I'll be honest, this is a total filler chapter. I also did NOT edit soooo let's just pretend that any errors we find don't exist. Thanks!

THIRTEEN

Scott did wake up and I didn't hesitate to slap him across the cheek… after I hugged him tight enough to efficiently empty his lungs of any oxygen.

"What happened?" he had asked, his sleepy eyes flashing between me and Derek who still lingered in the corner.

"Your girlfriend's mom tried to kill you." I shrugged, trying and failing to use humor as a way of avoiding a serious conversation. Derek filled him in on the particulars while I watched their interactions with fascination. Derek's words from earlier kept ringing in my head.

But he's my pack.

He'd used the word pack as if it were the equivalent to family. Stronger than family. I remember the concern that had filled his eyes when we brought Scott to Deaton. The panic that had crept into his voice when Erica had been injured. They weren't blood. But they were something. There was some connection that I just couldn't understand. Because I wasn't part of the pack.

I thought about the pack the entire way home. I had grudgingly offered to drive Derek back to his car, which I assumed had been abandoned at the rave last night. But to my relief, he shook his head and said he'd run.

Okay, weirdo.

Scott wanted to stay and talk with Doctor Deaton in private. I gave him that, having a strange sense that my baby brother would be undoubtedly safe in the clinic. So that left me alone, driving my shitty little green car down the familiar roads of Beacon Hills. I was surprised to see that my mom was home when I pulled into the driveway. However, a quick look at the clock told me she had probably been home for a while. It was nearing 7am, meaning her night shift was well over.

I was careful to tiptoe through the house when I entered, not wanting to wake her if she was asleep. As if I would be that lucky.

"Where the hell have you been? Is Scott with you?" my mother frantically yelled as I rounded the corner.

"Sorry." I mumbled, not prepared for the onslaught of questions that I knew was about to follow. "And no, he's with Stiles." I lied.

"I come home at 4am to an empty house. No note, car gone. I thought you were dead Chelsea." Her curly hair seemed even fuller and wilder than usual. Why hadn't I inherited the curls? Why was I cursed with a bland, straight head of hair?

"I did text you." I shrugged my shoulders. I had sent her a text after arriving at the clinic with her unconscious son… but I'd be leaving that last bit out for now.

"Yeah, a vague cryptic message asking if I was home and was I 'okay' and if I've 'seen anything strange'. I responded by the way. Or did you not see that?" With her hands on her hips and a fire in her eyes, Melissa McCall rivaled Derek for the "Most Intimidating Human Alive" award.

Would Derek even count as human?

"Mom, I'm an adult…" I start, my exhaustion getting the best of me. But one terrifying look from my mother and snapped my mouth shut.

"I don't care if you're 90 years old. You live in my house. You eat my food. You use my furniture and electricity and water and appliances and… and… oh, I don't know the damn walls of this house belong to me. As long as you live within them, you live by my rules. That means not leaving me to think you're dead on the side of the damn road!" her voice continued to rise in volume as her rant went on. By the end, my head was hanging with shame. Of course she was right.

Once again, daughter of the fucking year.

"You're right. I'm sorry." I tried to quickly think of an explanation that would satisfy her. "We were out at a party and I just lost track of time. I fell asleep at a friend's and…" I trailed off, not sure of what else to say. Her eyes lit up a bit.

"A friend?" it was as if the past two minutes of conversation hadn't happened. "You have a friend? Oh thank God!" All the tension in her shoulders seemed to disappear. "I'll be honest, Honey, I was starting to worry about you. You're just always so alone and that can have such a negative impact on your mental health."

"Yeah, thanks mom." I rolled my eyes. Like I needed the reminder of what a loser I was.

"Wait, is this…" she brought her voice to a whisper. "a boyfriend?"

"No." I said too quickly, and a bit too loudly. She put her hands up in surrender, a sad smile clinging to her lips.

"Sorry. Probably an insensitive question to ask." my mother's hand reached for mine. "I love you. And I'm so happy that you're home."

Her words struck me, rooting me to the old floorboards. I'm so happy you're home.

Home.

I don't know when it happened, but this house has once again become my home. A place I felt connected to. A place I belonged and where I was wanted. A place that, against all odds, made me feel safer than I have in years.

I didn't want to leave my home.

If I was going to make a life in Beacon Hills, I needed to start thinking more permanently. I couldn't live with my mom forever, though my wallet desperately pleaded the case. Fortunately for me, affordable apartments weren't as difficult to come by in California as I thought. At the current moment, I was sitting in my car blasting the heat as I read through two of my options.

One, a small one bedroom above the antique store on High Street. It had some charm and plenty of space. And the biggest plus, it came with all appliances.

The second option, a studio above the coffee shop which I was presently parked outside of. As implied by the "studio" title, it was a shoe box. But, a shoe box with lots of natural light and 300 less per month. I argued that I didn't need many appliances. Just a microwave and a mini fridge to store my pizza rolls and the occasional six pack. And talk about location. I could wake up every morning to the smell of premium coffee. I couldn't afford a cup but hey, optimism.

"AH!" I screeched when a form appeared and knocked on the passenger side window. Rubbing circles over my chest to get the blood flowing again, I unlocked the door for Derek Hale. If my car had automatic windows, I would have just rolled it down. But since I was stuck in the 1990's with this hunk of junk, I had to let him open the door if he had something to say. To my absolute horror, he opened the door and slid into her passenger seat instead of simply leaning in to speak.

"Um, hi." I said, eyebrows practically raised into my hairline.

"What are you doing here?" he dove right in, not even playing polite and engaging in small talk. I couldn't say I was mad about it. The sooner he said what he had to say, the faster he'd be out of my car. The car that now felt like a sauna. I reached over to turn down the heat. Was it him? Did werewolves act as actual space heaters?

"Really?" I let out a sarcastic laugh. "It's my car dude. What are YOU doing here?"

"It's a full moon." his eyes shifted to the sidewalk and street beyond the car's windows. "It's not safe for you to be out." My own gaze lingered on the darkening world outside.

"I'll take that under advisement." I said slowly. His brows were knitted together, and from her view of his profile, she could see the heaviness in his face. There was something he wasn't saying. Something making him nervous. And if there was something out there that could make Derek Hale nervous, I should be nervous too. Right?

"Relax." he huffed, ripping the newspaper from my hand. "Are you moving?" he asked, eyeing the ads I'd circled.

"Can't live with mommy forever." I rolled my eyes and grabbed at the paper. "What are you doing here, Hale?" I asked for a second time.

"I saw your car." broad shoulders shrugged as if it were the most obvious explanation in the world.

"So you decided to hitch a ride?"

"I wanted to check on you." he admitted.

My sarcastic reply died on my tongue when I saw the sincerity on his face. He looked softer today, or at least, not as chiseled and hard as I was used to seeing him. I felt the air in the car thicken as the silence lingered. Suddenly, I was aware of him. Like I was aware of the way his arm rested on the center console. Aware of how his body filled the passenger seat and how his legs barely fit in space between the seat and dashboard. His scent invaded my senses so intensely I swore I could taste it. It was a familiar scent, one that oddly enough reminded me of my childhood treehouse. Dad had built it for me when I was 5. Mom had just found out she was pregnant and dad was trying so hard to be a good dad for once. He'd spent hours nailing together boards and sawing and measuring. The result was a small fortress with questionable safety that sat wrapped around one of the large Oaks at the end of the yard. The night he'd finished, him and mom had gotten into one of the worst arguments I'd ever witnessed. I had snuck out and slept in that tree house. It was raining, the fresh water soaking the grass and bark of the trees. The sound of it hitting the plywood roof drowned out the screaming coming from the house.

That's what he smelled like. Rain falling in the woods.

The next day, in a fit of rage, Dad had taken a sledge hammer to the treehouse.

"I'm fine." I finally spoke. Derek didn't seem to mind the silence. He nodded but offered nothing else. I, on the other hand, felt like I suddenly couldn't breathe. Like his scent and presence was suffocating me. "You need to leave."

"What's wrong?" he cast a quick look over his shoulder out the passenger window, like he expected to find danger lurking behind him. But when he saw nothing, his head slowly turned my way. "It's me, isn't it. You're afraid of me." I opened my mouth to speak but he cut me off. "No point in lying, I can smell it."

I rolled my eyes to mask the embarrassment. The idea of him "smelling" me made heat rise to my cheeks.

"I think it's fairly normal for me to be a bit wary of the guy with fangs and claws who just sat his unwelcomed ass in my passenger seat."

"I know you're Scott's sister," he startled me with a smile and small uncharacteristic laugh. "But I swear, you're just like Stiles." My face scrunched in a mix of confusion and disgust.

"Ew." I muttered, imagining the little spaz in my head.

"It's not necessarily an insult." Derek laughed again. It wasn't a full belly laugh. Not even enough to consider a laugh really. More like he huffed out a breath of air in amusement. But for Derek Hale, I figured it was as close to a laugh as anyone would ever experience.

His hand moved to the hand and he slid halfway out of the car before turning back to me.

"Just, stay inside tonight." His eyes carried an unexplainable weight when they found my face. "Please."