Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine.
A/N: This chapter is still kind of canon. I have no idea what Derek does with his free time when he is not brooding. But since he remodeled his own loft, I figure he's at least kind of handy with tools and such. Whatever. Life goes on. Tell me what you think. This was a weird chapter in my opinion. I won't be offended if you don't like it.
Derek took me back to the warehouse where I'd turned during the full moon.
I lingered in the doorway, not totally comfortable with coming back here. But Derek disappeared inside, leaving me with nothing else to do but follow. I was doing that a lot today, following Derek.
I walked into the training area, somewhat overwhelmed by the heavy scent of decomposition. It wasn't fresher than last night, though, which meant Derek had come back sometime since then and gotten rid of the bodies.
"We're going to track the remaining ghoul before he can make more friends," Derek said. I nodded. That was a logical move—take out the source. My nose twitched, and I rubbed it with a finger, not liking the dead smells permeating the place.
Derek came up on my right, looming in my peripheral. "Let me clarify. You are tracking the ghoul." I looked up at him, surprised and then resigned. He grinned. "I seem to recall you saying you had a better sense of smell than me. Besides, this will help you learn control."
Shoot. He had me. In more ways than one, really, since he reached out and dragged me forward with a steady hand. We came to the place where the ghouls had dropped through the ceiling.
I stood there, clenching and unclenching my fists. It was hard to focus with all the pain and betrayal that I was feeling, but the wild part of me was never very far under the surface. That's why I sucked so much controlling it. After a minute, Derek shook his head. "You're not focusing. Just calm down and breath in the scent. Focus."
I shot him a dirty look, telling him what I thought of his advice.
Tracking. It was something I could do on even my worst days, something that was practically hardwired into my brain.
I shook out my muscles, readying myself. My heart started to beat faster, but I didn't fight it. This was a hunt, and every part of me was excited.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, pulling in air through my nose. The air around me exploded with sensate activity, and my brain processed it eagerly.
Male wolf, near to me. He smelled of anger and strength. I dismissed it, not sensing a threat.
Blood and sweat of other wolves. Those scents were faded and weak. Barely there, even. I ignored them as irrelevant, moving on.
The next scent was human. Fragile, afraid—Lydia.
Despite the wild desire to run, to hunt, I lingered over Lydia's scent. The slight tang of sweat mixed with flowery perfume, it was humanity. It was just so her, and I liked it.
Finally, realizing Derek was still waiting, I pushed Lydia's scent to the back of my mind. Not dismissing it, just storing it for the time being. Then I keyed into the last, and the strongest, of the scents.
Death. Decay. Wrongness. It hung in the air with surprising repugnance. I drew in another long breath, trying to differentiate between the four different versions. Two were weak, not entirely heavy with decay. The third was stronger, but the fourth blew it away. I honed on the stench of rot, cementing it in my mind and storing it back with Lydia's scent. Then I started moving.
I followed the scent through the warehouse, towards the back. Derek trailed behind me, but I put him out of my mind, intent only on the hunt. We wound past pillars and rubble, ending up at the entrance of a sloping tunnel that went into the floor. I paused by the entrance, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. In my mind, I touched over Lydia's scent again, drawing comfort from it. Then I plunged into the murky tunnel with mounting excitement.
I don't know when I started running. But I was, and Derek's footfalls behind me let me know that he was still with me. I followed the scent through the tunnel, breaking off into a smaller shaft when the smell veered to the right. Scaling a rusty ladder, I burst out into the an alley. The scent was still strong, though, and I took off down the street. It was dark out by now, but I loved it. The wind was up, blowing in my face and bringing me the scent as I ran.
The tension was back—between the instinctual urges and my human self—so I let everything go, no longer forcing the urges down. I ran faster, completely locked onto the scent. My heart pounded with excitement, and I was filled with complete and utter joy. This is what I loved. Running. Hunting. This was it.
I ran long and hard, loving every second of it. The scent was distinct and easy to follow.
In fact, I only faltered once. Skidding to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, I turned in a circle, having lost the scent. I inhaled carefully, discarding one by one the multitude of other smells assailing me. I turned more slowly, drawing in another breath. There. I glanced to the left, seeing a wall. Backing up, I took a running start and jumped, catching the top with my fingertips and heaving myself up and over. Jumping down, I grinned. The scent was back, and it was stronger than ever.
I took off, heading down the dark alley. I was already at the end of it, turning into the street when I heard Derek's shoes hit the pavement. Still with me, then. Good. I accelerated, drinking in the passage of the ghoul. It wasn't running like prey, weaving and evasive. It was going in straight lines, like a predator.
I followed it easily. Followed it all the way to fenced yard. Then I stopped, slightly confused. The ghoul had lingered here. If the shredded grass underfoot was any indication, then it was agitated when it had. The scent was different here, too, flooded with rage. Even as the wild mix of hormones invaded my nostrils, I felt my own anger well up. My claws came out so fast that I almost impaled my palms as my fists clenched. I shook out my hands, trying to fight off the red haze sinking over me. Spinning in a circle, I desperately sought Derek. He could stop this, he could force me back into control.
The wind shifted slightly, bringing a new scent to me. Alpha, my foggy brain screamed. Scott. Scott's scent was all over this place. Unbidden, his words ran through my mind. Concentrate on the thing that makes you human, he'd said. I hadn't thought of anything like that yet, but I had the next best thing. Forcing myself to be still, I drew on the memory Lydia's scent, the humanity of it, and pulled it to the forefront of my mind.
My heart was pounding, but I focused on Lydia's scent. My hands needed to hit something, but I thought about the way Lydia's heart raced randomly throughout the day. Red haze settled over my vision, but I remembered Lydia's long scream in the warehouse.
And just like that, the animalistic urges slowly faded. My vision cleared, my heart rate slowed. Even the claws and fangs receded. I'd done it. I'd gained a little control. Scott had said to find an anchor, and I guess I inadvertently had.
There was a new scent in the air. It was subtle, and in my anger I had missed it. Another ghoul. Two more, now that I was focused. Two more, but they were dead. I studied Scott's house, seeing a sheet of wood in place of a second story window. More than anything, I would have bet the ghouls had smashed through that window. Scott had probably killed them.
Derek finally caught up to me, breathing heavily. Part of me was happy. I was happy that I could outrun him, but it wasn't the nice kind of happy. It was more mean spirited, which confused me. He looked me over, hands on hips as he breathed deeply. "You controlled it," he said.
I nodded, feeling a warm glow inside my chest. I had controlled it, and that was progress. That was very good progress. Derek turned his attention towards the house, stiffening. "The ghoul came here?"
I nodded again. "Two more. They're dead. I think it made him mad."
Derek frowned. "Scott's an alpha. The stronger the prey, the more power a ghoul gains. Why didn't it come here in the first place? Why did it try to fight us first?" I was pretty sure that he was thinking out loud, so I remained quiet. Something occurred to me, though, and I opened my mouth to share. But I remembered how often I sounded stupid just saying the first thing to come to mind, so I just shut it again.
Green eyes settled on me. "What?" Derek growled. "If you have something to say, just say it."
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "Maybe he thought we were easier targets? The three of us in one place? Killing us might give him a better chance against an alpha." Then something else occurred to me, backing up my previous reasoning. "The ghouls here were young. Really young. Maybe the big one was just testing Scott, seeing how he'd do against minor opposition." Mister Yukimura had said something of the same in class today. I couldn't remember the exact term, but I'd gathered that sometimes soldiers were viewed as expendable in order to test the enemies weaknesses.
And it was logical. If the two ghouls had defeated Scott, then he wouldn't have been worthy fighting anyways. If not, then the big ghoul knew Scott was strong—powerful enough to kill and gain strength from.
Derek gave me a funny look and opened his mouth, like he was about to say something. But I heard a car pull up in front of the house, and Derek skirted around the fence, heading towards the front. I trailed behind him, unsure of who we were going to find.
By the time we reached the street and sidewalk, the person had already climbed out of the car and had the back hatch open. Derek cleared his throat as we walked up the sidewalk towards the driveway, and the person straightened, jumping slightly.
"Derek," she said, putting a hand over her heart. It was pounding, which meant we'd startled her. She was tall, and dressed in some funny purple clothes. Lydia would have called them lilac colored, but they were just light purple to me.
"Mrs. McCall," Derek said politely. Oh. She was Scott's mom. I guess that made sense, since she was at his house and all. She stooped again and pulled out a brown sack full of groceries. It looked heavy.
Derek nudged me forward, and I stood there awkwardly for a moment before Scott's mom flashed me a grateful look and offloaded the bag to me. Oh. They wanted me to carry it. I held it dutifully, not knowing what else to do. Scott's mom reached back into the car, fighting and struggling to maneuver out a long, reflective object. It was big and bulky, and in the light from car, I realized it was a large window and frame.
Derek took it from her, hefting it easily as she closed the back hatch on the car. Then we followed her inside. It was brighter in there, and I got a better look at her. She was tall and thin, her skin a light brown. Her curly hair was pinned up behind her. She had kind eyes, and an easy smile, but she looked tired. Exhausted, really. I knew the feeling.
"You must be AJ," she said, taking the bag from me and setting it on the counter. I nodded mutely, not quite sure what to make of her. Turning to Derek, she got down to business. "You're here because of the things that broke in last night?"
Derek nodded, still holding the window. "Scott…" she trailed off with a slight shudder. "Scott killed them," she finished, her voice stronger. Then she turned away flustered. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"
Derek looked a little take aback, and I wanted to ask if she had any Twinkies. But Derek shook his head, so I followed suit, shaking mine as well. "Do you have a drill?" Derek asked out of the blue. Scott's mom shook her head, rubbing one eye with a flat hand.
Her shoulders slumped. "Not one that works, anyway," she said softly.
Derek set the window down. "We'll come back tomorrow," he said simply. I looked up, wondering why. But he was already moving towards the door. Scott's mom walked after us, not saying anything until we were standing on her porch.
"Is it safe to stay here?" she asked finally.
"Yes," Derek replied, and I had to agree. The scent I'd found was old, and the ghoul most likely wouldn't be coming back tonight. If he was wary of Scott, then he'd probably want to make some more reinforcements before taking on an alpha. Before taking on any of us, really.
"Okay," Scott's mom said, and she shut the door.
We walked down the steps and onto the street. Derek looked at his phone, sighing. "Let's go," he said, heading back in the direction of the warehouse and car. Once again, I followed him.
It took us a while to get back. I didn't mind. Being with Derek was easy. Easier than school, easier than Henry. I was still thinking about why that might be when we got back to the car and climbed in. The drive was silent as usual, and I relaxed, feeling more at ease than I had in days. When we reached the loft, I went up the stairs and took a shower, washing away sweat from the run. Then I went back to my room and, in a rare fit of goodwill, cleaned up the pile of clothes on the floor and took it to the washing machine. I stuffed the mess inside, somewhat at a loss for what to do next. Shrugging, I turned away, leaving it for Derek to do as I walked out of the room.
Two seconds later, I was frogmarched back to the machine and shown which buttons to push and how to add detergent. After that, Derek slapped the back of my head and strode away. I scowled, rubbing the slightly stinging area with a hand. Then I went back to my room and sat on the bed. My goodwill didn't extend towards homework, and soon enough, I just tipped over and fell asleep.
Derek didn't tell me to get up, so I slept in late again. When I finally did pull myself from the warmth of sleep, I remembered, belatedly, that yesterday was Friday. Today was Saturday, which meant no school.
I sat up, feeling unsurprisingly elated at the untold possibilities that today held. No school. I could do whatever I wanted. My cache of clothes in shopping bags was still there, so I pulled on fresh jeans and a t-shirt. It was a dark blue shirt, this time, and I didn't want to ruin it like I had the last blue one.
Once clothed, I walked into the kitchen. Derek was cooking scrambled eggs in the frying pan again. He divided them up on two plates, pushing one towards me. I picked up my fork and mechanically ate as much as I could. Earlier on, I'd thought about protesting and not eating. But even I wasn't that stupid. You took what food you could get, because you never knew where the next meal was coming from, and I'd had enough empty, gnawing hunger pains to last me a lifetime.
When breakfast was done, I got off the stool and put my plate in the sink. Then I started to trudge out of the room. Before I got four feet, something small hit my shoulder and bounced off. I turned, and there—lying on the ground—was a golden sponge wrapped in crinkly plastic. A Twinkie. I couldn't help but grin, snagging it off the floor.
Derek didn't say a word, just swung his jacket off the back of his chair and grabbed his keys. "Let's go," he said, yet again. I was too excited over the Twinkie to wonder if those were the only two summoning words he knew.
By the door was a small black duffel bag. Derek scooped it up with a hand as he walked out, waiting for me to follow. I did, and he slid the door shut behind me.
When we got in the car, Derek set the bag down in the back seat. It clanked softly, which made me wonder what was inside. Still, I was too enamored with the Twinkie to really care. I hadn't eaten it yet. I was letting the excitement build. That and I didn't want to piss Derek off with the eventual sugar freak-out that was sure to follow consumption.
Derek wove through town in considerably less time than it had taken for us to run through it yesterday. He pulled up at the McCall house, grabbing the bag off the seat before walking up to the front door. Mrs. McCall answered, letting us inside. She looked a lot less tired than yesterday, and she was no longer wearing the purple clothes.
We walked into the kitchen, just like yesterday, only Derek didn't stop. He picked up the window in his free hand and continued right up the stairs. I hesitated, not sure if I should follow. He didn't say anything, so I stayed, feeling useless. But I had my Twinkie, so maybe this was a good time to eat it, since I was out of his way.
I sat on the stool in front of the counter and pulled the package open. Then I took a small bite, determined to savor the sugary goodness. Scott's mom sat beside me, a cup of coffee in her hand. I closed my eyes, taking another small bite. Then another. God, these were seriously the best things ever.
"You act like you've never had one before," she said after a while. I opened my eyes and looked over at her, startled. I'd forgotten she was there for a second.
"This is my second one," I informed her.
She smiled. "Well, by all means, don't let me stand in the way."
"I won't," I reassured her kindly. She laughed.
"I'm Melissa. Scott's mom." She held out a hand.
I nodded. "I know." I took another bite and then licked my fingers. She let her hand fall. It was only then that I remembered I was supposed to have shaken it. Right. Shaking hands. That was another thing I'd never really done. Whoops. Too late now. "I like your house," I said lamely, trying to make up for it.
She smiled again, but this time it was a little bit sad. I didn't know why. I had just complimented it. Ugh, people were strange.
My fingers started drumming on the counter, and I felt the restless buzz. I knew it was coming this time, so I kind of enjoyed it. My knee bounced rhythmically, and my heart started to really pound. It made me feel really twitchy and I started to breath faster too, which was a funny sensation.
Melissa's brow wrinkled, and she reached over to touch my wrist gently. I was startled enough that I didn't pull away. Two of her fingers were pressed specifically against a certain spot, and I stared at them curiously. "I'm checking your pulse," Melissa said in explanation. I cast her a confused glance. "Your heart. I'm counting how many beats it does per minute."
I looked back down at her fingers, and when she finally removed them, I pushed my own against that exact same spot. Sure enough, I could feel a gently pulsing sensation under my fingertips. My eyebrows shot up. It was fast. Really fast. Of course, I already knew that—feeling it pound in my chest at the same time. But now she knew it too, just by touching my arm, and that was kind of cool.
"It's because of the sugar," I told her, just wanting to clarify.
She smiled and rubbed my back a little. It was weird, but at the same time I kind of liked it. Her cup steamed in front of her, and it gave me a thought. "Can I try some coffee?" I asked, wondering what it tasted like.
She laughed again, pulling the cup close. "I don't think so, kiddo. It might stop your heart altogether." Then she took a sip.
I scoffed, thinking it through. "Not likely. Not for long, anyways. I heal pretty fast."
Melissa choked slightly, covering her mouth with a hand. Then she swallowed her mouthful and continued her chuckle. "Wise guy, huh?"
I shrugged, not thinking I was all that wise. Derek saved me from answering by calling my name. I slid off the stool and headed upstairs. Derek was holding the new window in place, a drill in his other hand. "Come hold this while I screw it in."
I crossed the room, thinking it silly that I had to hold it when he so obviously had things under control. Still, I did as he asked, holding the frame exactly where he'd positioned it. Derek brought the drill up, putting screw after screw. Eventually we changed positions so he could screw the other side. Then he handed me the drill and motioned me back, sliding the window up and down to test it. Seemingly satisfied, he packed all the random tools back in the bag before demonstrating how to take out the drill bit. He put that in a special case with all the other drill bits and shoved it into the bag. Then he zipped it up and handed it to me.
I rolled my eyes, carrying it down the stairs as he carried the sheet of wood and broken window frame. Melissa wasn't in the kitchen when we walked through. "Hold on a second. Let me write you a check," she called, obviously in another room. But we just kept walking, going out to the car and driving away before she could do anything about it. I found that part hilarious.
As we drove, I stared out the window, thinking things through. "Why did you fix her window?" I asked finally, unable to come to any kind of conclusion. He hadn't done it for the money, so I didn't really get why.
"I was marking the house with our scent. The more of us the ghoul smells, the less likely he'll be to go back there," Derek said. I was quiet. His logic was sound. The ghoul had fought him twice and been forced to retreat twice. Maybe it would be more wary if it smelled all three of us at the house. But that still didn't make total sense. We could have hung around in the yard to accomplish that.
I thought about how Derek made me breakfast everyday, how he made sure that I got to and went to school each day. How even though Derek said that Stilinski had forced him to let me stay, he hadn't seemed to make any progress fixing the building code violations.
And I wondered if maybe, just maybe, Derek had fixed the window just because he wanted to.
And that, in turn, made me wonder if maybe—just maybe—Derek wasn't planning on kicking me out the first chance he got.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, mulling that specific notion over. I thought about it for a long time, and I think that somewhere deep inside, I started to hope. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, I had found a person that didn't absolutely loathe my presence—that didn't want to change me or force me to be normal. Hoping that I could stay here, figure out school, and just live my life.
It was a good feeling, that hope, and just for a little bit, I allowed it to bubble up inside my chest. It was warm and elating, so I let myself feel it for a while. Then, knowing that hoping was right up there with being hurt, I prepared myself to eventually pack those feelings away and to carefully smother them with utter single mindedness. I didn't want to be too hopeful, to optimistic, in case it all came crashing down.
But today was good, and that was enough for me.