Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf characters.

A/N: I don't really have anything to say. Odd. Oh, is anyone else not super impressed with season 5 of Teen Wolf? Maybe it's because Derek is gone. IDK. Maybe it's just me.

There was a hand on my forehead tilting my head back. A mouth pressed hard against mine, and air was blown in, inflating my chest. I didn't know what it meant, not really. I couldn't breathe—so wasn't I dead? The ghoul had made sure I hadn't been able to get out of the water in time.

More air was blown into my lungs, but the damn things didn't have any idea what to do with it. Hands pounded at my chest, sending dull thuds of pain reverberating through me. Panic set in. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Turns out that I could still vomit, though, and vomit I did. I was draped over someone's lap, but efficient hands eased me to the ground where I kept spewing canal water. It seemed to go on forever, but really, it was probably only a minute or so.

Blue eyes peered down at me, glowing softly in the dim light. He'd saved me. Again.

"Peter," I gasped, jolting out of the dream.

The room was dim, which meant it was still night. I untangled myself from my blanket and unfolded myself out from under the bed.

I looked at my new bed. I liked it. I really liked it. But sometimes I just couldn't sleep on it. Too soft. That was nothing new. It'd been the same way with the Eichen House beds. I'd get there eventually.

I didn't want to go back to sleep, though. Didn't want any more dreams about soft blue eyes and a concerned face. That was one plus of being a coyote. I didn't dream. Or if I did, I didn't remember any of them.

So lying down was out. I didn't want to pace all over the room, either. Derek would hear it and wake up. Then he would want to know why I wasn't sleeping, and I wouldn't know what to tell him.

I sighed, at a loss, before remembering Lydia's gift.

It was an Ipod. An old, beat-up, scratched Ipod. But she'd given it to me, and that was all that mattered. There weren't a lot of songs on it. But I hadn't heard any of them before, so it still seemed like a lot. That wasn't even the best part. No, there were books on it too.

I hated reading. It was hard and long and boring for me. But Lydia had recorded herself reading books and had put them on my Ipod. Now all I had to do was listen. Granted, I had no idea what most of them were about. That was nothing new, either.

One was about a guy who liked a girl but just brooded and stared out windows at his own parties. That one confused me, but I'd seen Derek reading it from time to time, so it must have been good. Another was about a whale and a ship captain who obsessively chased it. That one was interesting.

My absolute favorite, though, was about a guy named Odysseus. Even though it was read in a funny kind of way, I could still understand it, and Odysseus did a whole bunch of cool stuff. He traveled around and killed monsters. But he was just trying to get home to his family. It was hard to imagine someone who loved his family enough to spend every single day trying to get back to them.

I sighed and flopped onto the bed. Putting the earbuds in, I pressed play, listening to Odysseus' adventures. They were like my adventures with the ghouls but better, since no one was actually getting hurt. Running my thumb over a crack in the screen, I tried very hard not to think about my upcoming day.

I was going to school.

I think Derek was slowly going insane from being trapped inside the loft with me day after day. Last night, he'd clenched his teeth and said real slow, "AJ, I swear to God, either you are going to school tomorrow or I'm taking you to see Deaton."

I hated both those options, but I hated seeing Deaton more.

So I was going to school.

I was kind of-maybe ready, though. Listening to Lydia's recording helped me keep calm, and the words that seemed to dangle just out of reach came flooding back the more I listened. I could make sentences again, could talk without mangling my words into broken syllables.

I had a plan for Lydia, too. I was going to walk up to her and say, "Hi."

She would say hi back. Then I would say, "How are you?"

She would maybe lie and say that she was doing great even if she wasn't. Then she would ask me, and it would be my turn to lie and say that I was good.

Then I'd say, "Thank you for the Ipod. See you at lunch," and we'd go to our separate classes.

It was a good plan. I'd stick to it, and things would be okay.

At least that's what I thought all the way until I walked up to Lydia's locker later that morning and tried it out.

"Hi," I said, suddenly feeling very shy.

"I'm not talking to you," Lydia announced, slamming her locker shut.

I looked around to see who she was talking to. No one else was especially near us. "Not talking to me?" I asked, trying to clarify.

"Exactly," Lydia said with a small, annoyed huff.

I scratched the side of my head. This was not going according to plan. She was supposed to say hi back. Lydia hoisted her books higher in her arms and started walking away. I caught up to her easily, confusion and alarm shooting through me.

"But you already talked to me to tell me that you weren't talking to me. So are you talking to me or not talking to me? I don't understand." My voice rose slightly on the last word, betraying how out of control I felt right now. Why wasn't my plan working? I was counting on it to work.

Lydia came to a stop, eyes narrowed at me. Maybe she got how close to losing it I was. "Fine," she said evenly. "What did you want to say?"

I let out a breath. Okay, we were back on track. We had passed the hello stage and now we needed to move on to… "How are you?"

Lydia stared at me for a second then she rolled her eyes and started walking down the hall again, faster than last time. Uh-oh. That was the wrong thing to say.

Okay. Next one.

I caught up with her again. "Thank you for the Ipod," I told her. Her steps slowed fractionally. Yep. That was good. She liked that one. "I listen to the books a lot. The one about Odysseus is my favorite."

Lydia stopped walking altogether. Her heart started to pound, and I drew up short beside her. She rounded on me, eyes full of anger and hurt. "Why didn't you let me in? Why didn't you talk to me when I came to see you?"

My brain went blank and I stared at her, shocked. I hadn't practiced for a conversation like this. So I said the first thing that came to mind. "I was hiding." Then I winced, knowing how that sounded. But it was true.

The anger fizzled out of her eyes, replaced with reproach. "Why?" she asked softly.

Why? Because hiding had seemed like the best plan at the time. I hadn't wanted to see her that day because I was scared that if I saw her, then all the hurt would come back. If all the hurt came back, then I would run. And if I ran, I wasn't sure even Derek could find me this time.

But knowing I had to come to school, I had taken the pain of betrayal and shoved it deep, deep down inside me. I had buried it, hoping that it wouldn't resurface when I saw her. It hadn't. I didn't need to hide any more, because I was kind of numb. Numbness was a good feeling, a safe feeling.

I didn't think Lydia would understand it, but I wanted to tell her. I wanted to make her understand everything that was swirling around in my head. But I couldn't, not with my stupid brain shorting out when it came to expressing myself.

"I was...scared," I said haltingly. Then, because I suddenly didn't want to say anymore and we were so far off my practiced conversational tract that I didn't know how to make an exit, I went back to what I knew. "Thank you for the Ipod. I'll see you at lunch," I blurted. And then I kind of ran down the hall.

I went to English class. I just sat there with my chin on my hand as the teacher lectured on a Shakespeare play called Macbeth. Lots of people got murdered, and I thought about maybe murdering the girl next to me who kept snapping her gum in my ear.

Nevertheless, I survived English relatively sane and no worse for the wear. Chemistry was next, and I felt like I was back at square one. I literally remembered nothing from the class and spent most of my time slouched at my desk, listening to the teacher lecture about protons and neutrons—whatever they were.

Despite my frustration, I headed out of chemistry still pretty much in control of my anger and hurt.

History was next. Mister Yakimura knew I'd just gotten back, so he didn't ask me any questions. That was nice, at least.

My math teacher was not the same. She asked me at least three questions, for all of which I just stared at her. I didn't know what the hell we were even doing in class, and I had to wonder if she was intentionally trying to embarrass me, but I didn't let it work. I was just pissed off, and my deadpan stare definitely unnerved her.

Then, just like the first day at school, it was lunch time and I didn't want to be anywhere near the cafeteria. But, unlike the first day, I knew who would be waiting for me. I was already pretty bent out of shape from math class, and I knew that if I had to see Scott and Stiles and Kira, then I would probably explode.

So I left.

It wasn't a big deal. Like some of the other students, I streamed out the door and headed to the parking lot. Unlike the other students, I had no intention of getting lunch and coming back.

Also, on the first day of school, Derek had said the school would call him if I didn't go to class. I remembered that. I also remembered him promising to hunt me down and do something unpleasant to me if I didn't go to class.

So I needed to hide. I couldn't go to the loft, even though I thought Derek was out for the day. I couldn't go to Lydia's house, because she wasn't done with school. Mrs. McCall might be home, but Derek would probably look for me there.

What I needed was to go to the last place he'd look for me. I wracked my brain. Sadly, I didn't have to think for very long. The last place he would look for me was the animal clinic. I hated that place with a burning passion.

It was quite a trek to get there, but it also gave me time to think, to shove the feeling deep down again.

Deaton was behind the counter sweeping when I walked in. He gathered fur and dirt into a single pile with slow, smooth strokes of the broom.

I came to a halt in the waiting area, wondering if it was a mistake coming here. Derek had threatened to take me here, but I was pretty sure that was only to make me go to school. So really, this was the best place to hide. He knew how much I hated it here.

Deaton looked up, and if he was surprised to see me, it didn't show on his face. "AJ," he greeted me softly, paired with solemn nod. "How can I help you?"

I shifted from foot to foot, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "I'm hiding," I announced finally, figuring I should just play it straight. Like Derek, Deaton kind of gave me the feeling that lying wasn't an option.

Deaton's eyebrows rose and he looked amused. His head tilted slightly to the side as his careful eyes studied me. I wondered if he was going to ask me to leave, but he didn't. Instead, he offered a kind smile. "Well, you came to the right place. Come on in."

He reached out and swung a section of counter open, allowing me to enter further into the clinic. I didn't really want to go into the back room, but I wasn't hurt, so there was nothing to worry about this time. Deaton wouldn't touch me. He only fixed me when I was broken or dying.

Deaton handed me the broom, and I started sweeping. He went to the back shelves and started measuring out dog and cat food. "So what are you hiding from?" He didn't turn around as he asked, and it was so casual that I was answering before I even thought about it.

The words just came trickling out—slow and pained.

"Scott...Stiles...Derek...Peter. And Lydia, too, I guess. School. Grocery stores. Bad dreams. Economy class." I ran out of things, so I fell silent. That pretty much summed it all up.

Deaton kept measuring food out, setting full bowls aside in a neat stack. "That's quite a list," he mused quietly. "Why are you hiding from your friends?"

I kept sweeping, mulling it over. I had run away instead of coming up with an explanation for Lydia. But with Deaton, there was no pressure to make sure all my thoughts came out in quick, concise replies.

"I got scared," I said finally, working through the random things floating around in my brain. Deaton didn't press, he just kept filling bowls.

After a couple minutes, I clarified. "I don't want all the feelings to come back." Deaton went still, looking thoughtful. "I'm not good with feelings," I muttered, scowling at the little clump of fur that was sticking to the head of the broom. I scuffed it off a little harder than necessary with the toe of my shoe .

"Is it feelings you're scared of, or is it one or two feelings in particular?" Deaton asked in his patient, quiet voice.

Did he know? Did he know how sharp and ache-y my chest felt all the time? How blindingly angry I got when I thought about how everyone had lied to me?

There had been a moment, after my panic attack in the closet with Lydia. I knew, in hindsight, that she'd almost told me that Henry wasn't my father. She'd almost admitted the truth. But even she had stopped. And it hurt so bad knowing that.

But then she'd given me the Ipod. She'd spent hours upon hours recording the books, because she knew how hard reading was for me.

And Derek.

Derek had tracked me down in the woods. Had built me a bed. Had given me a place to stay. Early on, I had tried my hardest to ignore him, to not speak to him. But he was patient. He fed me, gave me Twinkies. Never once had he yelled at me or forced me to eat or strapped me to the bed when I couldn't control my nightmares. Henry and Eichen house hadn't treated me half as good as Derek did.

But it still hurt inside. And I was still angry.

I just didn't know what to do with all of it.

All the pain that I had been shoving down came flooding to the surface. My breathing got faster, and I clenched my fists, trying to smother the hurt. I was failing.

"AJ," Deaton prompted calmly.

I looked up at him, startled. He gave the broom in my hands a meaningful look. I followed his gaze, looking my hands. The broomhandle was bent and disfigured where my fingers had clenched it tightly. I let go, taking a step back. It clattered loudly to the floor.

My chest started to heave as my breathing increased. They'd all lied to me. The people who were supposed to have my back had lied to me for weeks.

Deaton crossed the room and set his hands on my shoulders. I was so messy inside that I didn't even care that he was touching me. "What you're feeling right now is very normal," he said calmly. "Coyotes are immensely loyal. But the pain or anger you're feeling? You have to come to terms with it, or it will consume you."

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to reign in my wild side. "Why didn't they just tell me?" My voice was broken and raw, and my throat hurt.

"Sometimes people don't tell the whole truth if they are trying to protect someone they care about. It doesn't always work, but they think they're doing the right thing." His hands tightened gently on my shoulders. "Do you understand?"

Yes.

No.

Kind of.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Focus on taking deep, slow breaths," Deaton said in the back of my mind. I blocked everything out and tried to focus only on his voice. He kept talking, and eventually my breathing slowed. I managed to shove the hurt and anger down again.

The numbness came back, but it wasn't as nice as it had been this morning. Now I just felt empty inside.

"I think I should go home," I mumbled to Deaton. He nodded but didn't say anything. I left, starting the long walk to Derek's loft.

"What happened at school today?" Derek asked as soon as I walked through the door. I hesitated for a second before shrugging and heading to my room. Dumping my backpack on the floor, I curled up on the bed with my Ipod and turned on another book.

Derek loitered in the doorway for a little bit, looking like he wanted to say something. I ignored him and eventually he went away.

After a while, I grew bored of staring across my room at my closet door, so I took my blanket out to the little balcony and wrapped myself in it as I settled against the outside of the windows to look up at the stars. It was just dark enough that they were starting to appear.

A while later, Derek came out and joined me.

We didn't say anything for a stretch, but eventually Derek pointed up at the sky. "Do you see how those four right the form a cup, and the three right there form a handle for the cup? That's called The Big Dipper."

I did see that, and once you saw it, it became obvious.

Then Derek pointed out some more stars. "The Big Dipper is also part of a bigger constellation called Ursa Major. Do you know what Ursa means?"

I didn't.

"It means 'she-bear.' So Ursa Major means 'larger she-bear.'"

I snorted. "Doesn't look like a bear."

Derek flicked my ear only semi-painfully. "Use your imagination." And then he went on to point out more constellations. Some of them had funny names. But it was still really cool to think that someone had named a group of stars at one point and that the stars and their names were still around today.

"My sister, Laura, taught me the names of the stars," Derek said randomly during a lull of conversation.

Laura. Peter had killed her. My father had killed Derek's sister. Just another fun fact for me to think about.

I sighed, trying to push that thought out of my mind. It was hard, so I latched onto the thing Deaton had said earlier.

"Deaton said that people sometimes lie to protect their friends." I paused. Derek didn't refute it, so I plunged on. "So when you didn't tell me about…" I swallowed the last word, unable to actually say Peter's name out loud. "You didn't tell me 'cause you were…you were...protecting me?"

Derek blinked up at the sky. "Among other things," he said softly. His heart was beating slow and steady. Not lying.

The breath caught in my chest, and I admitted the one truth I'd been avoiding. "I don't want it to be him."

Stiles had told me Peter's history. I knew the horrible, bloody things he'd done. I knew the cruelty, the manipulation that Peter was capable of. Most of all, I hated what he'd done to Lydia. Nobody talked about it, but I knew it was something very, very bad.

Derek was quiet for a long time. A really long time. I'd almost fallen asleep by time he spoke, and in my drowsy state, I almost missed his half-whispered words. "You can't choose your blood. But you can choose your family, your pack."

I eyed the stars through drooping eyelids. "I don't have a family," I murmured painfully. It hurt almost as much as the betrayal did. I wanted what Stiles had with his father. What Scott and Lydia had with their mothers. What Kira had with her parents.

My eyes were closed when Derek reached over and dropped a hand on my shoulder. "You have me. You'll always have me."