Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine.

A/N: Another Derek POV. More Lydia/The Gang interaction to come.

Wolves howled.

We vented our pain, our anger, our dominance into one single sound. It could be a long, commanding roar. It could be a pain-filled warning. Most often, it was a violent challenge.

I'd grown up among wolves. My mother had been able to shift full-form into one. I was no stranger to wolf cries. They had meaning. Every note, every howl, had it's place. They made sense. I understood them at a primal level.

Coyotes also howled, though it wasn't like wolves. No, a coyote howl was more of a high, undulating cry than anything else. A wail, really.

I'd heard AJ howl more than once. During AJ's first full moon with me, he'd lost control. Then the ghouls had punched holes the warehouse roof, and AJ had caught sight of the moon. He'd been on the soft side of feral when he'd howled. It was a lonely, haunting sound.

The second time, the ghoul had been torturing me. It had heard the footsteps in the tunnel and had decided to play a little—sending laughter and my cries of pain rolling down the tunnel.

AJ had responded with one of the eeriest ululation I'd ever heard. The wail had echoed and bounced down the tunnel, a hair-raising assurance of imminent violence. The ghoul had stopped laughing then, and I hadn't missed its increase in heart rate.

Even though I couldn't understand coyote howls the way I did wolf howls, I hadn't missed the emotions in that one. Rage. Fear. Pain. They were unmistakable.

I was hearing them again, right now.

I shoved the blankets off and padded over to the kid's room. He was, of course, not in bed. A cursory glance revealed an empty closet. I ground a knuckle against my eye and stooped low.

There he was, wedged tightly under the bed, practically hugging the wall. His eyes were closed, face scrunched tightly against whatever horrors he was living inside his dreams. I shoved my hand under, rooting around until I caught his ankle. Then I dragged him out.

His blanket trailed with him. For some reason, even though he couldn't actually sleep in the damn bed, he always took the blanket with him. Damned if I knew why.

Another yowl rose, cutting the silence with unearthly notes. He didn't wake up when I touched him. Didn't wake up as I moved him. I reached over onto the desk and grabbed the water glass I'd set there this morning. It was mostly full. I emptied it over the kid's face.

His eyes snapped open, and I half expected him to lunge up at me with a feral swipe of his claws. But the howl cut off as his jaw clicked shut.

Gray eyes studied me and the glass in my hand.

"You were having a nightmare. Again." It was his fifth one this week, and the lack of sleep was taking its toll on the kid. His face was haggard, the bags under his eyes growing more pronounced each day.

The kid said nothing. His perpetual silence was getting old.

I'd thought things were getting better with AJ.

Kind of.

He'd stopped jamming himself in the back of the closet at night. He still couldn't sleep on the bed. I usually found him on the floor somewhere, or if he'd had a nightmare like tonight, under the bed. Those days were always the worst.

He'd stopped flinching every time I made a sudden movement. But the wary, studying eyes never stopped. He watched my every move.

Even better, though, was his ability to eat. Steadfast refusal to drink the protein shake was still in place, but I'd had pretty good success with eggs, pancakes, cereal, and oatmeal. He didn't eat a lot, but he'd stopped fighting every single step in the process, which was good. Neither of us had the patience for that.

Despite his progress, I was getting worried. He wouldn't speak. Worse still, he wouldn't run.

I'd hit a wall with the not speaking thing. Originally, all I'd had to do was ply him with Twinkies as a bribe to say a few words. I knew how they affected him. The kid was a damn sugar junkie. But then the sugar highs had worn off. Twinkies had lost their novelty, and they no longer worked as bribes.

So AJ was silent, losing all real need to say anything.

What really worried me these days, though, was his inactivity.

AJ loved to run. Before, he would pace, fidget, and—quite frankly—throw a damn hissy fit when he wasn't able to.

But since he'd come back? Nothing. Kid wouldn't move faster than a walk.

AJ had once told me that running was like breathing for him. And now it seemed like running just didn't exist.

He was in a slump. But I had an idea on how to fix it.

She was five four and had an attitude to match.

I made the call, wondering if it would help.

Forty-five minutes later, I had my answer.

"You're back," Lydia said softly, standing outside the door.

I'd let her into the loft, hoping she of all people could get AJ to talk. Not only was he silent, but he wouldn't even let her into his room. The door was closed for the first time since I could remember.

She planted her hands on her hips. "I know you're in there."

I could hear AJ's heart. It was pounding fast and hard. What that meant was anyone's guess.

"Can I come in?" Lydia asked patiently. Nothing. No response at all. "AJ?" Her voice was full of hurt now. I could hear AJ's heart pick up. He heard it, but he still didn't say anything.

After a while, Lydia let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine," she snapped. "Come find me when you're done acting like a child." She dropped a small gift bag next to the door and turned on her heels, marching out of the loft.

I stared after her, arms crossed over my chest. Damn. I'd really hoped that would work.

A glance in the bag revealed an old, scratched Ipod. I turned it on, expecting to find music. There wasn't much. What took up most of the memory was a series of voice recordings. They were long, five or six hours each. I was tempted to play one, but I didn't. Whatever the recordings contained was between Lydia and AJ.

Turning the Ipod off, I dropped it back in the bag. Then I rapped the door with a knuckle. "She's gone. You can come out now." There was silence, and AJ made no move to open the door.

It was several hours before the kid finally emerged. I looked up from my novel. His face was even more tired and drawn, if that was possible. Frowning, I shook my head. "Door stays open," I warned him. He picked up the bag and withdrew back into his room with a tired nod.

I sighed and rubbed a hand down my face. Something had to change. I didn't know how to help the kid, not by myself. I was getting desperate, which was not a state I liked to find myself in. If I had drag his sorry ass to a fucking psychiatrist, then so be it.

I read for a few hours more. Then I got up and checked in on AJ before dinner, wondering if I could get him to eat pancakes for the third time today. What I found made me stop in my tracks.

He was asleep in his bed, curled up inside his blanket. The Ipod was held loosely in one hand, earbuds in his ears. I could hear a slight murmur, and when I truly listened, I heard Lydia's voice.

"When close to the whale, in the very death-lock of the fight, he handled his unpitying lance coolly and off-handedly, as a whistling tinker his hammer," Lydia was intoning softly.

I blinked. She was quoting Moby Dick. As I continued to listen, I realized she was not just quoting but actually reading the book aloud. And it had apparently put AJ to sleep.

Huh. Now that was interesting.

I listened for a while longer, half grinning as Lydia gave voice to a book I had read not three months ago. She read it in a slow, smooth tone, taking care to use the correct inflection and rhythm that Herman Melville had intended.

By the time I went to bed, AJ was still out of it. The recording was still murmuring steadily in his ears, and he seemed all the calmer for it.

I crashed down onto my bed with a soft groan, wondering if I'd finally be able to sleep through the entire night.

I did.

When I got up at five to start my workout, AJ was still sound asleep. Peacefully. In his bed. Hallelujah.

When I started making breakfast at seven, AJ finally woke up. He padded into the kitchen, knuckling sleep from his eyes. The Ipod was tucked into the pocket of his jeans, earbud draped around his neck. Lydia's voice was still a quiet hum, and it sounded like she'd moved on to The Great Gatsby.

"Do you want pancakes, oatmeal, or eggs today?" I asked, just like I did every morning in hopes that he'd eventually give me an answer. I didn't really expect him to. He hadn't ever before, but apparently this morning was different.

"Twinkie, please," AJ murmured sleepily, propping his chin on his hand.

I turned, eyebrows shooting up. They were his first words in over a week. Well I'll be damned. Maybe Lydia's incessant chatter was good for something after all.

I opened the cupboard, pulling down the familiar box. Then I plucked the last two Twinkies out of the box and, against my better judgement, held them out to AJ. He took them eagerly, and I waited for a "thank you." It never came. That was fine, though. Because he'd spoken. He'd finally spoken, and it was a start.

AJ put his earbuds in and slowly started to unwrap the first Twinkie. He yawned and took a bite, humming his appreciation softly. He took another bit, humming just as appreciatively.

After a few seconds of chewing, his eyes flickered up, catching me watching. He went still. Then he looked down at his Twinkie before looking back up at me. Very, very slowly, he extended his prize, offering me the last little bit.

I shook my head with a snort. "All yours." When the hell did he start sharing food? That was completely new.

He withdrew the Twinkie with a pleased hint of a smile. Finishing it up, he scarfed down the second one. Then he gave another sleepy little yawn, propping his head up on a hand again.

"Maybe we'll go to the store when we're done with breakfast," I informed him, just to gauge his reaction. The earbuds came out, and he instantly narrowed his eyes, looking intensely skeptical. I showed him the empty box of Twinkies as justification. "You can stay in the car."

He subsided into a more relaxed slump at the concession, and I shoveled scrambled eggs onto my plate. Picking up a fork, I dug in, mentally forming a shopping list.

After I put my plate in the sink, I grabbed my jacket. AJ seemed to be having second thoughts about going out. I could see him weighing the desire for Twinkies against his need to remain in his comfort zone.

"We can go see Mrs. McCall, too," I told him, more to get him in the car than anything else. It wasn't a half bad bribe...for both of us. She was, after all, the only other thing besides Lydia and Twinkies that had gotten AJ to talk.

As soon as I mentioned her, he perked up. He chewed on his lip, one hand working into a fist—clenching and unclenching. Patented sign of a stress. I waited patiently, recognizing his familiar struggle. He was trying to come up with a word or words.

"Coffee?" he asked finally.

I stared at him. He was full of surprises today. Though I wasn't too surprised with his choice of topic. Every time we'd gone over to the McCall house, there had been coffee brewing. And every time, AJ had shown more than a little interest in it.

I'd seen what Twinkies did to the kid. I shuddered to think of what caffeine could do. Still, his expression was so hopeful.

I snorted. "Don't push your luck, kid." Then I flashed him a small grin to let him know I was only half serious.

He stared at me a long second, then the corner of his mouth twitched into what was almost a grin. Yeah, full of surprises today.

"Let's go," I told him. And he followed me out to the car, earbuds snugly back in place.