Notes:

I really liked this chapter. I also really like switching perspectives in this book. Because everyone, like each different character, thinks differently but also thinks similarly and I think it's good to see all different views.

I'll be real. I didn't know what I was going to write when I started writing. I also wasn't going to start updating the story first. I actually have two other stories that I wanted to update but I felt like I hadn't updated this one in such a long time that maybe I should. And look at me I got two chapters out but I'm already getting tired so I'm trying to go quicker. I want to update all of my stories. But I don't know how that is going to go because in my Harry Potter Story the chapters are like 6000 words long each and I don't know if I'll have enough battery life on my computer to do it lol.

/

Peter POV:

Stiles was different. Everyone was different, really. I haven't seen Lydia and Allison in months. So they acted differently. But sort of the same. But Stiles was different. I don't normally sleep easily, especially when surrounded by a bunch of people. I'm always alert and awake. It was normally Stiles that was the one that was passed out innocently and unsuspecting. Lydia was right behind him, and so was Allison for the most part. But last night showed how much he changed. Every single sound, some sounds I didn't even think he could hear.

But any sense of something moving, whether it was the house creaking because of the wind or someone going to the bathroom or someone making a noise in their sleep, he was up. He had this wild look in his eye, and he reached for something that wasn't there.

But the moment he looked around and noticed that he wasn't wherever he thought he was. He calmed down and laid back in bed, and soon fell asleep again. It happened four or five times throughout the night. But when you woke up in the morning, he looked refreshed, as he slept for a full 8 hours. Not like he was on edge.

Another weird thing he did was he kept checking his surroundings. I don't think he even noticed he was doing it. He kept looking out the window and listening for something that wasn't there. At first, I thought it was something he noticed, and I was trying to listen to see what it was he picked up, but there was absolutely nothing there.

I can hear Bobby downstairs in the kitchen cooking food, and I can hear his father in the other room waking up slowly. But for the most part, it was quiet. There was no sound; this house is literally surrounded by a junkyard full of nothing except empty husks of cars.

There were a few mice and some cats living in some of the cars, but there was nobody here besides that.

He stopped doing it the moment everyone else woke up. Nobody else seemed to notice it. He had a smile on his face that was real but seemed fake. It's because when he woke up, he wasn't smiling. But the moment everyone else started to wake up, a smile just appeared on his face. But it looks like it belongs there; it was his normal smile. It was just weird. He was different. I can't tell if he's different in a bad way or if he's different in a good way, but he's different.

It was something I couldn't exactly put my finger on, but it was clear that he was different from before he went to purgatory. Something definitely happened in those eight months that changed him.

Honestly, I probably would be more surprised if he was exactly the same. But it was weird; he was like a complete stranger.

He was Stiles, but he wasn't.

Weird.

I wasn't sure if I liked it or not just yet.

Bobby's POV:

I can hear noises coming from upstairs; it sounded like most of them were awake. I was cooking breakfast. Oh, I made sure to buy enough groceries to feed everyone. At least for a few days. I wasn't the best cook in the world, but I can at least make breakfast. There weren't many people who could screw up eggs, bacon, and toast. There were probably some out there, but not many.

I noticed most of Stiles' friends were different. I hadn't seen them in eight months or so. And I didn't really know them all that well anyway. But there was definitely something wrong. Maybe I shouldn't say wrong, just something different.

Especially Peter. He was weird before, but he's been even weirder now.

And Stiles, well, he's a complete 180 from when I first met him.

He acts like a veteran hunter, kind of like a veteran hunter who has PTSD, but that's most hunters, new or old. Every hunter in the book has seen some shit.

But there's only one other hunter who's gone through purgatory, and I can't say Dean is perfectly right in the head.

I love 'em, but Dean is messed up.

I hope it's not like that for Stiles.

But I can already tell there's something different. He was the first one to come downstairs, and he immediately walked towards his bag that he brought with him. It's the only thing he brought in the house.

He never took any clothes out of it; he never opened it; he just kept it next to him most of the time. I don't even know what's inside of it, but it's probably not anything normal. His eyes were all shifty too.

Stiles' eyes kept darting to every unseen corner of the room and checking for something that wasn't there. He kept looking out the window like he was expecting something to be outside. I wasn't the only one who noticed. I could see Peter was watching him just as much as I was. The others didn't seem to really notice. I think the others were just too happy that he was here to notice any of the weird things he was doing. They probably also didn't care.

I didn't care too much either; as long as Stiles was okay, everything was fine. I was just worried about it.

Experiencing something like purgatory, there is no amount of therapy sessions that can fix that. And therapy probably couldn't even help; hell, you'd probably just end up in a mental institution.

The boy was different, but he was here, and that's all that really mattered.

For now.

Stiles POV:

I didn't notice it at first. But I've been on edge more than I thought I was. I haven't been around other people in a very long time, and I've adopted some mannerisms from living in purgatory. I'm very twitchy. I tried to stop myself, but I couldn't do it. At first, I thought nobody noticed, but of course, Peter noticed right away, and Bobby was right behind him. They're both brilliant and observant.

It's tough to break the habit of being unprotected. I know I'm safe. I know I have my pack and my family here and that they could all protect me. But not having my weapon in my hand makes me feel vulnerable and unsafe. But I don't know how happy everyone else would be to see me swinging my big pointy stick at them, so I just carry my backpack around. But even then, I am still twitchy because I felt so naked.

I've had this weapon on me since I got it. I never let it go. Now I'm just without it, and it's like I have separation anxiety or something. Honestly, I can't describe what it is. It's like cutting your hair that's not there even after you cut it. I keep pushing my hair out of my face, but there's no hair to push.

It's just a reflex that I adapted to, but now that the thing isn't there anymore, it's not like I can just suddenly stop.

Same with my knife. Just because I don't need it anymore doesn't mean it's easy to stop reaching for it.

The day goes on pretty uneventfully; I don't really know what I was expecting. There were no enemies that appeared out of nowhere. I was still as twitchy as I was when I woke up in the morning. But nothing happened, and as the day progressed, I stopped acting so paranoid. I got to catch up with everyone. I continued telling about purgatory. I told everyone about what happened in purgatory, and I told them how I escaped.

I eventually got to sit down separately with Peter and told him about how I met his family and the messages they left for him. It was pretty emotional. He cried a little bit. I also kind of cried a little bit.

Everything was going pretty chill until I asked Bobby if I could let out some energy and run around his property for a bit because I was getting a little cooped up. He said it was no problem, and I went for a jog. I took my big stick with me, and I was planning on just practicing some chopping moves. I didn't really feel comfortable sparring with anyone because I was afraid I was going to hurt them.

I wasn't super confident in myself with fighting, but after literally murdering monsters for like eight months, I was a little hesitant to fight some of my monster friends. I didn't want anything to kick in and actually murder them.

So instead, I would just run by myself. I was plenty used to running, and my stamina had been built up almost like an athlete, honestly. I could run and run and run forever. Hell, I did eight months.

But it was halfway through my run that I noticed Peter was running beside me. Well, he wasn't exactly next to me just yet; he was coming up on my left. I knew it was Peter, and I knew he was my friend, but my instinct just took over me. I couldn't help it. I tried to stop myself, but I moved quicker than I thought I did.

In an instant, right before he passed me, I pivoted on my foot and swung my big pointy stick, and for the most part, I was trying to cut Peter's head off basically. Not purposely, of course, but that's what my intended attack was going to do. Too many vampires have run up on me in this exact way for the past eight months, and many of them have died. Luckily Peter was fast, and I was trying to slow my swing after I swung it. I was trying to stop myself, so it was a little bit slower than I would have normally done it.

So, of course, Peter didn't get hit, but he did get scratched on the face. And it almost instantaneously healed itself, which I was kind of shocked at. Because I knew a werewolf healed quickly, but that was really fast, like holy crap.

But I wasn't left in confusion long because the moments after we separated and I lowered my weapon; his eyes turned red.

Oh, yes, Alpha red!

Bright, glowing, iridescent, Alpha red.

Now, how in the hell did that happen?

"What the hell? Peter?" I asked, startled.

Out of all the things, I somewhat expected to change about everyone. Peter becoming an alpha was not one of them. I wasn't mad. I was definitely shocked. A little confused. And also very curious how he got those blood-red eyes. Because the only way to become an Alpha is to kill another werewolf and an Alpha at that, I wonder how that happened.

So, yeah, mostly curiosity.

Peter looked worried. He looked a little stunned. At first, he was angry after I swung at him and cut his face.

But I expected that. But almost immediately, he looked worried and scared sort of. It quickly disappeared off his face, but I definitely saw it.

Peter looked like he was 5 seconds from running away. So I moved up to stop him, and I grabbed his shoulder.

"Peter, relax first. Also, sorry about trying to take your head off. Next time how about not running up on me. At least until I get used to not having to fend for myself alone anymore. I'm still in purgatory battle mode. So, yeah, sorry. But what's up with the eyes? Red looks cool, but how did you get them?" I asked calmly as I could.

I was still a little hyped up on adrenaline. This is the most exciting thing to happen in like 3 days for me.

"It happened while you were away. I ran into an injured Alpha. And he was dying, so I thought, why not? And here we are. You're not upset?" Peter asks, sort of mumbling the question.

"Nope. Peter, I have spent eight months killing everything that entered my field of vision. If I still got angry about a little spilt blood, I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. Trust me, you becoming an Alpha and killing another werewolf is the tamest thing between the two of us. I know in purgatory, it didn't really count as murder because they were already all dead. But I must have killed hundreds if not even a thousand monsters. Everyday. Day in and day out non-stop fighting. I didn't get hungry; I didn't get tired; nothing slowed me down. If anything, I should be worried if you guys are upset with me. Because I know I've changed. And I don't know if it's for the better or for the worst. I can't tell." I said honestly.

I feel like I could use a drink—something alcoholic and preferably a lot of it.

I don't really want to touch those thoughts with a ten-foot pole.

My hands are bloody, and I don't know what I've become. But I don't really want to investigate that right now. I just want to relax.

I want to pretend to be normal just for a little while.

I need to pretend.

/

Notes:

I'll be honest with you irl as I was writing the scene about Stiles confessing to Peter that he thinks he's kind of a monster. In real life, I was method acting to get in that emotion so I can write better. (I use voice typing so that I can just speak what I want to type out.) And unfortunately, I actually had a cup of iced tea in my hand. And in my method acting, I was like holding the cup in my hand while I was voice typing what I was saying. And I spilled my cup of ice tea everywhere. I mean everywhere. The moment I said the line, "something alcoholic and preferably a lot of it." I was hastily wiping up my spilled iced tea because I spilled it everywhere saying that line. I'm such a fucking idiot.