The Night After
Thursday, Jan. 20th
It didn't stay dark long. He dreamed.
Stiles dreamed that his Dad half-carried him home and up to his bed. He must've been drunk as a skunk, he was so unco-ordinated. Boy, he sure was gonna get it once he woke up. He could already feel the headache nudging at his temples. The Sheriff would probably make his hangover a living Hell in the morning. Hopefully it hadn't been his Dad's stash he'd gotten into. Then it would be the ninth circle of Hell in the morning.
In the way of dreams everywhere, the teen felt himself sprawl into bed and belatedly noticed he was under the covers. And he wasn't wearing shoes. Dad must've taken them off, he thought, and muttered a soft thanks.
He went under to the feel of his father's hand stroking over his skull, brushing the soft bristles back and forth. Stiles woke up in leaf litter and the smell of the woods at night. Startling, the boy rose up on his elbows and skittered backwards automatically. He was in hospital scrubs and socks. Quickly descending into panic, he scrambled onto his feet and cast about. Paranoia kept his eyes whipping around, and a choking fear restricted his lungs and chest.
Then he heard it: thunder. Everywhere. It echoed eerily around him until it was almost painful. But the stampede… No matter where he turned he couldn't see anything, couldn't tell if it was louder from any direction. Just that was it drowning everything else out of his skull, he couldn't think. He covered his ears, but it did nothing. The thunder echoed in pulses until he screamed. Doubled over he felt a sudden cracking and gasped in pain.
His ribs, oh God, his ribs hurt. Then his left hand went numb, dropping from the side of his skull, throwing off his balance. He almost fell when a hot burning slashed down his right calf. Gasping and crying out, Stiles barely kept his footing, and started to shake when he finally saw the blood pouring down his unfeeling arm. So much blood…
"This-this is just a dream," he panted. Amber eyes widened as he instinctively looked up. It was dark, so dark he shouldn't have been able to see it from this distance. But he could. The beast was there. He could see it clearly now, as if it hovered right over him from fifty yards away. Close and far at once. The black, sleek fur. Paw-like fingers tipped with claws. Fangs too big for it's short muzzle, peaking through too thin human lips. Mutated human skull. And red glowing eyes. "It's not real. It's just a dream.
"Wake up," he whispered, unheard under the thunder in his ears. Stiles smacked his head with his right hand, barely felt the sting under all the rest of the pain, "Wake up, Stiles!"
The werewolf creature started to prowl forwards upright, legs still mostly human-like from what he could tell. His eyes watered, fear choking his throat so his voice came out rough, panicked, "Wake up, Stiles. Wake up!"
He hit his head harder, across the temple, trying to force it. His breathing picked up with the creature's pace. It fell to all fours and lunged, red eyes never moving from the boy. Stiles got a deep breath in as he hit himself one last time, "Wake UP!"
He squeezed his eyes shut just before it pounced.
And gasped when he jerked awake again in his room. The pain was gone. He was still in scrubs, wrapped up in his comforter. The relief was so palpable, he could taste it like that weird sensation on his tongue in the Denny's. Stiles let himself lie back and just breathe. He blinked slowly, felt the shakiness of his limbs slowly dissipate. It must've taken at least five minutes, to come down from that, he thought listlessly.
Did it count as a panic attack if he had it while asleep? Or did that just count in the nightmare column of psychological issues? God, what would he tell his Doctor? The Adderall was working for the most part, and if he had another panic attack he couldn't take them again until his issues were sorted out. But what therapist could treat lycanthropy, right? That was just asking the impossible.
Besides, he was pretty sure the werewolf healing factor would take care of any cardiovascular side effects. Then Stiles' stumbled over the question of whether or not the Adderall would work… Fuck. He was so fucked if it didn't. Because given the racing of his thoughts surely he was still ADHD?
With a melancholy sigh, Stiles shifted, sitting up and getting his feet to the floor, ready to experiment with his pills and dosages for the rest of the… Night? Brows furrowed as he looked out his window at the darkness beyond. Had he slept the rest of the day away? Christ, his Dad must be freaked.
A leaf crinkled, making him still instinctively. He looked down.
White socks were smeared in dirt, so thick only the tops were still a muddied brown and white. He could see the edges were black with wet mud. Wet… Uncomprehendingly, Stiles counted the leaves sticking to the bottom of his feet. Then got a disturbed idea, and threw back the covers of his bed. Across his bed sheet more leaves, broken and crinkled and wet, were scattered like he'd rolled or fallen in leaf litter before going to bed.
But that wasn't right, it couldn't be. He'd been to the hospital, his Dad must've taken him home-he couldn't have… Stiles swallowed back nausea and found his gaze drifting to the window. A cool breeze floated through, taunting him with its openness. The Sheriff wouldn't have left it open, not after last night and telling him about the beast.
A small tremor of fear waved over the teen, and he forced himself to stand, breaking the leaves under his feet. The few steps to the window felt like a mile, each pace closer increasing the drumming in his blood, the wheezing of his lungs, to his suddenly hypersensitive hearing. When he finally reached the window sill, long fingers grasped it to keep his unsteady form still.
There was no sign of a break in. But there was mud smeared along it, like he'd pulled himself up and through from… From the woods. But that was only a dream, it couldn't have been real. His wounds had healed, the beast couldn't have…
Stiles finally looked through glass into the night. There was a figure in his yard, upright and human shaped. Red eyes glowed at him. It felt like his heart stopped and silence reigned. Just before he screamed.
Suddenly horizontal again, the boy couldn't stop screaming, eyes unseeing on nothing but redredred in the black of night. His limbs flailed, caught and trapped. When he finally took a breath a deep voice startled him from how close it was. He lashed out and the blanket parted with a fast ripping noise, freedom. His arm kept going and the voice was gone with a yelp.
Everything felt muffled, oddly underwater but only enhancing everything instead of dulling: it was too dark, too loud, too everything! His head was killing him! Something animal inside took the lead, safety being his first priority in the unknown. Limbs scrambled for balance until he was upright, away from the bloodied threat. He went for the rectangle of light, toobright!, flailed along wall before his fingers caught and pulled. The being behind him shouted, echoing in his skull and incomprehensible for the moment. Putting the fear back into his bones. He fled.
Stiles took corners blindly, bouncing off of walls so fast he couldn't tell where he was at or where he was going, just-away. Fresh air wafted from a place ahead of him, wood waving with the breeze. It was colder, clearer out there, and the teen raced towards his release. But it wasn't quite what he was expecting.
Somewhere in the back of his conscious mind the boy had pictured trees and green things, dark dens and safety away from the light. There was only stone and metal and distant lights and strange noises. But… he could smell the woods. It was just there, just past the odd smelling landscape.
The teen lept forward, running pell mell towards the scent and never minding where his path led him-over wooden fences and across asphalt streets, veering away from twin lights careening down at him. When he finally hit grass, the cool wet dew soothed his heated skin. The treeline and brush deterred eyes from his vulnerability. And he could finally deal with his throbbing head.
With a groan, Stiles let himself fall to his knees and claw towards a sheltering tree with large roots he could duck close to. A whimper escaped, animalistic and hurting. He pawed at his head, felt relief as sharp tipped fingers scratched across it. Huffing softly through his mouth the scents were diluted and much smoother than where he'd come from. The harsh man-made scents had sent stinging pain across his sinuses and magnified his headache. Laying on the cool ground, inhaling the life and death of nature slowed his breaths and soothed his head. Muted night sounds were still audible, but distant. There wasn't another moving creature for a hundred yards around him, having vanished at his noisy entrance.
Ever so slowly, rational thought started to intrude. As his fight or flight receded, the changed teen noticed a strangeness to his body. It didn't feel right. His legs didn't burn after the long run. Everything burned. His breath, no longer pants, emerged foggy from his mouth and yet he wasn't shivering. With a distinct alien feeling, Stiles slowly pulled his weird sharp hand away from himself.
What he saw was incomprehensible. Dark claws sprouted from his nail beds. Colored and rough and sharp. He shook his limb hard, trying to erase the image, but it stayed. He blinked hard, focused and told himself it wasn't real. But when he opened his eyes they were still there.
Reacting without thought, he reached out with the other hand to bring himself off the ground and saw the matching claws rake through leaf litter. His eyes watered and he pinched them shut again, this time clenching his teeth and feeling off in another way. His jaw closed differently, and he could feel sharp points against his lips. Fangs.
With a wretched noise, Stiles flung himself up but couldn't escape the alienness his body had become. It must be a dream, he thought, it had to be. Clutching his head and trying to brace himself, the teen shouted as he felt bristled hair in place of sideburns and pointed ears brush his fingers.
"No," he slurred around the elongated canines, and slammed his fist into the trunk of the tree. Pain radiated down to his wrist and blood sprouted on scraped knuckles. Bruises bloomed and receded before his eyes, and then he noticed...
More blood… under his claws. A tremble started to work it's way down each limb as his heart raced further. Sense memory started to return as he involuntarily took in the scent. The place he'd awoken, trapped under cloth was his bedroom, and the presence that had shouted at him-it could only have been his dad. The blood-the Sheriff's.
Nausea attacked his gut and he heaved, doubling over instantly, falling to his knees. The bile and the last meal he'd had tasted extra foul and tears started to stream from his eyes. Choking and heaving, Stiles' mind raced in a spiral of self-loathing and fear. When the heaves ended and his stomach muscles stopped contracting he finally let loose the sob that had been kept at bay. He'd hurt him. He'd attacked his own father.
Where before his body had felt fine despite its foreign feeling, now the boy's ribs ached and neck strained. As more fluids leaked down his face, he realized he hadn't swallowed since vomiting, unable to with his tight throat. With every sob he never took a full breath. He was having a panic attack.
...and it wouldn't stop.
Stiles felt the loss of control keenly but was powerless to stop the progression. His thoughts windmilled away from him: agonizing over his father's attack and unable to remember how badly he'd clawed him, where had he ran to and was he a danger to anyone close by, would the wolf find him before another person did and would that be such a bad thing? His body broke into a sweat as ideas of his impending death lingered because he'd foolishly thought the woods were safe.
Stupidstupidstupid. God, it went on forever, so much longer than he'd ever felt. Still his chest pained and refused to fully expand, his throat stayed tight and tears and saliva fell to the forest floor from his hunched form. Blackness edged along his vision as his blood became oxygen starved, but the comforting unconsciousness never came.
Long minutes passed as Stiles kept on the edge of passing out, never falling into oblivion and an even worse feeling sunk into his fearful mind. He could die like this.
He had to-he had to do something, the boy thought desperately. Trembling legs barely held as the changed youth forced himself to his feet. Whole body shaking, he picked a direction and tried to walk, instinctively desperate for safety despite the panic that engulfed him. That was when the skies opened up, at first a trickle, then a pour. Mild thunder rumbled around him, echoing through his tight chest. The rain only made it harder to breathe as it slowly drenched him. And still his short breaths came hot and his body felt little of the cold. Minutes later his painfully slow progress was tripped by a sudden stream bed, the round rocks hurting his soles and landing him in shallow water.
Clawed fingers sunk into the muck and Stiles gasped while despairing of holding himself high enough he wouldn't fucking drown. His weak limbs barely held and as the water lazily settled around him the turned teen caught a glimpse of his inner animal for the first time, almost undisturbed in the curtain his body made under the storm.
Glowing blue eyes stared back at him in the black waters. His heart felt like it stopped; his trachea closed on an inhale. Fangs, hair, ears-eyes-and the new werewolf found the breath to scream, a howling scream full of fear and pain to the forest wind. Arms thrust himself away from his reflection as he cringed and shrunk back on his knees. Instinct drove the boy to wrap his arms around his ribs, fighting to breathe, and claws involuntarily dug deep. Deep enough to pull gouges down his own ribs, and the pain shocked his system into a first deep breath.
Stiles went light headed at the rush of oxygen. Panic still gripped his thoughts and his body shook in protest of the abuse it had taken. Still, the renewed airflow and rainwater tasted sweet on his sour tongue and he sunk more fully into the ground, uncaring of the cold water that trickled around his legs and hips. Weakness of limb and a heavy lethargy made Stiles fall back further, letting gravity work its will on him. His very human fingers twitched, still partially stuck to his own flesh and cold rain ran the blood away from him.
His head had landed hard on the little river stones, but it didn't hurt. Not like everything else did. Not like his own mind had hurt him. He kept taking shuddered breaths, grateful for each one and still afraid the panic would come again. And in spite of all this: the fear, the pain, the cold, the wet…
Stiles passed out.
The Night He Came Back
Friday, Jan. 21st
Derek Hale couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep because he despised himself. He despised himself so fully the thoughts wouldn't make way for the nightmares. The ruined Hale house on the edge of the Preserve would only fuel his night terrors and spark self-loathing, but he couldn't leave it. It was like a hook in his chest, stabbed so deep his body had healed around it, unable to pull it loose or dissolve it, and attached to that fucking ruin of his childhood home. Unable to leave it, unable to sleep in it, just… Stuck. He hadn't felt such pain since he and Laura had celebrated his mother's birthday a month back. If running wolf-wild till they passed out counted as celebrating.
He stared out at the rain, at the house getting further destroyed by the elements. Why couldn't Laura have ordered it demolished? Hell, why hadn't the county? It was technically county property now after all. Just like the half-finished subway station and the abandoned mall, and the old mill… The Hale legacy. A ruin.
The young wolf almost didn't want to be in the safe confines of the Camaro. Didn't feel like he deserved it. Should be curled up in the house, in a corner somewhere, fighting to keep the chill out with the smell of death in his nose. But he hadn't slept on that red-eye flight to Sac that early morning, hadn't slept for forty-eight hours. And he couldn't avenge Laura on no sleep, no matter how much he didn't want to. And the passenger seat of his older sister's car might be the only place he could pass out. It still smelled like her…
Derek breathed through the grief, forced it down and ignored the ache in his chest, focused on his anger. Another family member-gone. Forever. His fault. Again. Why the fuck couldn't he have sucked it up and come home with her? Why couldn't she have told him there was another wolf around? Someone had gotten the jump on her, had stolen her powers because they hadn't gone to him. On the off chance Peter would be Alpha, the hospital would've called him to tell him of the man's miraculous recovery.
Someone killed her… And he was going to hunt them down and murder them in turn. An eye for an eye. Revenge with two graves and all that bullshit. Not like he had much to live for anyway.
A sound carried through the storm, making him inhale sharply. A howl. Derek listened, hard, taking in the nuances and length. They were in pain, terrified. Desperate for help-not the rogue Alpha. It wasn't his uncle, couldn't have been. That meant… The boy, the blood he'd scented from the scene of Laura's death, had survived the Bite. And something, or someone had hurt him.
Despite knowing he should, that he would eventually get up and investigate, the wolf was reluctant to move. He didn't owe this new Beta anything. He wasn't an Alpha. And the only reason he could see to helping the boy would be to track the rogue. Hell, it could be an Omega getting hunted out there. Though he was unwilling to believe that. Not like Beacon Hills was attractive to Omegas, especially since the Alpha was far too new to have gotten attention.
With a sigh, Derek zipped up his leather jacket and opened the door. After a quick study, the young man set off at a distance eating sprint, the type of run his kind could keep up for hours if not days and retain their strength to fight. The rain soaked through him in minutes, pouring down his neck and under his collar despite the coat. He couldn't rely on scent in the middle of a storm, not unless he tripped over the boy. He'd have to use his hearing to the utmost, listen for the fast heartbeat that howl had promised over the pounding raindrops.
When he'd ran for about three miles with no sign, the Beta started to get suspicious. A wolf being hunted would make more noise, not to mention the hunters behind them. He should be stumbling upon something by now. The storm had blown itself out for the most part, become a mere drizzle within the hour, the echo of drops falling from trees to the wet ground all he could hear. Derek's breathe fogged and he slowed to a stop, listening hard. Ever so slowly he was able to clear the sound from his focus until it became white noise. A bird shook its feathers out. A couple deer stragglers crept along a quarter mile back. Hazel eyes closed and he paused on his next inhale, easing the exhale out of his nose noiselessly.
A soft rhythm. A heartbeat at rest, less than a mile further. Black brows furrowed in confusion; the heart should have been racing. It should have sounded like it was getting closer, or farther, but it was stationary. The wolf wasn't moving. Unconscious?
Derek decided to move lightly from then on; his footsteps were inseparable from the drizzle around them and his pace a cautious trot so he could find his target before he was seen. The stretch of unnatural light blue among the leaf litter was obvious fifty yards out. He made out the shape of a shirt and trousers first, and took a few seconds to recognize them as hospital scrubs. Shit. Well, it made sense, didn't it? The boy had obviously called for help, which explained all the human scent trails he'd found earlier that day around the site of Laura's attack. They must've rushed him to the hospital. Derek could only hope that the kid didn't have a manhunt running roughshod behind him. Then again, he didn't see why a person wouldn't be wearing regular clothes after they'd left a hospital. Just his luck.
The only thing that he could really wish for, was that no staff had gotten a look at the magically disappearing wounds. Which, given the last Hale's luck? He wouldn't bet on it.
The Bitten boy appeared unconscious, maybe passed out. Not that Derek could fathom why. He still approached cautiously, silent in the wet leaves and circled around closer. The kid was definitely young, maybe early high school years although it was harder to tell with the cropped close haircut. He was tall, long limbed, but rangy like he hadn't grown into his body yet. Blood was drying at his sides, but a quick sniff told the born wolf it wasn't from anyone else. He'd done it himself? The boy's face was tilted towards him, instinct ensuring that he wouldn't drown in the rain. He had a tall nose, upturned and almost big, though it suited his face. Full, bowed lips and an average chin and clean cut jaw; rounded ears, low sideburns and full, dark brows. The dark fan of eyelashes were rather girlish, and a constellation of freckles dotted his skin. If the boy grew his hair out he wouldn't be out of place in one of those teeny-bopper boy bands that were all the rage lately.
The thought made him grimace. Wolves going through puberty were Hell. His own may not have been that long ago and centered around grief, but he'd lived through his sister Laura's and heard horror stories about Peter in particular. When the born wolf finally crouched next to the Bitten there was no indication he'd noticed: no inhalation of scent, muscle twitch, or heart beat skipping to be found. The boy was out of it. Even humans instinctively reacted in unsafe environments, probably something leftover from being a prey species. For a moment, Derek couldn't decide whether to speak or to shake the kid awake. Speaking was never easy for him, but he felt he couldn't abide the touch of another. Not so soon after Laura…
"Hey," he called softly at first. His voice was a little rough; he hadn't spoken since telling his work he'd be absent on account of a family emergency half a day ago. It was amazing how much people spoke without really looking for an answer, or caring at all if they got one. Clearing his throat, Derek tried again a little louder, "Hey," and got a twitch in response.
Lean muscles flexed and the stranger's heart rate picked up; he'd wake up in a moment. The change had worked swiftly and being unconscious brought the wolf instincts to the surface. Nostrils flared, taking in Derek's scent before bright blue eyes snapped open. Shit. It felt like his heart stopped while the boy's went racing. He'd killed? He'd already-fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.
The shift came on in increments while the boy sputtered and dragged himself backwards, away from Derek. Claws dug into the soil and ears went pointed before the last Hale got over the revelation and spoke authoritatively, "Calm down."
"C-c-calm," the boy sputtered indignantly. Teenage defiance reared it's head, "Yeah, r-right. Easy for you to say!" Almost despite himself, the teen's body was calming. Derek hadn't moved from his crouched position, balanced precariously on the balls of his feet to keep the knees of his pants from getting soaked and arms crossed on his knees. Instinct was still driving the younger wolf and even with the inherent threat of being a stranger, wolves were still more comfortable with each other than human strangers. Even when they weren't pack, there was a kind of wary potential with Betas.
The brown haired boy finally stopped crawling back, a good yard between them, when he noticed the dark claws on his fingertips. Then he glanced at Derek, who purposefully looked bored, before back down at his hands. His heart rate was slowing and his breathing eased as rational thought seemed to return. The born wolf kept his voice flat as he sardonically asked, "You calm?"
The kid to a deep breath, turned it into a sigh and said, "Enough." There was a thoughtful silence emanating from him, but the hormones leaking from his pores were starting to take on a hint of sour fear. Blue eyes met hazel before he spoke, "Did you bite me? Turn me?"
"No," Derek immediately shot back, never looking away. Despite being a stranger, the boy seemed to trust him. He gave no physical indication of his thoughts besides a twitch of his fingers, but the fear scent was dissipating quickly, "Only an Alpha can turn humans."
"So I won't eventually get all big and ugly like that thing?" Finally some emotion was starting to come through, a hint of a sneer on the boy's lips and anger in his scent. All Hale could think about was that the Alpha was deformed and that could only be evidence of a twisted mind. Either a genuine psychosis and trauma or just freaking psychopathy. Great. Just… great.
"No, you and me are Betas," he answered and offered a flash of his own blue eyes. Stiles blinked in response and leaned forward, as if intrigued. If the boy had lost his mind in the change then he wouldn't have seen the full shift on himself, but they could deal with that later. Derek was in no mood to be some newbies' test dummy, "You got a good look at the Alpha?"
The teen snorted and the anger intensified, "Up close and personal. His breath was rank," probably because it smelled like Laura's- "Right before he almost tore my arm off."
Assuming the kid was exaggerating, Derek pictured a non-fatal though savage injury, "So he meant to give you the Bite." The rogue was trying to start a pack then. He probably wouldn't be satisfied with just one Beta…
"Oh no," the kid interrupted, "I'm pretty sure he meant to kill me." Confusion made the born wolf's eyes narrow and brows furrow. "Don't look at me like that, I know what I'm talking about. He aimed for my throat, but my arm got in the way," the last said with more than a hint of sarcasm. Kid really was lucky then. And admittedly Laura had often complained of what she called 'Derek's resting bitch-face' but this was just his face. He wasn't about to change it for some punk. And the kid was still going. Great. A chatterbox, "He clawed my leg, broke a couple ribs, and bit my shoulder. Couldn't feel my arm below it, or move it, so if that had been my neck… I took his eye before he could finish me off."
Which explained why the boy was still alive. Derek's full brows rose in spite of himself; he was a little impressed, "That'll take awhile to heal, if it ever does." Which meant looking for the human form of the Alpha would be that much easier. Who would miss seeing a one-eyed man? The new wolf likely hadn't noticed, but he was calling the Alpha male despite first saying 'thing'. Derek took it for instinct, a Bitten Beta sometimes had innate knowledge of their maker, insignificant things but helpful all the same.
"Good," he pronounced with satisfaction, the boy's scent became almost hateful in its anger and the last Hale couldn't help but feel hostile in response. The Alpha was rogue, had killed his sister, but he understood the situation. The Omega had gone mad, taken power where it could and was starting a pack. It was instinct, and as grief stricken as Derek was, he understood. This was an easier kind of grief than losing his family to that woman. And this boy was happy about mutilating another wolf, his own Alpha. As the kid started to shift into a more comfortably seated position, smearing mud along his scrubs, Derek let loose.
"Is it really so bad?" he started with a sneer, "You're stronger, faster-you'll never get sick again. Hearing, smell, vision, all of it ten times as strong. You're better than you could ever achieve as a human. The Bite is a gift."
"With no return policy I'm guessing," was the boy's quickfire response. Derek grit his teeth, resisting the urge to fang out and press for submission. "It's kinda like when someone gifts you a pet you never wanted. Asking first would've been nice!"
And that… took the ire out of the born wolf quickly. The Bitten were always a sore subject with Derek. No matter who it was it made a small part of him ask, 'Why you? Why you and not her?'. A question no one would ever be able to answer. This boy-this young man was the lucky one. He'd been just like Paige. Attacked, and Bitten with no prior knowledge, terrified out of this mind, and he hadn't even had anyone with him to help like Paige did. But somehow, by the mercy of the Gods, he'd turned instead of dying. Derek's tongue felt thick and he swallowed down the old memories, keeping his physical body neutral by long practice.
"Consent is…" he didn't know how to explain, not in a way that made sense. He'd read everything he could get his hands on after Paige, but he didn't know how to talk about it with a traumatized Bitten, "The Alpha's gone rogue. You were lucky to survive the transition. Without prior knowledge, the bite kills as often as it turns."
The boy blinked and for some internal reason his Beta form began to recede. His wolf faded away and left light brown eyes, rounded ears and flat fingertips behind. He'd never fully shifted, but it was only now it'd retreated. The boy's gaze became distant, and a whisper fell from the his lips, "Fifty-fifty…" Derek mentally cursed again, knowing he'd said the wrong thing. "I nearly-God, never say anything to my dad. He'd flip."
Right. The born wolf could imagine. His own parents had reacted with wolfish paranoia when Derek and Peter had finally returned after hiding from hunters for a full day. They'd hidden the family in the basement and hunted the Preserve, patrolling the land and the town until it was confirmed the hunters were gone. It'd been a very aggravating twelve hours for a fifteen year old Derek, stuck with his sisters and baby cousins. Human children were much more vulnerable and he'd seen those parents panic over near misses in public.
"You're stronger than you know," he acknowledged, trying to right his misstep earlier, "When you were attacked you didn't deny it happened, or rationalize it away. You accepted it. In that way, you accepted the Bite." At least according to his family's old books, that was the best theory available. The boy truly was lucky, even if he didn't want to hear it. Traumatic turnings had the worst success rate.
Drawing a knee to his chest, the teen wrapped an arm around it to rest his chin on before speaking sullenly, "Well, better than leaving my dad all alone I guess…" Something made him frown, then his scent turned sad. Derek had a moment's thought to wonder where the boy's mother was before he spoke again, "Shit. I-I hurt my dad." His voice was softer and tremored, then he wrapped his other arm around the same leg, refusing to look at Derek.
The born wolf felt a chill down his spine, clenched a fist and tried to stay calm. If the boy remembered, he couldn't have hurt the man too badly, couldn't have been too out of control. "He make you angry?"
"No," the kid answered dully, still not looking at his audience, "I had a nightmare." That… Actually that sounded about right. If the attack was forefront in the Bitten's mind, he'd probably woken up shifted and clawed his father to get away from everything. Being new to all the sounds, smells, and shift in vision probably made it so he couldn't recognize his own parent even. But Derek's thought process was interrupted again by the boy's subject change, "Christ! I-I think I went through withdrawal."
"What," Hale said flatly. He hadn't expected this. The Bitten was a freaking teenager, what kind of drugs could he have been on? And what the Hell did that have to do with nightmares?
But the boy didn't respond to what the older wolf wanted to know, instead whining, "Dude, this going to suck. Fucking ADHD werewolf-gonna be so bad at this…"
Derek recognized the term, but the definition escaped him. Diseases were cured by the Bite so he had no clue what the boy's problem was, "Back up. Drugs? And what withdrawal are you talking about, the Bite cures almost everything." And what it doesn't cure, it kills.
"Adderall," was the sniped, pointed answer. It didn't mean anything to Derek who still only vaguely recognized the term as a human household word and stared blankly at the boy, "For attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder. Exactly what it says on the tin. I've had the prescription for like-six years now? Oh my God, two daily time release capsules over six years, never mind the times I took too many to pull an all nighter." Great. That showed fucking great impulse control in a new wolf, Derek thought sourly. "That's a freaking lot. So yeah, withdrawal. Increased appetite, lethargy-mental and physical, headache, and… Ding, ding, ding! Really vivid, fucking nightmares. So, yeah, I just went through a twenty-four hour withdrawal. It was a bitchin' time."
The older wolf grit his teeth and resisted the urge to smack the Bitten upside the head. It did sound like an awful turning, but honestly! How the Hell did he pack that much sarcasm and that much lip in one skinny package and survive middle school? Derek took the important part of that spiel and, ironically, focused on it, "You can't focus."
The boy nodded in agreement, and one arm fell to his splayed leg to tap out a rhythm without any appearance of thought, "Mostly. But I can multi-task like a boss." The incessant movement was beginning to get to the wolf, predator instinct making him hyper aware of the boy's every move and agitating him.
"Well you're going to have to learn."
To put it shortly, the kid… Blew up. His heart rate thundered, his scent went furious and the claws came out. It was an odd contrast to the boy's weirdly cold first words, "I don't think you understand," and blue eyes flashed at Derek, "I am chemically incapable of focusing on one thing at a fucking time, Derek." The Hell?! Hazel eyes widened and his own heart double-timed, "I still have a year and a half of school; I'm almost genius smart but I'm academically fucked right now, do you understand that? Being a fucking werewolf-"
Hale pounced. Being in a ready crouch made his movements swift and unblockable. One clawless hand landed high on the boy's chest and pushed him to the streambed, hard. The young wolf lost his breath and flailed uselessly at the attack. Derek's legs pinned the other's just above the knees and his right arm held his balance over the kid. With a quick pull and push, he slammed the boy into the stones again, turning the anger scent into fear. Clawed fingers gripped his leather jacket but didn't pierce it. Derek knew he hadn't done enough to hurt him, he hadn't intended that and the boy's instincts were good. The teen raised his chin, still looking at Derek with wide blue eyes, but showing his throat and not fighting back. He probably didn't even realize what he was doing. But it saved his skin.
"Calm. Down," the born wolf grit out, controlling his own shift from surfacing with an experienced hand. When nothing changed for several long moments, he realized the boy hadn't inhaled and rolled his eyes. "Breathe," he ordered. And the boy did so, shakily, but continued to take oddly measured breathes like he'd done some sort of meditation before. Derek couldn't picture it, had no idea where he'd learn something like that. "Now, how do you know me?"
The Beta-shift began to retreat, showing Derek light brown eyes again which seemed to go soft and sad as they looked at him. Gods, he hated it when strangers looked at him like that. Like they had some right to know what had happened to him. The boy took another measured breath and calmly confirmed, "You're Derek Hale. And I'm Stiles," he added quickly as if just realizing they hadn't exchanged names in their long conversation, "My dad's Sheriff Stilinski. He was a deputy when you knew him."
The name didn't ring a bell. But it made sense. There were several deputies that had seen to him and Laura after the fire… Also, Stiles? Really? He hoped that wasn't the teen's legal name, good God. Also, "I don't remember you."
If Stiles was a junior now, he had been in elementary school when the fire happened. How did he know a much older Derek Hale by sight alone? With economic movement, Derek released the young wolf and rose up to his feet. The teen started to brush himself off as he made his way up as well, "Yeah, well you wouldn't. I don't think you noticed much at the time. I was in the station too, but…" Derek looked away, unable to acknowledge this boy who'd been witness to his past grief. "I should get home."
The born wolf focused on calming his heart and lungs, as he couldn't stand that old familiar sting of tragedy. "Yeah," he said inanely, ready to go back to the Camaro.
"Come with me?" Derek whipped around to stare, "Er-I-I mean, I literally have no idea where I am right now. Help me find a road?"
Oh. Okay, that actually made sense. More so than the offer to open his home to a stranger. The older wolf wanted to clear his throat, felt the urge to cough at the emotional whiplash but resisted with a thick swallow. With a brisk nod, Hale oriented himself and set off, "Come on."
Stiles followed in his wake, much louder than the born wolf's tread. Their path was slick with wet leaves and muddy underneath but at least it was off the beaten path. Derek preferred to keep his balance over slippery detritus than have his boots sink in the muck the nature trails would be. But from the sound of things, Stiles could've used the sticky substance. The kid was as clutzy as a newborn foal, all long limbs and no coordination which was very strange for a werewolf. Hazel eyes rolled while the boy couldn't see him, as he heard and sensed a third slip and catch of balance. Though it was likely his quick pace didn't help matters. Feeling reluctantly guilty and pitying the boy his situation, Hale paused to let him come apace and said, "The instincts are there, just walk normally."
The teen made a rude noise, blowing air between his lips before he started their walk again. "That is normal," he said dismissively.
Derek grit his teeth, told himself to try again and practically growled, "Take off your socks." The filthy cotton wasn't doing the Bitten any favors and were probably slimy with mud and algae. Stiles scowled back and didn't pause to follow the order.
"Dude, I know they're gross, but they protect my feet." The born wolf pointedly stopped, made sure he had those brown eyes on him before staring down at the awful pieces of cloth and then back up with raised brows. The kid seemed to read his face well enough then and blushed, "Oh. Right." Good, Stiles should get used to the healing sooner than later and bare skin will grip the ground better. He bent at the waist to quickly toss the rags on the forest floor. At Hale's unimpressed look, the boy indignantly said, "What? They'll make some small and then large animals a warm home someday."
Derek sighed through his nose, shook his head and continued towards civilization. The boy had spoken like the older male should know what he was referencing, but he honestly had no clue. And he had a feeling that would happen in the majority of their conversations... The teen moved quicker, though no quieter, on bare feet, so the born wolf learned to tune out the rustling in favor of being aware of his surroundings. No other humans were in the Preserve this early in the morning, but one could never be too careful of hunters and their traps.
All around them the sky was lightening, warm shades of pink and yellow filtered from the East and dappled sunlight arrived through the mostly leafless trees. Animals and birds began to awaken, chirping, chittering, and fleeing from the predator's path. Stiles was often jerking his head from side to side, and the born wolf quickly realized it was at the different sounds and movements he could see with the enhanced senses. A dilemma soon occurred to Derek: he'd never trained a new wolf before. He'd been born with his senses and grew into his temper and powers. How in the world was he going to explain the unexplainable to a former human? Some scents just were, like the trees, rocks, small animals and people scents. They couldn't be properly described because they were essentially the object in question. Humans were literally what they ate, where they'd been, who they were around, and the scent of pheromones which varied by mental state. Sure some of them had a more animal musk and others were oddly sweet but it didn't correspond to personality or moral traits. People just were. Like Stiles was all the things he experienced from yesterday's food to lycanthropy, but he also smelled a little like ozone. A rarer scent, but not uncommon; almost like having an AB blood type.
Here's to hoping most of the enhanced senses were instinctual, Derek thought pessimistically. The Hale wolf had resigned himself to training the Bitten, but he wasn't looking forward to it. He'd have preferred to hunt the Alpha on his own, and probably still would but didn't like the complications the other Beta brought with it. Sure, eventually the teen would be skilled enough to track the Alpha, but the Alpha would also be able to sense its own Bitten and manipulate him. It almost wasn't worth it.
"So…" Stiles began reluctantly, like he felt compelled to talk and didn't know what to say, "What's being a werewolf like in-never mind. I was trying to think of a movie reference, but most of them end kinda tragically." Since Derek had never seen werewolf-centered cinema he wouldn't know. But he figured that wasn't wrong. After all, his own life was nothing but tragedy, and most wolves he knew had suffered. This was as good a time as any to warn the kid.
"It was hunters."
"Huh?" the other Beta intoned curiously, and also interrupting. Derek grit his teeth, wished the rogue hadn't Bitten such a socially awkward teen, and tried again.
"Hunters killed my family. Because of what we are-were. Some of them were human too." Because a former human who had seen werewolf movies probably saw his species as monstrous. It was better that Stiles realize hunters were ruthless enough to kill associated humans as well.
"And kids," the boy surprised him by adding. Derek glanced over and his gaze stuck. The new wolf was looking ahead of them, into the sunrise, and his eyes had gone honey yellow in the light. Like a wolf's. Jeez, this kid was going to break hearts; probably have to chase the she-wolves off with his claws. And they still might not leave. Stiles glanced at him and the light vanished, leaving his eyes almost ordinary again, "I know the facts. You don't have to… So these hunters aren't very particular then, huh?"
The last Hale practically ground his teeth while answering, "They say they have a Code. They don't follow it." A part of him shrunk away, pained as the guilt hit him again. The familiar hurt centered around a group of thoughts he still hadn't managed to avoid: that even if the hunters usually followed their Code, it was still his fault. He was the wolf with blue eyes. He's the one who asked to have Paige turned… He's the one who killed her.
The silence had carried longer than he thought, when Stiles forced the conversation to carry on with a semi-impatient, "Gonna tell me what it is? Or if they have a name? Is it a family business or a network?" The list of sincere questions surprised Derek. And impressed him, a little.
"Both," was his quick answer. The Argents and other hunter families tended to gather connections by reaping the benefits of genuine Omega attacks, "They're only supposed to hunt wolves that hunt humans. They'll attack a wolf to make them fight back."
The teen nodded in turn, "Claim it was justified after the fact." Good, he was following. Smart kid.
"The name you want to look out for is Argent-" Stiles froze. Shit. "You've heard that name before." His heart skipped a beat and he took a calming breath, almost missed Stiles subconsciously mimicking him to do the same.
"Yeah. Allison Argent got enrolled at Beacon Hills High this week," the middle of January. Odd, "Said her family moved here a little after New Years for her parent's work. But that was actually a little after the poaching started."
"The what?" Derek scowled. Stiles rolled his eyes and started walking in the same direction as before before the born wolf nudged him a little to the right. He didn't want to have to go through a person's yard to get to a road.
"There's been deer, at least once a week, in the Preserve. Just killed and left there, with a spiral carved on the side. Wounds looked like a mountain lion attack, but could've been a knife, given the spiral," here the teen finally noticed that Derek's scowl had shifted from confusion to anger, "That mean something to you?"
The Beta growled softly, "It's the symbol for vendetta. For vengeance." This was Hale territory. There were only so many options given the circumstances. A wolf in Hale land making that symbol could have a history with the Hales, be angry with them.
"Of a 'dig two graves' kinda revenge, I'm guessing," Stiles said in a questioning tone. Derek could only nod, too busy thinking. But Laura came to Beacon Hills and told Derek nothing about it. If she planned for war, she would've brought her only Beta along. Maybe she thought the revenge was for the Hales and she planned to either stop it or help. But the wolf, likely Omega, had been insane and killed Laura. The lack of sanity was evident in Stiles' description, also in the wolf's attack of the boy who had nothing to do with any possible vendetta-for or against the Hales. Stiles Stilinski was a civilian casualty. "God, what the Hell does this Alpha want…"
At the teen's mutter, Derek decided to use his quick mind and his perspective. Maybe he could see something, or say something, that would help Derek figure it out, "He may not have been an Alpha before… my sister came to Beacon Hills first. Without me. She was my Alpha. He killed her, and took her power. If he had been an Alpha first, the ability should have passed on to another Hale."
A sharp breath and wide eyes followed him for a couple paces before the new wolf winced and said, "The girl in the woods… You can-" here Stiles forced them to stop, not a hundred yards from the treeline and where Derek could stop talking about this, "I mean, just talk to my dad. The police will release her to you, like tomorrow maybe. Or well, to a funeral home to…" he winced again, stopped himself from gesturing by scratching the back of his neck. Goddamned humans, the last Hale thought viscously. His fists clenched, and he resisted letting his claws loose. Stiles would smell the blood and probably say something.
Why couldn't they just leave the dead as they were? Hale family tradition didn't embalm their dead, or even traditionally put them in coffins. There was a meadow behind the old house that was beautiful in spring, and the traditional place of their dead. But… at least Laura would be made whole if a funeral home prepared her, he thought. At least he hadn't stumbled across one of the sites before the police did and be left to bury only half of her. Maybe, even if he was forced to buy a coffin, he'd be able to lay her to rest the right way.
Derek started walking again, no desire to speak anymore. Sadness was beginning to permeate the new wolf's scent and he didn't want to go over anything more. They could always discuss more later. To his surprise, Stiles followed quietly along, a step behind on his right. Oddly enough it was probably instinct, a way of the animal to be deferential to another. The behavior soothed him. By the time they reached a park that abutted the woods and thus a neighborhood street, the born wolf was able to bury his grief again. A cool numbness had taken hold.
The lack of sleep was starting to get to him, made him curt when he asked, "You know where to go from here?"
Walking around to face him, Stiles met his tired eyes and said, "I was serious about you seeing my dad. I think we can help. Derek-"
He was already turning to go. God, hearing someone say his name hurt so much now. Now that he'd never hear Laura say it again. Now that he was holding on to her last words to him so tightly. Without raising his voice above normal volume, Derek dully responded, "Tomorrow," and left it at that.
It was a long walk back to the Camaro. But he couldn't find the energy to run. It took all he had to focus on his senses and avoid morning joggers, people unaffected and unaware of the world around them. Unaware of Laura's death in these very woods… By the time he reached the car the grief was starting to rise in him again. He wanted to howl with it; more than he wanted to cry, he wanted to howl.
But he couldn't. With the rogue still around he couldn't risk giving up his location. So Derek choked back that sound, all his grief. Choked it back and was left dry eyed while he curled up in the driver's seat despite the discomfort of the steering wheel. He tilted the chair back, turned into the seat, pressed his nose to the headrest, and finally-finally-slept.