The full moon is Monday night. It doesn't help my anxiety that Scott has a game tonight. A game I won't be able to attend because my car was sabotaged by a homicidal lady. Who, according to Stiles, thinks I'm a werewolf too.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay to play?" I ask Scott, watching as he gathers his gear from around the room. He gives an exasperated sigh as he stuffs what looks like shoulder pads into his gym bag.

"Ares." His voice is flat, and the look he gives me is scathing. I can't blame him; I've been bothering him with this ever since Melissa let out that there would be a game. Stiles had left some thirty minutes ago, gone to get his own gear before swinging back around to pick up Scott.

I raise my hands in defense. "I'm just saying, last time you went low-key feral, and the full moon was already over. Now you have your hulk out and the fact that it's almost the full moon."

"I have my anchor now, remember?" he says, and his voice takes on a patronizing quality, as if he's talking to a child instead of his perfectly reasonable older cousin. And this perfectly reasonable older cousin has reason to worry. He supposedly had his anchor Wednesday too, but that didn't stop him from trying to eat me, now did it.

But I'm not interested in starting a fight, so I keep that to myself, and instead arch a brow and cross my arms. "Oh, and is Allison gonna be there this time?"

"Yes, actually," he says smugly. "She and Lydia are riding together." he pauses, as if considering his next words. "With her aunt." I shudder and he goes on. "They're supposed to be going, at least. She says her dad is thinking about changing his mind. Look, if you're so worried, take Stiles' jeep and come to the game."

I crinkle my nose. The thought of being anywhere near Kate Argent makes my skin crawl. But more than that, the idea of having to drive Stiles' jeep feels like infidelity. "Um, ew, I'm not driving that thing. Cheat on my Turtle like that?"

"Your Turtle is the one that ended up unreliable first." He shakes his head. "Ares, seriously, you need to chill," he says, as if I didn't already know this. "You've been super stressed out since Wednesday, and my mom says it's gonna make you sick-"

"You told your mom?"

"She didn't need me to tell her, tonta," he snaps, and oh. Oh my god, he just. Spanish. Came out of his mouth. My heart is literally bursting with pride. He goes on, not noticing what he had just said. "You're not sleeping, and I get that you turn into freaking Cinderella and have to clean everything when you're stressed, but if I wake up to Selena one more time, I'm going to lose my mind!"

I gasp and draw back, absolutely scandalized. "Blasphemy! Selena didn't die for you to say such horrible things!"

"She didn't die for you to overplay her either!" Scott counters, ducking away when I grab a pillow to throw at him. "What more do you have to clean anyway? You've even vacuumed behind your dresser." I don't pout, but it's a close thing. Sighing, Scott crosses the room and drops in the bed next to me. "Everything's gonna be fine, I promise," he assures me. "And if it's not, you can…" he trails off, thinking. "You can taze me again."

"You idiot, I don't enjoy tazing you," I mutter, but can't help but smile at the offer. He grins, standing and getting back to work. "Man, I can't believe I'm under house arrest."

"It's not house arrest," he says, and I look at him flatly. What else would he call not being able to leave the house? He realizes his mistake and nods. "Okay, but it's not that bad," he amends. "Order a pizza or something."

I groan and throw myself back into the bed. Oh, to be a teenage boy, where all the worlds problems are resolved with pizza, Doritos, Mountain Dew, and video games. I consider, briefly, calling Sonya and Warren. Surely they would offer my comfort and distraction in my time of need. But I don't wanna be the clingy long distance friend that calls all the time to demand love and attention.

"You are the clingy long distance friend that calls all the time to demand love and attention," Scott says, and I realize that I had been thinking aloud. "Accept it."

I reach over my head and grab Scott's pillow, throwing it at him. I don't see it hit, but I hear his squawk of indignation, and it brings me happiness in these dark times.

Dad calls. For the first time since Christmas, my dad calls me, and I almost miss it because I'm watching Gordon Ramsey videos on YouTube.

"Dad." I flounder for words, and settle with, "hey." I squeeze my eyes shut, mentally kicking myself for such a lame greeting. Don't talk to the man for two months and you start with "Hey"?

"Como estas, mija?"

There's a monster werewolf trying to get my little cousin to kill me. I haven't slept properly in a few days. I am a Mess.

"Bien," I lie. "Y usted?"

"Bien." There's a pause, awkward and long, like he isn't quite sure what to say, which makes me feel better about the call. If he doesn't know what to say, then he doesn't have Elisa there coaching him through it, and maybe the call was his own idea for once. "How's Melissa?"

"She's good," I tell him. "She's at work right now."

"Ah. And Scott?"

Oh, you know, just turned into a werewolf and is now being hunted by a crazy alpha and family of hunters. He's got a girlfriend though, even if she's part of the hunter family.

"He's good too. He's at a lacrosse game." I bite my thumb nail before going on. "Are you home?"

"No, not right now. Stopped in Kansas on my way to Nebraska." A rush of relief floods through me. Not home. Not near Elisa. Definitely hasn't heard about Wednesday night. The relief is short lived, however, as he goes on. "When are you going to start school?"

There it is. I stifle a sigh. "This summer, hopefully," I answer. "I'm working on getting my transcript, and once my taxes come back I'm gonna do my FAFSA, see if I can get financial aid." I pause. "I'm still working with the vet and the Sheriff, so I'm saving that money too."

Dad tsks in disapproval, and my heart sinks a bit. "With the Sheriff?" I crinkle my nose, remembering his healthy dislike of law enforcement.

"It's a good job, and it's only two days a week," I tell him. "I do more at the animal clinic."

"Y qué haces a ya?"

"I work the front desk mostly, but I'll help some with little things with the animal. Giving them food and water and walking them. It's fun-"

"You should already be in school, mija, not working like that," he says, cutting me off, and I inhale sharply.

"It was too late to transfer last semester," I tell him, like I told him last time we talked. "And I wouldn't have gotten enough financial aid to cover if I started in the spring." I leave out how I'm likely not going to get much of anything to cover the summer classes I plan on taking, but hey, that's why I've been working since last July. "I'll finish my gen eds this summer and start the classes for my degree next semester."

I know what the next question is going to be before he even asks it. "Y qué vas a estudiar?"

I scratch at my eyebrow, wondering if it would just be easier to lie and say something like business. "I'm still thinking about it," I tell him, and it's mostly the truth. I had a plan before, but things went to hell and now I'm not so sure. Plus I haven't had much time to think about it, what with all the supernatural shenanigans going on.

Dad sighs. It's frustrated and loud and dramatic. "You'll figure it out." It isn't a reassurance. I nod, despite knowing he can't see it.

"I'll figure it out."

A beat of silence.

"I need to head out again, mija. Maybe we can come up and visit you," he suggests, and my heart jumps to my throat at the we. He doesn't mean it as a threat, but that's all I can hear. Melissa has made it clear that Elisa isn't welcome in her house, but still…

"Si Dios quiere," is all I can say to that.

If Dad catches the trembling in my voice, he doesn't say anything about it. "Ten cuidado, mija."

"Okay. You too."

"Que Dios te bendiga."

He hangs up, and I'm left feeling hollow.

God. I need to get out of this house.

I'm going for a run. You're my check in, I'll be back home in an hour or so
(A)
wtf now?! its already dark
(HP)
It's fine, don't worry
(A)
wat happened why r u running
is it bc of the alpha
is it bc of kate
is derek w u
ares pls answer

Human Puppy (2 missed calls)
Stiletto (1 missed call)

Stiletto (3 new messages)
Dude answer your phone Scott's freaking out
Ares.
ARES ANSWER YOUR PHONE

Derek (1 new message)
Scott called. I'm coming over.

Derek (1 missed call)

Maybe we can come up and visit you.

It rolls in my mind, over and over and over, an offer of peace, a threat, a promise. No matter how far I go, it's still there. No matter how loud I have my music in my ears, it isn't loud enough to drown out the drone of Dad's offhanded threat.

Maybe we can come up and visit you. Maybe we cancomeupandvisityou. Maybewecancomeup-

My toe catches a broken piece of sidewalk and the mantra comes to a screeching halt as I stumble forward. I try to catch myself, but my step is awkward, and my ankle rolls. I barely have time to bring up my hands to keep from landing on my face. I catch myself on a knee and while my hands break most of my fall, my left arm gives out from under me and my elbow slams into the sidewalk, leaving me sprawled on the ground like a shitty parody of a Taylor Swift song.

"Jesus fuck!" There isn't any immediate pain, but the falls jars the curse out of me all the same. "Fuck, are you fucking kidding me?" I manage to peel myself off the sidewalk and look around. Thankfully, no cars happened to be driving by, and there's no traffic lights, which means no cameras. Last thing I need is my fall to end up on some stupid facebook post. The sidewalk behind me is uneven, and I suspect the edge that jutted out behind me is to blame for my successful test of gravity.

Sitting up, I pull my legs out from under me, and my right knee aches in protest. I chant out a quiet mantra of "shitshitshitOWshit-" as various parts of my body start making their pains known. The pavement skinned the bottom of my palms; they don't bleed, but it's a close thing, and the cold air stings against the exposed skin. I consider pulling my sleeve up to get a look at my elbow, throbbing now, but judging by the small but growing dark spot just below it, I don't have to think too hard to guess how it's gonna look.

"Fuck."

I look around again, noticing that I ate it in front of a park. No doubt it gets a lot of traffic when the weather is nice, but it's deserted now. It borders the Preserve, a simple chain link fence separating the park from the woods, and the yellow lamps that light it up give off a sickly aura. It isn't the ideal place to stop, not in the least, but there's a bench and a bench is a better place to recollect yourself than the sidewalk, I think.

I force myself up, and my leg shakes and my ankle almost buckles as pain erupts from it.

"Shhhit," I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut and quickly maneuvering my weight to my other leg. "Shitshitshitfuck-" I inhale deeply and look to the closest bench. Not too far. Wouldn't be shit if I was fine.

I hobble over to the bench, and it takes much longer than it should have. The bench faces the park, which means it faces the Preserve. I stare at the trees, and wonder if the rustling is from the wind or if the universe decided I deserve nothing but pain and sent the Alpha to find me. Because apparently it wants me super dead now.

You're already my alpha. You're competition.

I'm not though. I'm not; I'm just a stupid older cousin in way over her head.

Maybe we can come up and visit you.

God, that was something too, wasn't it. Dad's threat. Melissa wouldn't just turn them out if they showed up without warning, would she? Manny is my brother, and he's your father, and he still loves you. Jesus, then why did he always leave me with her? Why did he always take her side? Why wouldn't he just let me go with Alicia or Aaron?

Maybe we can come up and visit you this summer. You're already my alpha. You're competition.

"Fuck," I choke out, wrapping my arms around my middle and doubling over, pressing my forehead to my knees. "Fuck, don't cry, don't cry-"

Maybe we can come up and visit you. You're already my alpha. You're competition. You'recompetitionYou'recompetitionYou're

"Ares."

You'recompetitionYou'recompetitionYou'recompetition

"Ares." I take a shuddering breath and look up. Derek Hale's blurry face stares back, expression concerned. "Hey."

I blink in confusion, straightening a bit. Derek Hale is kneeling in front of me, between me and the park, between me and the Preserve. He's still there when I blink again.

"What."

His expression lightens just a bit. "You alright?" He reaches out and catches one of my hands, turning it over in his own, exposing the skinned palm. "You're bleeding."

I sniffle, not pulling away but pulling out my other hand and showing off how that one is just as torn. My elbow protests the movement, but Derek takes that hand in his too, and his hands are warm. I focus on that. Use it to push away the competitioncompetitioncompetition that runs on loop in my head.

"I fell." I stare at my knees, and notice for the first time that my pants tore at my right knee, and the stray fibers have stuck themselves to the blood and exposed skin of a scrap.

"You went running." He doesn't sound angry, like when I first told him about my runs at the diner, but there's a clear tone of disapproval in his voice. Annoyance, almost. And for a split second, it isn't Derek in front of me. It's Dad. It's Aaron and Alicia. It's Elisa. You can't run from everything, Aracely.

A sob catches in my throat before I can stop it, and Derek's eyes - because it's Derek in front of me, not Dad, not Aaron or Alicia, not Elisa - go wide in alarm. "Ares, what's wrong-"

"I'm sorry," I manage to choke out, pulling my hands away and pressing them to my stomach. The fabric of my shirt rubs the raw skin. "I'm sorry, I just - I had to-"

RunRunRun runaway Aracely. All you do is run away, niña chiflada.

Derek moves; he must have, because now he's next to me, not in front, and he's pulling me to him. I let him, leaning into his warmth, and burying my face in his shirt. There's no stopping the tears now, and some part in the back of my mind chastises me for probably ruining his shirt, but it can't be helped.

He doesn't say anything as I hiccup apologies. They come out in a watery jumble, the apologies, and they likely don't make much sense, but they come out all the same. Apologies for running, for leaving the house, for making him come out and find me. Apologies for being the stupid mom-friend and pissing off the Alpha. Apologies for getting Kate Argent's attention - and he goes absolutely still at that one, so I apologize for ever mentioning it, and his arms just tighten around me - and getting in the way like he said I would way back when this all started and God I should have just stayed in Texas, because Elisa said this would happen, didn't she? That I'd be in the way and fuck everything up here too.

"Ares, no," Derek says as my rambles taper off and I'm left trembling, clinging to his jacket. "You're not… you didn't do anything wrong."

I don't answer, because how can I explain how wrong he is? How can I articulate how I've done everything wrong? That maybe if I had just let him do things his way to begin with, or if I told Melissa and the Sheriff like I meant to, or if I just hadn't let Scott and Stiles go out that stupid night-

"You can't blame yourself like that," Derek says, cutting off my train of thought, and I realize that I had been saying it all aloud. "Christ, why would you think any of this is your fault?" he demands in disbelief.

I take a breath, but my voice still cracks when I answer. "Elisa always said-" My voice falters, and I let out a hiccup as more tears well up. Elisa said a lot of things, most refering to my absolute failure of an existence. Might as well just stay around the people who could handle it, she said. And I've had a fantastic time shoving her bullshit opinion down since being here in California, but what if it wasn't as bullshit as I thought. She might have had a point. "I should have just stayed. I shouldn't have come out here."

"For a run?" Derek asks.

"To California," I say with a sob. "To Beacon Hills."

Derek goes still, not unlike when I let slip that Kate Argent now knows I exist. "You're not supposed to say that," he says finally, and I pull away to look at him in confusion. "At the diner, you said I wasn't allowed to let you say that." My brows furrow as I think back to our visits…

"Oh." I blink, because, yes, he was right. Because Beacon Hills might be shitty with its Supernatural ripoff bullshit, but I have him around now, don't I? Him and his awesome blue glowy eyes.

"Come on," he says after a minute, when my trembles are more so from the cold and not from crying. "Let's get you home." He pulls away, detangling my hands from his jacket and standing. I immediately miss his warmth. I don't miss it long, however, because he's shrugging off his jacket and dropping it over my shoulders.

"Der, no, I'm gross," I say, and it isn't a whine, but it's close. He catches my hands - careful of my torn palms - before I can pull it off, and I'm hit with deja vu of when he made me take it Wednesday night.

"Leave it," he says, leaving absolutely no room for argument in his voice. "You're shaking." I'm too tired to argue, and instead pull the jacket around me tighter, not bothering trying to put it on with my stiff elbow. "Are you okay to walk?" he asks, eyeing my knee and frowning.

"I'm fine," I say, wiping at my face, and he huffs in disbelief. Probably because he just witnessed my stupid breakdown, which I'm not entirely sure is completely out of my system just yet. "I am." To prove my point, I stand. He has the audacity to look impressed, only for that expression to fall away into alarm when pain flares in my right ankle, and my leg buckles. "Shit," I hiss as I stumble, fully expecting to repeat what happened earlier. But Derek is there, steadying me and supporting my weight. I inhale deeply, blinking away the tears of pain. "I rolled my ankle earlier," I say, glaring at the ground.

"You're worse than Bella Swan," he accuses, and I gasp, looking at him in betrayal. He takes advantage of my shocked state - because honestly, I have never been more offended in my life - and sweeps me off the ground into his arms.

"Derek Hale!" I exclaim in shock, flailing. He pulls his head away to avoid getting hit, but doesn't put me down.

"It's fine," he says, walking away from the bench and to his car. I open my mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a whining sound. "Ares, you're hurt. I'm not going to make you walk if you can't."

"I just rolled it, it's not like it's broken!"

He's quiet for a second, and I can see how he's planning his next words carefully. "If you mess it up any more," he starts, "it'll take longer to heal, and the longer it takes to heal, the longer you won't be able to run." The whining noise is louder and higher pitched, and I drop my head on his shoulder.

His car is parked along the street, in front of where I had fallen earlier, despite that there is a small parking lot a little ways further up the road. I pick my head up and frown at it, then up at Derek. He catches my expression, and arches a questioning brow.

"What?"

"How'd you know I wasn't… okay?"

He nods, as if expecting the question. "Scott and Stiles called," he says, and a distressed noise tears itself out of my throat, because that's something I'm going to have to deal with when they come home from the game. And then Melissa. God, Melissa will freak when she finds out it's Dad's call that sent me running. She'll call Aaron, and Aaron will call Dad, and Dad will tell Elisa-

"What's wrong?" Derek demands, setting me down by the passenger side carefully, keeping an arm around my waist to steady me. I shake my head, not wanting to answer. He frowns, looks like he wants to argue, but decides against it. Instead, he reaches past me, opening the door, and I slip in. He closes the door, and I sink into the seat, leaning back and watching as he moves around the front to the driver's side. He slides in, and neither of us speak as he turns the Camaro on. We wait for it to warm.

"I should have stayed home," I say quietly, keeping my gaze ahead, not daring to look at Derek.

"Probably," he answers, unhelpfully but in a manner that is completely and utterly him.

I drop my head back and close my eyes, not thinking as I speak. "I don't wanna go home." It comes out barely above a whisper, tone flat, empty. I don't expect Derek to answer - or if he does it to be something along the lines of "tough" or "sucks to suck." But maybe I'm projecting.

"Alright."

"Alright?"

I look up at him in surprise. The car is mostly dark, but I can see him clear enough from the lights of the dash and the dirty yellow street lamps streaming through the window. He glances over at me, and my breath catches in my throat, because Derek Hale. Derek Hale and his magical eye brows and tousled hair and eyes that don't know what color they want to be, but are sincere and bright even in the dark.

"Alright," he repeats, and puts the Camaro in drive.

(ﾉヮ)ﾉ:･ﾟ

Translations
Como estas, mija? - how are you, my daughter
Bien, ... Y usted? - good ... and you (formal)
Y qué haces a ya? - and what do you do there?
Y qué vas a estudiar? - and what are you going to study
Si Dios quiere - if God wants
Ten cuidado, mija - Be careful, daughter
Que Dios te bendiga. - may god bless you