his face.
Sheriff Stilinski walked in a second later, faltering when he saw the three of us. "Boys," he greeted somberly, an air of caution about him.
"Hey, Daddy-o," Stiles said quickly. "We were just studying. AJ still hasn't gotten the hang of economics."
Stilinski's eyes flicked around the room before settling on the thing in my hand, and then he looked back up at me. "I see AJ's enjoying a Twinkie. I'd hate to think that it was yours, Stiles. You know what the doctors said about mixing foods that are pure sugar and your Adderall."
Stiles gasped, putting a hand to his chest. "I am completely offended by that, Dad! How could you even… Why would you think…" He shook his head gravely, looking disappointed. Sheriff Stilinski didn't look convinced, and Stiles bumped the side of my leg with his elbow. Oh. He wanted me to eat this. I stared down at it, not wanting to. But Stiles had said that being a good friend meant doing things that you didn't want to, and he had been helping me out lately. So I raised the spongy tube and took a bite. It stunk like weird chemicals, but as soon as it entered my mouth, I was in rapture. Holy crap. How had I never eaten one of these before?
I polished it off in two bites, licking my fingers. Sheriff Stilinski sighed again, shaking his head. "Scott, AJ, I assume you are staying for dinner?"
Scott shook his head, saying something about take-out before his mom's shift. I didn't understand him at all, but he left. Then I shook my head as well. I didn't want to stay for dinner. I wasn't hungry. "I have to get back...to the loft," I finished lamely. I didn't have a good excuse, but then I guess I didn't need one.
Sheriff Stilinski motioned me out of Stiles' room. "You," he said, jabbing a finger in Stiles' direction, "get dinner ready. I'm going to drop AJ off, then I'll be home."
"Anything for you, Dad," Stiles called as I tromped down the stairs. This was even better than I expected. I thought I'd have to walk home, but Stilinksi was going to give me a ride. No long, cold walk for me.
Stilinski came out, and we got in the car. He turned up the heat, and I reveled in it. Not having fur was such a disadvantage sometimes. I stared out the windshield, watching the streetlights play over the shiny black hood. A few seconds later, my breathing increased. I didn't know why, but my heart also started pounding. What was wrong with me? The full moon wasn't until tomorrow night.
Oh, I had eaten a Twinkie. Maybe that was causing this.
I drummed my fingers against my knee and bounced my foot, unable to stop moving. Maybe that was why Stiles was so excitable. Twinkies. Unstoppable waves of words, twitchiness, erratic thought patterns. It explained everything.
Sheriff Stilinski didn't even look over at me when he broke the silence. "This is the last time my son is ever giving you pure sugar," he said gravely. I gave him a wide-eyed look, unable to help myself. Sugar? Is that why I was so jumpy and wild? It was like I couldn't stop moving, and I didn't like it. But I liked Twinkies, that much I had already decided.
Stilinski sighed, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel. "How's it going, staying with Derek?" He looked over at me a couple times, taking a few quick breaks from watching the road.
I shrugged, then crossed my arms, then uncrossed my arms, drumming on my knees again. Through an extreme bout of willpower, I made myself go still. I owed him for getting me a place with Derek, so at the very least, I could give him an answer. "It's...good," I said, and I meant it. Staying with Derek was different than staying with Henry, and it was very different than staying at Eichen House. But different in a good way.
I pursed my lips, tapping my foot against the floorboard as I stared out the window into the darkness. It was good. I liked staying with Derek. With that realization came a weird sense of bitterness, though. It wasn't permanent. Sooner or later, Derek would fix the code violations, and then he would be done with me. I couldn't let myself get attached, because I would have to move on eventually.
We didn't say anything else for the duration of the ride. I climbed out at the warehouse. "Goodnight, AJ," Stilinski called. I said nothing, too jittery to remain standing still. I took the stairs, two at a time, hoping to burn off the strange, restless buzz in my brain. Bursting into the loft, I came to a grating stop. Peter and Derek were both sitting on the couch, hunched over two giant books placed side by side. They looked up simultaneously, and I stood there mutely, suddenly unable to stop shaking as my brain went completely blank.
"What's wrong with you?" Peter asked with a snort. He went back to the book, but Derek remained watching. I licked my lips slightly then darted to the guest room, unable to take his gaze.
There was something neatly folded on the foot of the bed, and I snagged it, holding it up. It was a large, gray sweatshirt with a hood. Hallelujah. I pulled it on, noting that it was smaller than Derek's size, but it still smelled faintly like him. Old, then. It was old. I didn't care, because it was also soft and warm. Dropping onto the bed, I stared up at the ceiling. My hands trembled, and my muscles wouldn't stop twitching slightly. I shook my hands out, hoping it would help. It didn't.
I wanted to jump up and run around in circles, that's how restless I was. Instead, I lay still, listening to the quiet murmurs of Derek and Peter. I couldn't tell what they were saying, but it was nice just to hear something other than silence right now.
Eventually, the burning rush of energy tapered off and disappeared, leaving me dull and heavy. I didn't want to move at all, which I found odd in comparison to my earlier inclinations. In fact, every muscle was slack and limp as I blinked lethargically up at the ceiling. I wasn't tired, I just felt...depleted.
"You smell like sugar," Derek said from the doorway, startling me. I would have jumped had I not been feeling so sluggish.
Sugar, sugar sugar. All they could talk about was sugar. I was beginning to think that sugar was the devil. Coach sometimes went on rants, tirading us with facts about sugar and things called carbs and calories. I never paid him much attention, because...well...he was Coach.
"Hmm," I intoned, not giving it much more than a token effort.
Derek looked annoyed. "Did Stiles give you something?" I blinked up at the ceiling again. Stiles had mentioned a bro-code during lunch yesterday. I still didn't know what it fully entailed, but I'd gathered it meant not snitching about certain things. I wondered if Twinkies fell under that category, so I said nothing, just in case.
I was still thinking about Twinkies when my eyes slid shut. Derek growled something, but I missed it, contemplating how I was going to get my hands on more cream-filled sponge cakes. A small shiver rippled through me, and I rooted blindly about with a hand, trying to pull my blankets up over me. It must have worked because, they slid out from under me and ended up on top.
I huffed, pulling them tightly around me in a cocoon as I flipped over onto my stomach. Then I buried my face in my pillow and fell asleep. I slept restlessly, waking up several times. It wasn't until the sky began to get lighter that I truly fell into a deep sleep. Except with it, came the dream.
The lines on the road sped by, and I watched them pass with my cheek pressed against the cool window. In the front seat, my mom sang along to the radio. She kept looking back, trying to get us to sing along. My little sister giggled, yelling random words whenever she knew the lyrics. I didn't say anything, because I was still mad at Mom. I had said as much, earlier, yelling at her with so much anger that it was almost unreal. I didn't know where it came from. I was just in a bad mood today, I guess.
The moon peeked through the clouds, round and full. I stared up at it through the glass, and then it all changed. My sister twisted in her seat, staring at me and screaming, and my mom yelled, yanking on the steering wheel. My body hurt in ways that I didn't understand. The car swerved and everything became one confusing mass of pain and darkness.
I was running. I had to get away. Behind me there was only pain and fear and blood—so much blood. I had to find somewhere safe. I tripped over branch and came crashing down, scraping my hands and knees. I started crying and picked myself up again. I wanted to run. I needed to run. So I did. My legs pumped and my heart pounded, and suddenly I was running like never before. I was sleek; I was fast.
I was a predator.
"AJ." There was a touch at my shoulder. I exploded out of my dream and out of my bed, coming up swinging with my teeth bared and a savage growl tearing out of my throat. I couldn't growl long, though. Breath sawed in and out of my chest, making control impossible. I was shaking at the wildness of it all. I wanted to run. I needed to run.
Strong hands caught my wrists before my claws could do any damage, and suddenly I was faced with a pair of glowing blue eyes. "Calm. Down." The voice was commanding in a way I'd never heard before. Derek. The coyote side of me faded, but I still couldn't fully obey.
The breath rushed in and out of my chest, my heart going a million miles an hour. I couldn't stop. I was getting dizzy, and I knew I needed to calm down, but I couldn't. I physically couldn't.
Derek let go of my wrists. He opened his mouth, revealing long teeth in the dim light, and he roared. The sound washed over me in a wave, sending me into deep, mindless stillness. I stumbled backwards, the bed hitting the back of my knees, and I collapsed, all of my panic and adrenaline fading.
The silence that followed swamped in around me, suffocating me with its heaviness, and the last vestiges of the dream came floating back to me. The moon, the change. The car accident. Running. God, it was awful. I hung my head, planting my elbows on my knees and running my hands through my hair. I didn't want to remember. Not that. Not ever.
Derek lingered in front of me, maybe unsure of what to do. "You were…" he started to explain, but didn't finish the sentence.
I had been what? What? Oh. My nostrils flared at the small scent of salt water. Oh, no. Please, no. I had been crying. I could smell the tears, and I swiped at my face, feeling the damp trails. Awesome, I was reduced to crying in my sleep.
I turned away from Derek, flopping down on my side and giving him my back. I was mortified, and I didn't want his pity. I didn't want anything from him but silence and space.
He gave it to me, walking out of the room without a word.
I closed my eyes, trying to push that particular memory to the deepest, darkest part of my brain. It didn't work—instead, replaying itself again and again like a movie.
The hours dragged by. I got up, stuffing books into my backpack without much care. I was on edge—from this morning, maybe. I walked out, earlier than usual, choking down the protein shake and getting in the car with my usual silence. Derek didn't bring up this morning's incident, and I didn't either.
When I got to school, I climbed out without a word. Derek didn't stop me. I went directly to the locker room, unable to handle any of Stiles' nattering or Lydia's tutoring. I didn't have much time, but I slipped into shorts and a t-shirt anyways, hitting the track for some laps.
The running seemed to take the edge off of things, and I walked into my first class a little calmer. It didn't last. Everything passed in an irritating blur, little things needling at me constantly. It was too noisy. It was too cold. Someone was wearing a noxious cloud of something disgustingly floral. And, of course, I barely knew anything that was going on. I hadn't read all of the chapter for history, and Mr. Yakimura kept giving me disappointed glances when I couldn't answer any questions.
Even chemistry was tedious, in that we were doing an experiment using chemicals with fumes that toasted my nostrils and made me feel like I was going to vomit. But even so, I didn't really lose it until economics.
Lunch came and went. Instead of sitting with the others, I went out and ran laps again. It didn't help very much, and when I got to Econ, I was already cranky. I slouched low in my seat, ignoring Scott and Stiles. Then Coach walked in, smiling. My stomach flipped.
We had a pop quiz. It had nothing to do with soda, and I couldn't even understand what the questions were asking. Students filed out one by one as they finished. I stayed, having written nothing other than my name on the paper. Stiles passed me, giving me a pitying glance as he left, and finally, I was alone with Coach. He paced up and down the aisle. "Come on, AJ. I know you're smarter than this. You've clearly got something going on in that brain of yours, because you've managed to avoid me after gym class every day."
I wanted him to stop talking, to stop moving. My frustration welled up, and I stared down at my paper, fingers tightening around my pencil. "I want to give you a passing grade, kid. I do," he said loudly. "But you need to show me something. Anything, AJ. Just give me anything you've learned in this class. Anything at all."
My hand tightened into a fist. Shut up, shut up! I wanted to yell at him. My heart pounded, and I felt like hitting something. A lot. Maybe slamming someone's face into a wall. Or maybe just slamming my fist into one. Yeah, that could work.
My pencil snapped in my hand. A piece jabbed into my palm, a little slice of pain, and for some reason that helped. The pain cut through the maddening haze that was building, and for a second, I remembered what Peter had said about hunting strategy. I dropped the jagged shards of wood onto the desk.
"Supply and demand," I said haltingly. Coach came to a stop, a hopeful look slowly replacing his agitation. "Um, if supply doesn't match demand, then there is an imbalance." Coach nodded, waving for me to continue. "And, um…" I rubbed a hand over my face, suddenly feeling really hot. "If, if...the demand is higher than the supply, then people will pay more for the supply. And if the supply is higher than the demand, then people aren't as motivated to pay as much?"
Coach stared at me for a long moment, unblinking, then he slammed a hand down on my desk. "See, there is a brain up there. Good job, kid, you passed. Now get out of my classroom."
I grabbed my backpack and fled, feeling strangely like I was emitting my own personal heatwave. What was wrong with me? I stopped in the hallway, pulling off Derek's sweatshirt. It didn't help cool me down. I pushed through the throngs of walking, chatting students, and my breathing picked up, air coming in and out faster and faster. Something was very wrong here. I needed to find Scott. I pushed and jostled my way through the hall, feeling like everyone was purposefully getting in my way.
I bumped someone's shoulder, tried to course correct, and ended up running into a guy who was way bigger than me. He turned around, shoving me backwards with a large hand. "Watch where you're going, loser," he scoffed, not really paying attention to me. He was already refocusing on his friends. I blinked at him, the hot anger that I'd felt in Coach's classroom flashing back through me.
Before I knew it, my fist was rocketing towards his face. Blood spurted as my knuckles smashed into his nose. I cocked my fist back and hit him again, this time in the eye. My hand hurt, only a little though, and it was the good kind of hurt. I liked it. My fist flashed back a third time, but by then something was very wrong.
People were yelling and milling. Coach rushed forward, trying to pull me away from the guy. I fought his grip easily, not yet ready to relinquish my prey. I wanted to keep hitting the guy, when suddenly I heard the same steady roar from the night in the hills. "AJ," the alpha yelled. It was long and drawn out, but the power was there. The hot, red, suffocating fog of anger cleared out of my mind, and suddenly I was back.
There was blood all over my hand, and the guy I was hitting was loose within my grasp. He wasn't even trying to fight back, ninny. Coach pulled me away, and the weird buzzing in my ears snapped into focus. He was yelling, and I wasn't listening as he pulled me and the other guy down the hall. The only thing I paying attention to was Scott, standing at the edge of the crowd. Alpha, my mind supplied, too out of it to come up with anything else.
Coach led me to the office area again, shoving me towards a chair and shaking his head in exasperation. He pushed the other guy towards a chair, too. "Ryan, AJ, I am very disappointed in you." He shook his head again and stomped out. I didn't care. It didn't mean anything coming from Coach.
I scowled, crossing my arms and slouching in the chair. That was stupid, very stupid of me to lose it like that. Crap. First this morning, and now this?
What was wrong with… Oh. It was a full moon tonight. Somehow in the mess that had been last night and this morning, I had forgotten about the full moon. It seemed a little ridiculous given the fact that both Scott and Derek had mentioned it several times the last few days.
I scowled down at my shoes, trying to calm the burning anger inside me. To my left, Ryan slouched, almost identically to me, blood sluggishly leaked from his nose. I was drowned by the salty, coppery musk of it. Wrong, my brain screamed at me. Wrong, wrong, wrong. But there was another part of me, deep down, that liked it. I shifted in my seat, angling myself away from Ryan and his blood.
Ms. Morell walked by, and I slouched lower in my seat. She stopped, backed up a few steps, and peered into the waiting area, her face becoming heavy with disappointment. When she saw Ryan next to me, her shoulders slumped. "You got in a fight, AJ?" God, she was almost as bad as Derek. I hated disappointing either of them, but I didn't even like them. How did that even work?
Ryan stood up, going to get another tissue for his nose. I glared after him, feeling edgy and slightly out of control with the scent of so much blood. Ms. Morrell hesitated, her eyes getting slightly wider. "It's a full moon tonight," she said, quietly enough that Ryan didn't hear.
I shrugged. Good job, lady. You figured it out. Now leave me alone, I wanted to say. But I kept my mouth shut.
"I'll talk to the vice principal, see if we can't keep you from getting suspended. Hopefully, you'll get detention at the most." I shrugged again, not caring in the least until I heard her next words. "They'll still have to call Derek, though." My head whipped up, and my heart started pounding. Oh, no. He was going to kick me out for sure after this.
I remained slumped in the chair for the better part of an hour, dreading the impending confrontation with Derek. Footsteps sounded out in the hallway, and my stomach twisted in awful anticipation. But Derek didn't walk into the waiting area. Instead, weighty blue eyes stared down at me as the figure filled the doorway. Peter. Peter had come instead of Derek. Relief swept through me, followed by suspicion. Why was he here?
Peter exhaled loudly through his nose, cocking his head to the side as he stared down at me. Then Vice Principal Anderson came out, casting a questioning look at Peter. Peter moved his annoyed half-glare up to Anderson, before giving me a slight nod. "He's mine," Peter said, somehow packing extreme inconvenience into those two words.
Anderson extended a hand. "I'm Eric Anderson, vice principal of Beacon Hills High School. I take it you're Mister Hale." Peter didn't contradict him, since it was technically true, and Anderson nodded firmly. "Let's step into my office for a chat." He beckoned me in with one finger, and I got up, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I slunk into the office under Peter's unreadable gaze.
I sat in one chair, and Peter took the other. Anderson sat in his, steepling his fingers as he set his hands on his desk. "Ms. Morrell has informed me of AJ's situation, and given that he's had no other issues, and his teachers all give good reports of him, I think we can safely say that there is no need for a suspension. That being said, physical violence is not tolerated here at Beacon Hills High, and there will be disciplinary action taken."
I zoned out—staring at the corner of Anderson's desk—not interested in the current conversation. He went on and on about responsibility and some other stuff that I didn't pay attention to.
Eventually, Peter reached over and gripped my shoulder, tightening his hand painfully. I gritted my teeth against the pain and sat up, tuning back into the conversation. "He understands. Don't you, AJ?" Peter asked dangerously.
I gave my most serious nod, and Peter relaxed his grip. Anderson nodded gravely as well and cleared his throat. "Well, we're done here. I expect to see you in detention this coming week, then, young man." My hands involuntarily curled into fists at the patronizing term, and Peter's grip tightened again. I ground my teeth together and stood. Peter shook Anderson's hand, never once lessening his grip on my shoulder. Then we walked out, and it wasn't until we reached the hallway that Peter finally released the vice on my shoulder.
I hissed, rubbing the sore spot, but Peter just snorted. "You're lucky I picked up Derek's cell phone instead of him. My nephew still has a sadly misguided appreciation of the education system." I shuddered to think what Derek would do to me if he found out about this.
"Are you going to tell him?" I asked bluntly.
"Why would I?" Peter had the beginnings of a crooked smirk on his face.
I glanced at him as we walked, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "Is that a no?" I asked, honestly not knowing—not when dealing with him. I pushed through the front door of the school, fighting the urge to take a huge breath of fresh, unenclosed air.
"Do you want it to be a no?" He was smiling by now, and it irked me. What was his game? Why couldn't he be like Derek who just said whatever he meant?
"Yes," I said, trying to keep the heat out of my voice.
"Then it's a no." Peter motioned to a small black car, and I got in the passenger side, staring out the window as he started to drive. There was merciful silence, but even that too was broken. "Did you at least kick his ass?" Peter asked, sounding a little too curious.
No. I had punched him in the face. Repeatedly. Oh. Figure of speech. I already knew that one. I should have recognized it sooner. Stupid, I was being stupid. This was why not speaking had its advantages. No one can call you stupid if you just keep your thoughts to yourself. "Yes," I said finally, having determined that to be the most correct answer.
The corner of Peter's mouth twitched into a smile, but I didn't know why that would even matter to him.
We drove around for a little bit, getting gas and doing other small errands. Only when the clock said three did Peter take me to Derek's. I got out of the car, hesitating by the door. I felt like I should thank Peter, but at the same time I didn't want to. Saying thanks made me feel like I owed him something, and that was not something I wanted to feel towards Peter.
His mouth curved into a slow grin. "You're welcome," he said playfully, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. I turned away, feeling a little out of sorts. Man, this day just kept getting weirder. I slammed Peter's car door, just to let him know how I felt, and then climbed the steps up to the loft.
Derek was waiting for me. He didn't look angry or violent, which meant he probably hadn't heard what happened. But he drank in my appearance with a careful eye. It made me glad I'd shoved my bloody hand into the sweatshirt pocket.
"Did something happen today?" His eyebrows took on a life of their own, arching upwards until his face took on an especially probing look. Did he know? No, he couldn't.
I looked at him, feeling the words swirl around in the air like buzzing flies. There was a truthful answer buried somewhere deep inside my brain, but I had neither the energy nor the inclination to dig it out. "No," I told him shortly, turning away and going straight to the guest room. Once there, I collapsed on the bed and refused any further movement.
Derek came and stood in the doorway. He did that a lot, I noted. I could practically envision his crossed arms and disapproving frown. But he wouldn't be getting anything else out of me, though. That much was clear as I lay practically comatose on the soft mattress. I felt like something was sucking all the energy out of me and like my brain had turned into a puddle of mushy Twinkie filling.
I sighed, hating this day with a burning passion, and shoved everything out of my mind. Only when it was blissfully empty and dull, was I able to give in to the considerable pull of sleep.
