Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine.
I woke up in a strange bed in a strange room. Panic set in for a brief second before I remembered that the sheriff had brought me to Derek Hale's loft. And since I was still here, Derek must have agreed to take care of me, not that I needed much help in that department.
I lifted my head blearily, taking in the muted grays of the room. The room itself was like a perfect rectangle. The bed took up most of one wall, and the door was immediately behind me. On the wall furthest from me, a tiny closet peered out from behind a half folded shutter door. On the right wall, there was a dresser, and on the left wall—the one with the door—was a desk with a chair. And everything was in various shades of gray.
"You're awake," growled a low voice from behind me. I startled, twisting in place to fix my sleepy gaze on the speaker. It was Derek. Who else would it be?
I turned back, knuckling my eyes clear of sleep. Then I dragged my legs up and dropped them over the side of the bed before sitting up. The blankets fell away, and I noticed I was wearing my same clothes as before. They were still damp. The hair on my arms raised almost immediately as the warmth from the blankets faded. But I tried to suppress the familiar shudders. It didn't work.
A wadded cloth hit me in the side of the head as I let out a yawn, and I held it up, blinking at it in confusion. It was a navy blue t-shirt. I blinked at it some more, not entirely certain about what I was supposed to get from it. Something else came flying through the air, but I caught it, having heard the movement this time. Slinky material was clutched in my fingers, and I recognized it for what it was. A pair of basketball shorts.
"Change out of your wet clothes, and I'll dry them." That was it for him apparently, because after uttering the terse instructions, he walked away.
I stood, peeling off my damp shirt with another shiver. The jeans were a bit harder, but I got them off too, slipping into the shorts with a huff. Then I straightened, and the shorts dropped right off me. Awesome. I pulled them back up and cinched the string in the waistband tight, tying it in a slip knot so that I'd be able to escape the shorts later. This time when I straightened, the shorts stayed on. Hallelujah.
With fumbling fingers, I pulled the shirt over my head and stuffed my arms into the sleeves. It hung on my frame loosely, yet another reminder on just how much bigger than me Derek was.
I walked out, holding my wadded clothes. Derek prowled by, taking them from me without a word and disappearing through another doorway. I looked around awkwardly, wondering what I was supposed to do. Stilinski was long gone, so I could no longer use him as my safety net.
Thinking it a relatively safe option, I sat down on the couch and fixed my gaze on an appropriately neutral object. It happened to be my box of pancakes. Right now, I wasn't hungry, but it never hurt to know where your food was. Survival 101.
Derek came back to the living room, and we remained there in silence. I didn't know what to say, if anything at all, and he probably didn't want to say anything either. Thankfully, the heavy silence was broken by loud footsteps outside the door. It was Stiles, one of the few people I knew.
I liked Stiles. He was one of the only wards at the Eichen House that hadn't called me "wild boy" and made fun of my general ignorance. I'd gotten into quite a few fights at the start, thus prompting Morrell's "Words not fists, AJ" speech. But it had never been an issue with Stiles.
Though it was true that I had decked him out when he'd first tried to talk to me. I had been pissed at what he and Scott had forced me to do. But he hadn't held it against me in the long run, and he was probably the closest thing I had to a friend. Not that I needed friends.
Still, when I heard the erratic footsteps and mild panting, I could easily identify who was jogging up to the door.
Derek could too. "What do you want, Stiles?" he called with the same kind of long-suffering sigh that Sheriff Stilinski had used with me, just as there was a knock on the door.
"A girlfriend, a small fortune, maybe some friends that are actually normal. But, I'll settle for you opening the door," bubbled the entirely too chipper voice that I'd grown to like at the Eichen House. "Besides, my dad sent me. I have some stuff for AJ that someone dropped by the station."
Derek slid the door open, and Stiles came into view, holding a large paper bag full of clothes. "Hey," he called to me, walking right past Derek without a second glance. He put the bag of clothes on the coffee table and flopped down on the couch next to me. After being still for maybe three seconds, he reached over and popped the lid of my box open, making a happy noise at the sight of pancakes.
My hand twitched, and I crumpled it into a fist, pinning it by my leg as I fought the growl that rose in my throat. I was human. Humans didn't growl at their friends. Humans didn't get territorial over things as simple as food. I was human now. But good Lord, I was definitely going to stop him if he tried to eat my food.
"Please, come in," Derek said dryly. "Make yourself at home." I got the feeling this wasn't the first time they'd had this particular conversation. Derek walked down the steps and proceeded to pace the length of living room, pausing at random moments to either stare at Stiles or sometimes me. Eventually he came to a stop, firmly fixing his serious gaze on me.
"Apparently, I am now your legal guardian." His displeasure was evident in his face, and his arms were crossed over his chest again. Stiles looked up at Derek for a second, and I used his momentary distraction to pull my box off the table and into my lap. I couldn't help it.
After my pancakes were safe, I processed what Derek had said, wondering how Stilinski had pulled that off.
Derek's next words cleared that up pretty quickly. "The sheriff kindly threatened to evict me if I didn't comply, citing construction without authorized building permits and several building code violations." Oh. Clever. Stilinski would have made a good coyote.
A muscle in Derek's cheek twitched, but then he softened, uncrossing his arms long enough to rub a hand over his jaw. "I can't offer much, but you'll have a roof over your head and you'll never be hungry." I looked up at that last part, wondering if he knew how careful I was with food. His gaze pinned me in place. Oh. Yes, he knew.
I nodded, remembering that acknowledgement was polite, and beside me, Stiles grinned. I didn't know why, and I didn't really care. I was already thinking of what would happen after this. All Derek would have to do was get permits and fix the violations, and then he could kick me out without a worry. But Stilinski had bought me a few weeks at least. Maybe that would be enough to find Scott and learn how to control the change.
Derek walked away after that, and Stiles turned to me, dropping a bomb. "So...since technically you're a minor...you have to go to school like the rest of us." My brain short-circuited, and I stared at Stiles blankly. School? No. I was not going to go to school. Stiles must have seen my reluctance, because he pursed his lips sympathetically. "Relax, Scott and I will help you. School is easy compared to surviving as a coyote for eight years."
"Okay," he said, practically vibrating with excitement. "First things first. School 101, as it were." I wondered if he knew how to sit still at all. It was distracting, all his movement. Maybe this was how Henry had felt when he had tried to talk to me. Stiles waved a hand in front of my face, making sure I was paying attention. "So basically, all new people have essentially the same problem. They don't know where they stand in the outdated social construct of an interpersonal pecking order."
I stared at him, not understanding any of those words. Derek walked by a second later. "You haven't established your place in the Pack hierarchy yet," he called over his shoulder. Oh, that made much more sense than whatever Stiles had said.
"Right. That's what I said," Stiles said with a shrug. He drummed the toe of his foot on the floor, and I stared at it, wondering if I could tape it down or something. "For right now, though," Stiles continued, "all you really need to focus on is blending in."
Right. Blending in. I could do that.
If I knew how...
Apparently, blending in started with something Lydia called "wardrobe." Since the only clothing I had to my name was already on my body, Lydia had insisted taking me shopping. Originally, Stiles had brought over some clothes that someone had donated. They kind of fit, but they smelled like the inside of the locker room. Derek had already tried washing them—twice—but I could still smell it. He'd said my sense of smell was too developed and that when I got more control, I would be able to dull it down if needed.
We'd packed the clothes back up, somewhat at a loss. Then Stiles had given me an evil look, and he had followed it with a laugh, pulling out his phone and calling Lydia. She'd showed up not fifteen minutes later, grabbing my arm and dragging me out of the loft.
If I had understood what we were going to be doing, then I might have fought it a little bit more.
As it was, Lydia took me to a couple different stores. We spent hours trying on different things. I wanted to vomit on a regular basis, but she continued to slide things along the rack, fingering certain items before either pulling them off the rack or dismissing them as "so last season."
Shopping for jeans was probably the worst. Lydia made me try on a couple dozen different pairs of jeans. They all looked the same to me, and when I said so, she called me an uncultured swine with no fashion sense and had bought six different pairs. They apparently flattered my form. When I asked her what that meant, she just tilted her head and glanced at my butt with a small smile. I made up my mind not to ask next time.
After pants, Lydia insisted that I needed to strut my stuff. She grabbed random t-shirts off the rack and held them up to me. I stood there silently, wondering how long this was going to take. "Claws, AJ," Lydia said kindly at one point, putting the shirt back and pulling off another one. I looked down at my hands. They were clenched tightly, and my claws were indeed out. Scowling, I shoved my hands into my pockets.
"This will do nicely," she finally concluded. I looked up and took the offered shirt. After I had tried it on, Lydia nodded into the mirror I was standing in front of. I kind of understood what she was going for. The shirt was soft, and it showed off the muscles of my arms and chest. I wasn't big like Derek, and I wasn't solid like Scott, but the shirt showed off the lean, toned effect of running around as a coyote for eight years. I looked good, and it made sense. If I looked strong, the other males would be less likely to try to assert dominance. So really, it would help me blend in.
I mentioned as much to Lydia, but she just shook her head and smiled that little smile again. Oh. Not for discouraging confrontation, then. At least she wasn't staring at my butt anymore.
By the time we walked back into Derek's loft, I was dead tired. All that contact with people, and the panicky, nagging feeling of being confined had gotten to me. After helping Lydia carry the shopping bags into the spare room, I collapsed face first onto the bed.
Lydia rustled around in the bags for a minute, but I wasn't paying attention. Finally, she walked over and stood by the head of the bed. I was too tired to even lift my head and talk to her, so I just waited to see what she wanted. After a second, she patted me on the shoulder. "I laid out your clothes for tomorrow. Remember, if anything is too much for you, just come and find me or Stiles or Scott. Got it?"
I groaned an affirmative at her, leaving my face buried in the pillow, and her shoes clicked quietly as she walked out. Almost vaguely, I didn't want her to leave. I couldn't put my finger on why, but that was just how I felt. A side affect to being human, I guess.
A few minutes later, Derek ghosted up to the doorway. I knew it was him from the nearly silent way he appeared and the strong, steady beat of his heart. He didn't say anything, just stood slightly outside the doorway. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Or maybe he did say something, and I just completely missed it as I was falling asleep.
Something screamed in my ear, and I clawed my eyes open, flailing a hand towards the noise. My hand sent something flying, and the horrible noise stopped. It was a clock, a damn clock. Well, pieces of a clock, now. A low, furious growl came rumbling out of my throat, and I closed my eyes again, pulling the blankets back over me.
I was warm, and things were good until two commanding words broke the sleepy silence. "Get up." It was Derek, and I was not inclined to listen. I buried my face in my pillow and listened to his bare feet padding away. I didn't know how long I lay in a stupor after that, but one second I was dozing and the next I was suddenly airborne. The mattress tipped violently sideways, and I slid onto the cold floor with a crash.
"I told you to get up," Derek said calmly, as if his response was completely reasonable. He walked away again, and I scowled, prying my eyes open and rubbing my sore elbow. I hadn't even heard him walk into the room in the first place.
Nonetheless, I got to my feet and looked around. True to her word, Lydia had left a complete outfit ready for me draped across the desk chair. I stumbled over to it and pulled on the jeans. Then I shrugged out of Derek's overly large shirt and into one of my own size. It was dark gray and comfortable, and I appreciated how it didn't smell like anything.
Stiles had left me a backpack, and it had stuff in it that I would need for the day. I hadn't bothered to look, knowing I'd have to see what was there soon enough anyways. Grabbing one strap, I dragged it behind me and plodded out into the loft's main living space.
Derek was in the kitchen, standing at the stove with his back to me. "Sit," he said. I hesitated next to the couch before dropping my backpack and walking over to one of the barstools in front of the small island counter. I sat, surprised to see that there were already two plates lined up on the counter.
Derek turned away from the stove, tilting the pan in his hand and dumping approximately half of scrambled eggs onto the plate in front of me. Then he dumped the rest of the eggs onto the second plate. Forks followed, but I just stared down at the food. It wasn't until Derek started eating that I took a tentative bite.
The eggs were good, and Derek set the salt and pepper between us. I didn't use them. Beggars can't be choosers, and I was just happy to have food in the first place. It was more than I had expected. Oh. That reminded me. "Thanks," I said, trying to work on my communication.
"Eat," was all Derek said in response. Okay then.
I tried to eat as much as I could. But even then, I barely finished a quarter of the plate. When I glanced over at Derek's plate, I saw that he was already finished. I also saw that he was staring at me again. Great.
I shifted nervously on the stool, not knowing what he wanted and not liking not knowing. For a minute, he looked like he might say something, but then his face went blank, and he turned away to put his plate in the sink. "Let's go," he said finally, walking out of the kitchen with long strides.
I hopped down from the stool, letting out a sigh of relief and feeling like I had just gotten a reprieve now that he was out of the room. Silence in the forest meant something was wrong. In much the same way, silence with Derek had me totally and utterly on edge, and the fact that we were leaving definitely made it that much easier.
I scooped my backpack off the floor and followed Derek out of the loft and down to the car. We drove quietly, and by the time we got to the school, I half expected a terse "get out" from him. But surprisingly, he got out and walked all the way up to the front doors.
I slowed as we approached them, and eventually stopped, watching the milling horde of high schoolers. They all seemed busy chatting and laughing with each other.
It's said that everything in this world can be divided into predator and prey. And that…well, that's a concept I could get behind. I understood predators; I was one. I understood prey, too. They were what I hunted all those years running around as a coyote.
But right now, I was standing just outside a roiling beehive of a hundred hormonal, judgmental predators of the worst kind, and I suddenly knew how all the rabbits felt when I caught them. If Sherriff Stilinksi had told me that I would have to go to school again, I might have just stayed a coyote and left it at that.
I paused, lingering over that thought. No. As nice as it sounded in my head, I wouldn't go back. Sure, I had been free and independent and responsible for no one but myself. Sure, I had loved the feeling of running for hours through the dense forest and rolling hillsides. But that wasn't really living. That was surviving. And the moment Scott McCall had turned me back into a human, I had gotten the chance to live, to really live.
And if that turned me into the bottom of the food chain, then so be it. If anyone tried to mess with me, then I could just break a few of their bones and leave it at that.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled the door open, just a sliver. Sounds and smells that I had never dealt with before assaulted my senses. It was like a blast of air that just wouldn't die down. People were laughing and yelling and talking. Lockers were slamming, and weird smells were leaking out of the two inch gap between door and frame.
Panic shot through me. I was so out of place here. I couldn't do it. I couldn't spend my day surrounded by smelly, loud teenagers. I had a forest I could be in—a forest where the only sounds and smells were produced by other animals and birds. I could work with that. At least I knew my place in the forest. I took a step backward, only to run into a heavy hand placed at the small of my back.
"You're going," Derek said. His tone offered no room for argument. I wondered if I could slip around him and make a break for it.
His other hand clamped down on my shoulder, making me jump, and he leaned down, putting his mouth closer to my ear. "Don't even think about it. The school will call me if you don't show up to class. And then I will find you, and when I do, it will be very unpleasant. Do you understand?"
I nodded, feeling a cold sweat slide down my back. I was going to die, surrounding by a bunch of noisy, smelly teenagers, or I was going to be hunted and killed by the man standing behind me. I was screwed.
"Keep your head down. Don't pick fights. People will leave you alone if you just blend in," Derek said, easing back from me.
I understood that concept. When stalking prey, you blend in until the moment before the strike. So for now, I needed to work on blending in. I nodded one more time, and he let me go. Then I took a deep breath, trying to work my way up to going inside. Behind me, Derek let out a small growl, yanking the door open and shoving a hand between my shoulder blades to forcefully propel me into the school.
I came to a stop at the top step, uncertainty hitting me like a sledgehammer. I couldn't do this. I couldn't fit in.