Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or its characters.

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I ran. I didn't know where I was going. I just ran.

The sun sank lower in the sky, and I left the roads to run in the woods. The loam was soft against my pounding feet, and the air was purer than that of the city. My heart rate soared, playing a pretty beat in my ears. It was good, all the way up until it wasn't.

I went faster and faster, pushing the very edge of my physical ability until I was almost flying along. But I still couldn't reach the point I had as a coyote. God, I wanted to so badly. If I could just push myself a little harder…

My legs gave out, unable to match the extreme standards that I was striving for, and I crashed down onto the soft ground, skidding to a stop. Ow. That had hurt. Not as much as my seizing, cramping muscles though. I rolled onto my back, chest heaving, as I stared up at the sky through the canopy of trees.

I caught the last few rays of sunshine as they played down through the treetops and warmed my face.

I was lost. Not literally. I knew exactly where I was in relation to Derek's loft. But I felt...lost. I wanted to go home, but I didn't have one. I missed my cave. It had been small, but it had been warm and safe, and I wanted to be in it again. Just me and my quiet cave.

The breath caught in my chest, and my eyes prickled painfully. Yeesh, what was wrong with me now? Two streaks of liquid leaked from the corners of my eyes and ran down the sides of my head. I swiped them away with an angry hand. I was crying, crying over a stupid cave.

It was more than that, though. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had been hoping that if I could just push myself hard enough, I would shift into a coyote again. But I'd run as hard and as fast as I could, and it hadn't happened. And now I was stuck in this stupid world with so many things I didn't understand.

A strangled sound ripped itself from my throat, and I slammed a fist down against the ground, trying to get the physical pain to displace the weird ache in my chest. I had never felt this way as a coyote. None of these stupid feelings had even mattered. Things had been simpler then, and I missed it.

I lay on the ground—unmoving—long enough that my breath turned into billowing clouds as it exited my mouth. The darkness grew heavier, and the air around me cooled, but I didn't care. It was peaceful, other than the shivers that wracked me, and I gazed up at the stars stretching across the night sky, completely and utterly mesmerized. As a coyote, they had been nothing but a light source. As a human, they were possibly the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

I remembered stars, from back when I was human before, but they hadn't affected me the same way. Reaching up a hand, I played my fingers over a particularly big star. Right now, it was bright and untouchable. That's how I wanted to be. Bright, untouchable. Because maybe that would be easier than finding a way to deal with the wild turmoil that was roiling inside me.

Noises jerked me out of my ethereal contemplation. Footsteps, soft murmurs of conversation. I knew who it was, but I didn't say a word. Maybe if I was quiet, then they would just leave me alone.

Glowing blue eyes cut through the darkness, aimed right at me. "He's over there." Peter. Was that relief in his voice? I didn't care. He was joined by another shadowy figure, this one with the unmistakable light tread and steady heartbeat of Derek Hale.

It didn't take very long before they were looming over me, staring down. "Feel better now?" Derek asked, his voice lilting dangerously towards amused territory. He had to be careful, one more joke like that and I might actually be able to see past his grim facade.

Facade: an outward appearance that is maintained to conceal a less pleasant or less creditable reality. I had learned that one in English class today. Which put the score at...AJ one, school three hundred and four—give or take.

I shook my head in response to Derek's question. No, I did not feel better. All I'd managed to do was make running remind me of all the things I couldn't be. Derek reached down, grabbing a handful of my shirt and pulled me upright. He planted a hand behind my shoulder and gave me a little shove. I wrapped my arms across my stomach and started my long, stumbling walk back.

"It's dangerous to be out here alone after dark," Peter said. "That was stupid and juvenile."

That sounded suspiciously like something I'd once heard Sheriff Stilinski say to Stiles, so I borrowed Stiles' response. "I'm a teenager. We're supposed to be stupid and juvenile."

Peter said nothing in response, and I really didn't care. Derek was the one I needed to worry about. He hadn't sounded mad when they'd found me, but I didn't know him that well. He could just be waiting until we got back to his loft to beat the crap out of me. Whatever. He couldn't make me feel any worse than I already did.

We were silent as we walked back to the road. My t-shirt and shorts did nothing to keep me warm, but I wasn't about to say anything. Derek's SUV was parked in a pull-off. I opened the door and climbed into the backseat without being told, huddling against the seat as if that would warm me up. Derek got in the driver seat, and Peter hopped in the passenger side.

Derek peeled off his jacket, handing it back to me without a word. I took it, slipping into the warmth gratefully. It smelled like him, but unlike the clothes Stiles had brought over, it wasn't a bad smell.

No one spoke as we drove. I remained huddled inside Derek's coat, and Peter stared out the side window. I got the feeling that things between him and Derek were tense at best. Figuring it was safest to just remain quiet, I did just that, settling my head against the back of the seat and watching the stars out the window. It was hard to focus on them, going as fast as we were, but I found that if I concentrated hard enough, they became almost crystal clear.

It was peaceful. Or at least it was until headlights came around the bend, blinding me, and then it was just like someone was shoving a knife into my eyeballs. Not peaceful at all. I let out a pained gasp, unable to stop myself, and threw a hand over my eyes.

Strong fingers pried my hand away from my face. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to look away, thinking the light was going to hurt again. The same fingers gripped my chin, forcing me to look straight. Finally, realizing there was no longer light beyond my eyelids, I opened my eyes.

Peter held my chin, his eyebrows raised. "Well, look at that. Coyote blue." I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, and stopped. My eyes. They were glowing a bright, shining blue.

The face staring back at me didn't seem like mine. My cheekbones looked dangerously sharp, defined by shadows and light. My mouth was pulled into a tight frown, and my eyes blazed. I looked...predatory.

I pulled my chin free of Peter, choosing instead to stare out the window. The blue in my eyes faded, and with it, the clarity of the stars decreased as well. That must have been what had triggered the increased sensitivity. I'd been focused on seeing the stars clearly, so I had. Simple as that. Increasing my vision for a few minutes was a far cry from turning into to a coyote, but it was something.

It was something, and that made it seem like everything wasn't quite as hopeless as it had seemed earlier.

Back at Derek's place, Peter got out and left in his own car. Derek and I walked up every single stair to his loft, and it was torture. Every single muscle in my body hurt. I figured I would heal—always had before—but clearly it was taking its own sweet time.

Derek pulled open the door, and we walked into the loft. I hesitated in the living room, seeing my backpack still where I dumped it by the couch. Shifting from foot to foot, I nervously waited for Derek to mete out judgement.

He pulled off his shirt with a groan, and walked toward the kitchen. Then, as if remembering I was there, he cast a glance over his shoulder. "Go to bed, AJ," he said tiredly, and that was it. I scooped up my backpack and hustled to the guest room, before he could change his mind about being mad.

Once in the room, I looked between the desk and the bed. I had some schoolwork I could do. There would always be stuff to do until I was caught up. Or I could sleep, which was something—I was discovering—that I liked to do very much.

In the end, I chose sleep. I pulled off Derek's jacket and carefully draped it over the back of the desk chair. Then I took a two minute shower, just to clean off the pungent odor of sweat, and collapsed into bed. It was a very nice bed. Totally beat sleeping on the cave floor. I rolled onto my stomach and shoved my arms underneath the pillow, closing my eyes with a contented sigh.

The next thing I knew, Derek was in my room again, and he had the same terse instruction as yesterday. "Get up," he growled, padding back out of the room. Ugh, mornings. They ranked right up there with wet clothes and cafeteria food. The thought that I would have to go to school again was almost enough to make me stay in bed. But, unwilling to face another abrupt meeting with the floor, I dragged myself upright with a yawn.

Clothes came next. I pulled out another pair of jeans, ripped the tags off and grabbed a soft blue t-shirt. A shiver rocked me, and I bit my lip, looking around. Derek's jacket was gone, and Lydia hadn't gotten me anything warmer than a t-shirt. Okay, then, t-shirt it was. I pulled the clothes on quickly, rubbing my arms in an attempt to warm them up. God, I hated mornings.

Derek appeared in the doorway, no doubt ready for a repeat performance in the event that I wasn't up yet. He narrowed his eyes slightly, watching me, then walked off. I wondered if he was disappointed that he didn't get to flip my mattress today. That seemed like it would be a source of great joy to him.

My backpack caught my eye, and any vestiges of amusement faded quickly when I realized I had another long day ahead of me. As if on purpose, my phone rang, and I scowled, digging it free of the bottom of the bag yet again. If it was Stiles, I was not going to answer.

It wasn't. It was Lydia.

I swiped the screen, holding the phone close to my ear. "Lydia," I greeted her formally.

"AJ," she said back, just as formally. "Tell Derek you're coming over to my house to study today after school."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, tilting backwards so I could peek out the doorway and check if Derek was around. "I don't know," I said. "He might be mad about last night."

"Children," she said faintly, sounding exasperated. "I'm working with children." Then her voice got a little louder, and she spoke very slowly. "AJ, you've been running around in the woods as a coyote for eight years. Tell Derek that I will be helping you catch up. Especially with math."

That didn't sound quite right. "Will you be helping me catch up?" I asked skeptically.

"Yes," she replied sharply. Then after hesitating, "Well, afterwards, yes."

"Afterwards of what?" I was getting a little nervous, and I really wished she hadn't told me. Derek seemed like the type of guy who could spot a lie a mile away. Plus, after going running and making him come find me last night, I wasn't sure where Derek and I stood. "Never mind," I blurted. "I don't want to know. I'll see you at school, okay?" Then I hung up before she told me anything that would make me a liar.

I walked out of the room, and into the kitchen. Derek had breakfast ready again, and this time, he'd made some kind of green goop in a cup. I stared at it with distaste, poking the side of the glass suspiciously.

I looked over at him, and he raised an eyebrow. "It's a protein shake," he said innocently. I shook my head and pushed it away from me. I didn't care if it was ice cream in a cup, I wasn't drinking it.

Derek stood, coming over to stand behind me. I hunched forward, knowing something bad was likely to happen. Derek dropped both hands on my shoulders, holding me down on the stool. "Drink. It." He sounded a little too happy, forcing me to drink that smelly slop, and I wondered if this was his revenge for having to come find me last night.

Realizing he wasn't going to let me up until I drank it, I reached out and pulled the glass forward. Plant smells trickled up into my nostrils and it was enough to make me gag. But I lifted the glass nonetheless, taking a tentative sip. It was pretty bad, but I'd eaten worse as a coyote.

I gulped the stuff down as fast as I could, wanting the taste and scent out of my mind. The last of it slid down my throat with disgusting slowness, and I gagged again. Derek slapped me on the back when I was done and stepped away.

"I talked to Deaton yesterday," he said. "He said your stomach is probably still not used to so much food yet, which is why you don't eat very much. He also told me that if I could see your ribs, then you're borderline malnourished." I wrapped my hands across my stomach in warning. He looked faintly amused. "I've already seen you without a shirt on. You're definitely malnourished."

I scowled at him, lowering my arms. I wasn't malnourished; I was just lean. Derek seemed unaffected by my scowl, and he just shrugged. "Deaton gave me some stuff for a protein shake. It will be small enough that you can stomach it, but it has a greater variety of nutrients packed into it than most foods."

I didn't know who this Deaton guy was, but he should definitely be forced to drink that crap. See how he like it. Oh, well. What's done was done. I could handle one measly protein shake.

"Four times a week, that's what you'll have for breakfast," Derek informed me. I gagged again, thinking the world was ending. I was not drinking that stuff four times a week. Short of dumping it down my throat, Derek Hale was not going to be able to make me.

He saw my mutinous glare and shook his head grimly. "It's not up for discussion. You will drink it. And then...well, you can choose what you want for breakfast on the fifth day. Deal?"

I glowered at him and finally nodded. That was as good as it was going to get. Choosing breakfast one day a week? I could handle that. Plus, he could kick me out at any time. So anything was better than having to figure out my next move by myself.

Derek nodded, and then we left for school. On the way there, I told him that Lydia wanted to help me math. He looked at me, pinning me in place for a long second before nodding.

I didn't nearly need as much pushing to get myself inside. As soon as I walked through the door, I made a beeline for Lydia's locker. She wasn't there, so I followed her scent. She was studying in the library.

I slid into a chair across from her, but she didn't look up. I sat quietly, not feeling the need to talk. Actually, in a rare fit of motivation, I pulled out my history book and started skimming through it. That seemed like the class with the biggest amount of raw information that I didn't know. Plus, most of it was straight forward, and if I didn't understand something, there were boxes outside the text that explained certain concepts or words.

The day progressed much like yesterday, only without the added stress of not knowing where I was going. Oh, yes. This time I knew where I was supposed to be, and the struggle was mostly to force myself to get there.

Actually, English was pretty good. Chemistry was decidedly not awful. History was better, because I had read the section we were covering and was able to follow along a little bit. Math came and went, leaving me completely lost again. Spanish was the same as math; I didn't understand what was being said, so the class dragged on forever.

Then there was lunch. Like before, I sat with Stiles and Scott and Kira. They were nice, and mostly just talked about random things. It wasn't until Lydia showed up that things turned serious. She sat down, looking a little dazed. "Someone's going to die," she stated matter-of-factly. "I don't know who, and I don't know how. But they are going to die."

Scott twisted in his seat, concern filling his face as he glanced around at the busy cafeteria. "Someone here?" he asked quietly.

Lydia shook her head. "I don't think so. All I keep hearing is a faint scraping sound. Almost like digging."

Stiles sat up, going completely still. "My dad got a call last night. The Beacon Hills Cemetery has had three grave disturbances. At first they thought it was some kind of animal, but…"

Lydia looked a little sick. "Digging," she said faintly. "Okay. After school we're going to check out the cemetery." She turned to me. "You're coming." I shrugged. I wasn't arguing.

All too soon, the bell rang. I had to fight the urge not to rip the closest speaker out of the wall. Stiles led the way to economics, and I once again sat through the most confusing class ever.

Gym class was pretty fun, though. We played dodgeball, which was basically a game about not getting hit while hitting other people with squishy balls. Kira and I were on the same team, and we absolutely killed—or so Kira said. I didn't understand, because we hadn't actually killed anyone. Although, a couple guys on the other team were kind of wobbling around. I may have gotten a little too into hurling things at them. The excited way Kira said it made me wonder if that was a figure of speech, which was something Stiles was working with me on. We hadn't gotten to that one yet. Killed it. That was a funny one.

At the end, I evaded Coach's searching gaze and made a beeline for the locker room. Changing before he could come in, I left as quickly as possible, just wanting to find Lydia.

She was at her locker. "Hold this?" she asked, handing me her giant math textbook. It was different from mine even though we were in the same class. "Independent study," she explained, noticing my curious glance. "I take a test at the end of the year and get college credit for an advanced level of math." I raised my eyebrows. She must be really smart, then. I could barely handle being spoon-fed math, and she was basically working on her own.

Lydia finished putting things in and out of her locker. She slammed it shut and turned, walking down the hallway. I carried her book, not sure if I should give it back or not. Why was I carrying it in the first place? It wasn't mine.

I was still thinking about it when we reached a blue car. Lydia unlocked it with a click of a small remote, and I climbed in the passenger side. She got in and turned the car on. Then she checked her hair in the mirror, put on some lip gloss, and fiddled with the radio. I think it was a solid three minutes before she actually started driving. Yeesh.

The music coming out of the radio was slow and obnoxious, and I didn't like it. "What is this?" I finally asked, unable to take much more.

Lydia looked over at me, surprised. "This is jazz. Wind and brass instruments? You've never heard jazz music before? It's very calming."

I gave a noncommittal grunt. I didn't feel calm. I felt like I wanted to smash a fist into the radio until the cacophony stopped. Maybe picking up on my annoyance, Lydia changed the station. What came out of the speakers next had a fast beat and a good rhythm. I nodded my head along with the music, and Lydia smiled. "Coyote Boy likes a pop music. Who would have guessed?"

I should have been insulted by her calling me "Coyote Boy," but it didn't bug me. It was different with her, but I didn't know why.

We pulled up at the cemetery before the song ended, and I looked out over the rolling hill full of grey stones. Getting out, I took a deep breath of fresh air. I really shouldn't have.

I sneezed, almost uncontrollably, as the heavy scent of fertilizer flooded my nostrils. Fertilizer, freshly cut grass, faint whiffs of flowers. Jeez, this place stunk. "What's wrong with you?" Lydia asked, coming around to my side of the car.

I looked at her through watering eyes and covered my nose with a sleeve. "Stinks," I said, muffled by my arm.

"A hundred decomposing corpses will do that," she said simply, starting up the clean gravel path.

Corpses? Oh. Buried bodies. Right. I remembered something about that. People buried their dead. I hadn't understood why back when I was younger, and I still didn't now. It just didn't seem very advantageous. All they did was rot in a box. But there were obviously reasons, otherwise people wouldn't do it. And far be it for me to judge. I had no one left to bury except maybe Henry when he died. Even then, it wouldn't be up to me, most likely, should the need ever arise.

I followed Lydia up the path, trying to put the odd combination of smells out of my mind. Stiles' jeep pulled up behind Lydia's car, and he and Scott got out. They caught up to me easily, and I could tell Scott could smell what I did. He didn't seem as bothered, though, which meant that I was being oversensitive again. I really needed to get a handle on this coyote thing.

Stiles held a piece of paper with three red circles on it. The grave disturbances, I guessed. I was right. We made our way to the first red circle's location, and there was a headstone with a largely unearthed grave in front of it. The smell of fertilizer was even stronger here, and with it came the stench of something else. "You smell that?" I asked Scott, not sure if it was just my nose going into overdrive.

He nodded. "It smells like rotting flesh."

Stiles shook his head. "That can't be right. The headstone says this person died at least sixty years ago."

"The normal rate of decomposition in a casket is around fifty years," Lydia volunteered. "There should be little to no smell of rotting flesh at this time." Scott, Stiles, and I stared at her. "What?" she demanded, shrugging. "I read it somewhere."

"Well, if it's not the body that stinks, then what does?" Scott asked slowly.

None of us had the answer, so we went to find the other two graves. Just like the first, they were both unearthed, and both of them had the same stink. We stood around the third grave for a minute, contemplating what could have dug up a grave like that, and what could have left that kind of smell. Stiles took pictures on his phone for "further reference if needed."

I shrugged, not really caring and just wanting to get away from the horrible smell. My phone rang and I fished it from my pocket, seeing that it was Derek calling. "Derek," I said quietly, informing the others. They fell quiet, and Lydia took the phone from me, doing something before holding it between all of us. "AJ," I said, not sure how else to start the conversation.

"Where are you?" Derek asked. I crinkled my nose, not wanting to lie because he'd be able to tell.

"With Lydia," I said evenly. There, that wasn't lying.

"With Lydia in the cemetery?" he asked, just as evenly.

I flinched, knowing we were caught. Stiles looked around then elbowed me, indicating with his head to look off behind us on the right. Sure enough, there was Derek. He wasn't alone, either. There was a man—tall and grim—standing by his side. Neither of them looked very happy to see us.

"Argent and Derek," Scott said under his breath. I had never met Argent, but suddenly everyone around me was uneasy. I didn't think it was specifically Argent or Derek making them uneasy, so maybe it was that particular combination.

"And they're coming this way," Stiles muttered, running a nervous hand against the back of his head. "Awesome. That's just awesome."