Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine.

A/N: Thanks, Monkeygonetoheaven. Your constant reviews keep me excited to write, and that's how chapters turn into 5000+ word monstrosities! :) And thanks to everyone else who reviews! They really do make my day (and, for some odd reason, translate into more constant story writing). Don't ask me why. Enjoy!

Derek and Peter were arguing when I woke up.

The door slid shut noisily. Heavy steps stomped across the landing and down the stairs, matched with a few brief mutterings about Italian leather. Peter. I was not sorry to hear him go.

Much more quiet steps walked across the room and came to stand by the couch. I remained still.

"I know you're awake," Derek said. I opened my eyes, not looking at him. "You puked on his favorite pair of shoes," Derek continued. It was silent for a second, then he laughed. I glanced up at Derek, surprised to see a wide grin stretch across his face as the tiny, short sound bubbled out of his chest. He'd just laughed. I'd never seen that from him before.

As quickly as it had come, it was gone, and Derek was once again back to his normal, serious self. He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. "How do you, uh, how do you feel?"

I stared at him, and all I could think about was the fact that he'd left. He'd left without telling me, and I didn't like it. But at the same time, I couldn't tell him how it had made me feel without seeming like a clingy child. Besides, I wasn't supposed to be dependant on Derek. I wasn't supposed to be dependant on anyone but myself. I'd forgotten that momentarily, but not anymore.

"'M fine," I mumbled, shoving off the blanket and sitting up. I was back to no eye contact with him, and it kind of made the weird feeling of being lost and hurt lessen. I put my feet on the floor, evaluating how that affected me. There was no dizziness or nausea or pain, so I stood up. Nothing happened. I was good to go.

Moving past Derek, I went to see if there was anything salvageable from my room. There wasn't. Actually, there was nothing in the room anymore. It was bare and empty. I shivered, wrapping my arms across my stomach. It still smelled like ghoul in here, even though all the broken and shredded things were gone. The only thing that had escaped the ghoul's fury was my stupid backpack. Apparently, that particular set of frustrations was deemed worthy enough to survive and keep pissing me off.

My fists clenched, and I spun, knowing what I needed to make me feel better. I needed to run. My shoes were still by the wash machine, dropped by the basket of my remaining clothes. I stripped out of my jeans and pulled on shorts. When I turned to go, Derek was blocking the doorway. "It's not safe to go out alone," he stated. "Especially with the ghoul targeting you specifically."

I didn't care about safe. I needed to be out, to be moving. I was restless and cagey after being out of commission for so long. My hands clenched and unclenched hard enough that it almost hurt. Derek stood there, waiting—waiting to see if I'd lose it and take a swing at him. I pushed my anger down into a small, tight ball, and unclenched my jaw enough to speak. "Then. Come. With. Me."

I'm not sure if it was the pure hostility in my voice, or the fact that I was pretty close to snapping, that had Derek stepping back. I stalked past him, not really sure where all my instantaneous anger was coming from, and Derek followed. Flinging the door open, I practically ran to the stairs, sucking in several clean breaths as I walked down them and reveling in the fact that the air was full of normal smells. No death, no vomit, no blood. It was just air.

I started running and, of course, it didn't take long to lose Derek. He was fast and strong and experienced, but I was me. Running was my domain. With a bit of work, I left him behind, looping and backtracking like I'd learned from prey years ago. Nothing would follow me, be it ghoul or Derek, because I wasn't leaving a trackable trail.

Then I just ran, enjoying the mindless pounding of my feet against pavement. I would have liked to run in the woods, but even I wasn't that stupid. Prey that isolates itself is basically asking for a death sentence.

Even though I wasn't running with a particular endpoint in mind, I found myself in a nicer neighborhood. Slowing down to a quick jog, I surveyed the massive houses. One in particular caught my fancy, but I didn't know why. I came to a stop on the sidewalk, looking up at the second story.

I stood there panting for a few moments before the reason for my odd pause made itself known. There, in the driveway was a blue Prius, and I was detecting very faint floral smells.

Lydia. This was her house. I walked up the driveway, sniffing the car's driver side door as I got closer. Yep, it was faint, but it definitely smelled like her.

After that, I made a quick perimeter around her house, making sure there were no ghouls that had been staking it out like at Scott's house. The area was clean, which helped put me at ease. And it smelled like freshly cut grass and fertilizer, not Lydia. That was good. It meant she'd be harder for the ghouls to find.

Circling back around, I surveyed the wrap-around porch. Then, hopping nimbly onto the railing, I gripped the roofline and pulled myself up onto the sloped roof outside one of the second story windows. It wasn't hard, which made me a little more worried if the ghouls ever did find Lydia's house.

Walking lightly on the shingles, I went from window to window. Eventually, I found the one that smelled the most like Lydia. The light was on as well, though it didn't make much difference in the daylight. Squatting outside the window, I tapped with a finger.

Lydia appeared a second later, a lamp base clutched in her hands. When she saw it was me, she put a hand to her chest and set the lamp back on the desk. I pointed to the window, and she scowled, coming forward and pushing it open.

"What are you doing? Why the hell are you at my window?" she hissed, even though we were alone. I went mute and eventually just shrugged, because I really didn't know what I was doing here. Lydia looked around fearfully, but I didn't see what the big deal was. "Get in here before someone sees you!" She moved back, and I slipped in, landing in a soft crouch.

Lydia stuck her hands on her hips, but I ignored her, checking out the room. It was big and pink, and there were butterflies everywhere. I turned my head, looking at the other wall. More butterflies. Maybe she had a thing for butterflies.

I straightened, coming out of my crouch just as my phone rang. I fished it from my pocket, seeing that it was Derek calling. I stared at the screen, willing it to stop ringing and be quiet. No such luck.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Lydia demanded a moment later.

"No," I said wisely, not feeling like getting yelled at or threatened right now. I turned my phone off.

Lydia sighed, shoulders relaxing and hands leaving her hips. "What do you want, AJ?" She sounded kind of tired and wary, which probably meant she didn't want me here. But I wanted to be here, so I said the first thing that came to mind.

"Some water would be nice." I offered a tentative smile, remembering that smiles equaled increased generosity. Lydia blinked at me. Then she shook her head slightly. "You are so weird," she muttered, heading out of the room and down a set of stairs.

I rocked back and forth from my toes to my heels, looking around her room. She had a messy desk, covered with books and textbooks and lots of weird bottles with colored powdery looking stuff. Her closet was impeccably organized, though, which didn't make much sense compared to the chaos on her desk. Plus, there were more shoes in there than I had ever seen in my life. Turning my attention away from her footwear, I traced a finger down the page of an open notebook on Lydia's desk, identifying it as this week's math notes. Only hers were way better than mine, and she wasn't even doing the same stuff as our class was. I was still studying the notes when a voice startled me.

"Who are you?" a woman demanded, sounding affronted. I looked up quickly, seeing her in the doorway. She was dressed in a business jacket and skirt, with tall heels to match. It was fancy. Plus, her stance and tone were exactly like Lydia's.

"I'm AJ," I answered, slightly at a loss for words. "Who are you?"

She looked slightly shocked, which told me that probably wasn't what I was supposed to ask. "I'm Lydia's mother," she said, miffed. Oh. Yeah, I could see the resemblance. "What are you doing here?"

My brain spun quickly as I came up with an excuse for why I was here. My eyes settled on the notebook under my hand, and I held up the notes. "Lydia's trying to keep me from failing math," I said mournfully. I guess my face was pitiful enough, because Lydia's mother relaxed a little. Then her brow wrinkled.

"How did you get…" she began, turning her head sideways to look down the stairs in confusion.

Lydia saved me, brushing past her mother into the room with a quick glance at the notes I was holding up. "AJ and I are very busy, Mom. The poor boy simply isn't cut out for math class." I nodded in utter agreement, and Lydia's mother shook her head slightly as if dropping the issue.

"I'll leave you two alone, then," she said, turning and heading down the stairs.

Once she was gone, Lydia stuffed a bottle of water into my hand and took her notes away from me. "If you wanted help with math, you could have just asked. Normal people don't just show up and knock on the window, you know?"

"I was a coyote for eight years," I told her, figuring that was a good enough excuse. I also didn't tell her that I couldn't care less about help with math, but since I had no other reason to be here, I just went with it.

"Well, you're human now. Act like it," came her reprimand. I scowled. Then she hit me with the wammy. "Since you're here, we might as well study," she added, waving the notes in front of me. My scowl deepened.

I let out a horrible groan and flopped backwards onto Lydia's bed. She snorted. "You're going to have to learn this eventually, AJ." She sat on the bed beside me, and I wondered if playing dead would work. She flicked my ear, hard.

"Ow," I complained, sitting up. Lydia just gave me a steady look. Then my shoulders slumped and I took the notes from her, ready to get started.

Time passed more quickly than I would have thought. Lydia tried walking me through the basics of the chapter, but I was completely lost. So she started over, taking me back to review the most simple math components.

After that, we went back to the chapter, and things were a little easier to get the hang of. It made more sense when she explained than when the teacher did. Plus, I liked listening to her more than the teacher, and she said things in ways that I understood.

When we had gotten to the end of the notes, she pulled out a piece of paper and started writing problems on it. When she was done, I took the pencil from her and tried my best to work through them. I guess I was completely engrossed, because I didn't even notice that Lydia had left the room until she came back with what looked like a giant breakfast burrito.

Henry used to make them when he forgot about breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner, really. Only, his were full of eggs and cheese. Lydia's looked like it had a bunch of lettuce and white squishy stuff. It also smelled weird.

Lydia sat down on the bed again, drawing her feet up under her. "What?" she asked defensively, when I gave her burrito a wrinkled nose. "It's a tofu wrap." I rubbed a hand under my nose, trying to ignore the smell. "Oh, please," she snorted, taking a large bite just to spite me.

I stuck my tongue in the corner of my mouth, finishing the last of the problems and handed her the finished paper. Her problems looked neat and clear, while my numbers and calculations were messy and chaotic, but I had still finished, and that meant something. She plucked the sheet from my fingers, examining it critically while chewing. When she finished chewing and swallowed, she drew a line through one of my answers and nodded. "All of these are right except number six, which was just a miscalculation. But good job, you understood the basic equations."

For some reason, that made a warm feeling bloom in my chest. I grinned at her, and she gave me a matching smile. Then she offered me a bite of her wrap. I shook my head, pulling a face as I folded the paper and tucked it into my pocket. Then I fell onto my back, closing my eyes and putting my hands over my head in victory.

She laughed softly before going quiet. A minute later, she broke the silence. "How come you never eat lunch? Is it because the cafeteria is too noisy...or just that you don't have food?" She asked the last part really tentatively, which made me feel like that was a tricky area of conversation.

"I'm not hungry at lunch time," I told her honestly, opening one eye to look at her. She pursed her lips, picking at a piece of tofu on her plate.

"Are you ever? Hungry, I mean." Another tricky question. I wasn't sure why it mattered, but clearly the topic was of some kind of importance, judging from her guarded tone.

I shrugged. "With Derek? No. He...takes care of me." It was was the truth. With Henry, it had been hit and miss. With the Eichen House, most of the time I had been full to the point of feeling sick. But with Derek? He never withheld food, never forced me to eat more than I wanted. It was just...easy…with him.

I think Lydia was relieved, because she stood up and the gravity of the situation faded. "Do you need anything else?" she asked. I didn't, but I also didn't want to leave just yet. I liked it here. I liked the clean, happy smell. I liked how it was warm. I liked when Lydia talked to me, when her forehead creased and when her eyes narrowed in concentration.

"I don't understand economics," I said truthfully.

She groaned, but her heart wasn't in it. "It's a good thing you're cute," she muttered, walking out the door with her dirty plate.

Economics didn't go quite as well as math had. After a long, arduous attempt at teaching me, Lydia slammed the laptop shut and declared me a lost cause. The clock beside the bed said it was nine, and it was dark outside.

She scowled. "It's late. Shouldn't you go home or something?"

I fell backwards on the bed again and flung an arm over my eyes. She poked a finger into my ribs, but I didn't react. "Fine," she huffed, getting up and ignoring me. I think I dozed off, because the next thing I knew, Lydia was shaking my shoulder.

"Go home," she commanded, "I need to get ready for bed." There was only a dim lamp on, which made the room seem shadowed and cozy.

"Mh-hmm," I confirmed, dragging myself into sitting position. She exited the room, and I thumped down onto the floor between the bed and the window. Somehow Derek's sweatshirt came off, and I balled it into a fashionable pillow, falling back asleep almost immediately.

The next thing I knew, a heel to the small of my back woke me, and I groaned, shifting on the floor. The foot retracted as a very unladylike yelp of surprise filled the air. Then there was a short moment of silence. "What the hell, AJ!" Lydia hissed, annoyance darkening her voice. "I told you to go home. Why are you still here? Go home!"

"No," I mumbled mulishly, dropping my head back onto Derek's wadded up sweatshirt and closing my eyes. There was a creak, and I cracked an eye open. The silhouette of wild hair appeared over the edge of the tall bed.

"Unbelievable," Lydia groused, more to herself than me, I think. She wasn't really mad, though, because a few seconds later, a blanket dropped over me.

The next time she woke me, I wasn't very compliant. "AJ, school starts in two hours," she whispered. "Get out of my room." It was a bit lighter then, but I still didn't want to get up.

"Okay," I think I mumbled in response. But I didn't move. I was vaguely aware of Lydia playing some music softly as she moved around the room. A long while later, Lydia yanked the blanket off, and I rooted around for it blindly.

"Seriously, get up," she said. "If you don't move in the next thirty seconds, I'm going for the ice water."

Instantly, my head filled with visions of Derek dunking me in the tub of ice water, and I sat up, prying my eyes open. "Gimme back the blanket," I complained.

"Ice water," Lydia chided. "Twenty two, twenty one, twenty, nineteen..."

I scrambled clumsily to my feet. She pushed my shoes into my hands and shoved me towards the window. I hopped on one foot, slipping the shoes on. Then I clambered out the window and onto the roof. I didn't bother with climbing down, I just jumped. Then I started running, remembering that my backpack was still at Derek's.

I tried very hard not to think about Derek also being there.

The run was probably the best thing I could have done for myself. By the time I reached Derek's loft, I was calm. There was no sickness left in my body, no restless adrenaline, and no cagey impatience. My gait was good, and I was ready to be back at school. Well, physically ready. Mentally, I still longed for my woods to run in.

Still, if I could survive whatever wrath Derek was going to unleash upon me, then at least I would be able to go to school and hang out with Lydia and the others.

Pulling the door open, I was immediately greeted with stony silence. Derek was here, I could tell. The silence meant he knew I was here, too. Soft, predatory footsteps sounded in the kitchen, and soon enough I was faced with his majesty Sour Wolf himself. Not that I would ever call him that to his face. Only Stiles did that.

"Where were you?" he said stiffly, his voice thin and icy. It immediately put me on edge.

Did it really matter where I had been? Why should I have to justify my time to him? "Out," I said, jutting out my chin out defensively. His jaw worked, and his hands clenched into fists. Okay, maybe now was not the time to provoke him. He walked towards me, and I tried to resist the urge to shrink back from him. I'm not sure I succeeded in that area.

He loomed up in front of me, forcing me to either tilt my head back to make eye contact or just look at the ground. I went with the latter, staring at the ground as I awaited whatever he was going to do to me. "Next time you decide to go...out," he growled, "you tell me first. Do I make myself clear?"

That was it? His voice was stern, but not horribly furious. Still I waited, though, for the other shoe to drop.

It never came.

Instead of losing it and possibly hitting me, he remained perfectly calm, and his breathing never changed pace. Utter control. God, I wanted control like his. "Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?" Derek gritted. I nodded, still not making eye contact. "Get your stuff. You're late for school." And that was the last thing he said to me for the rest the morning.

School passed horridly.

The only highlight happened to be a math quiz. Normally, that would have been the breaking point for me, but since Lydia had actually helped me study last night, I was able to answer seven out of eight questions with only minor difficulty. The rest of the day still sucked, though.

Detention was much the same as before. It was just the same three of us, forced to pine our lives away as some form of punitive enlightenment. Kira's dad was our attending teacher this time, and I tried to avoid his thoughtful gaze as I dropped into the chair.

The marijuana smell was back, but this time it formed a noxious cloud around my fellow detainee. It was infinitely stronger than the other day, and I could pinpoint the exact pocket it was emanating from. As much as I disliked it, I tried to just relax and forget about it.

After a while, I slumped low at my desk, not really noticing the smell anymore. I put my head on my arms, content to just close my eyes and relax. Apparently, it was not to be. Mister Yakimura had other plans for me.

"AJ, can you tell me what year the American Revolution started?" he asked in a funny tone. It was a tricky tone, which meant that I was already supposed to know the answer. I lifted my head slowly, fighting to open my drooping eyelids and drag my mind back to the here-and-now. I only partially succeeded.

I tried to recall the numbers, which I actually remembered reading about a while ago, but had little luck. "No," I said with a snort, realizing that I really didn't care. And I didn't even care that I didn't care, which was all the better. Totally stress free. The boy sitting on my left laughed a little, like my answer was funny or something.

Mister Yakimura looked disappointed, but then he brightened. "That's okay. We have—" he checked his watch "—one hour and forty-two minutes to answer that question." And so his lecture began.

The other two boys groaned and dropped their head on the desk, much like I had just done a minute ago. But I remained upright. I liked Mister Yakimura, and I didn't hate history. History was about the results of peoples' motives and actions. The whole thing was rather fascinating.

I slouched low in my chair, content to nod along sagely from my hazy little bubble. I forgot about the ghouls and my heart stopping and Derek. I forgot about feeling stupid and small when I didn't understand what was happening in class after class. I just listened to Mister Yakimura talk, and for a little while, everything was good.

Of course, it didn't last. Detention ended, and the other two boys practically fled. I stood slowly, feeling like my body was really loose, and gathered my stuff. I flashed a lazy wave to Mister Yakimura and promptly ran into the door before remembering that I had to push the handle down first to open it. Doors were funny like that.

The main hallway was teaming with students, which I realized was from sports practice ending. More specifically cross-country. I walked out in a throng of them, content to exit the school while riding a wave of their talkative excitement. They smelled like sweat and running and happiness, and I flashed back to Derek asking if I wanted to joined the cross-country team. If he asked me again, I was totally going to say yes.

Derek was parked right in front, leaning on the side of the car. I evaluated him carefully, trying to judge if it was safe to get a ride home with him. His arms were crossed and his face blank, which told me nothing. I decided to walk, just in case. The sun was out, and it was a beautiful day, so it wasn't that big of deal.

I barely made it three feet down the sidewalk before I heard Derek's growled warning. "Don't even think about it." It was low and soft, and no one heard it but me. I turned on my heel and schmooped over to the car, sliding low in the seat like a guilty noodle.

Derek started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. I rolled down the window and played my fingers through the air, finding it oddly delightful as my hand was pushed up and down by the breeze. Derek said nothing, but I didn't miss the weird, eye narrowed looks he threw my way. I just didn't care. Come to think of it, I didn't care about a whole bunch of things.

Except Lydia. Hmm-hmmm-hmmm. Yeah. I liked Lydia. I liked her smile, liked the way she smelled, liked the sound of her voice.

"Ok, what is going on with you?" Derek demanded, twisting in his seat and breaking me out of my contemplation.

"Nothin'," I snarked, my easy grin fading into a scowl. "Wha's going on with you, Sour Wolf?" I'd heard Stiles call Derek that once when talking to Scott, but I never thought it would ever come rolling off my tongue to Derek's face.

Derek's nostrils flared as he inhaled slightly, and his confused look faded into utter disbelief. "You have got to be kidding me," he said darkly.

He leaned in further, and I leaned away, not sure where this was going.

"You're high," he said in disgust.

"Noooo," I protested happily, staring out the window, not sure what high really meant. Then I remembered the marijuana stench, and it made me wonder if maybe my absurd relaxation wasn't a bit too sudden to be normal. "It's verreh possible," I amended congenially, thinking Derek probably knew what he was talking about.

Then I held my hands up helplessly. "'S not my fault. I didn't even want to go to school," I reported. "You said all growly 'Getcher stuff. You're late for school.'" I imitated his voice roughly with my own, but I don't think it helped jog his memory. He looked unamused.

"Just…shut up," Derek said sharply, turning back to the road. I rolled my eyes, because I hadn't been the one to initiate the conversation in the first place. Then I squirmed in my seat, wondering if that was more of a suggestion than an order. Because I was really hungry all of a sudden, and I really wanted some food.

"I'm—" I began.

"AJ, one more word and I swear—" Derek growled.

"—starving," I blurted out, unable to hold the word in despite interrupting his promise of imminent violence.

Derek's eyebrows shot up, and I think my statement was good for shock value if nothing else. He didn't even finish his threat. I stayed quiet the rest of the ride, knowing better than to call his bluff.

When we reached the warehouse, I walked up the stairs slowly, kind of enjoying the sound my feet made against the metal. Derek trailed behind me, but I forgot about him. At least I did until he threatened to throw me over the railing if I didn't hurry up. His voice seemed a bit strangled, though, when he said it, so I didn't hold it against him.

Once inside, I flopped onto my back on the couch, letting out a huge sigh. God, I felt great. No worries, no sickness. I wish I could feel like this all the time. Plus, Derek went into the kitchen, which made me very, very happy. "Detention is hawesome," I said with a breathy sigh, putting it out there for the world to hear.

Derek appeared with a plastic container in his hands. He pulled the lid off and handed it to me with a fork. It was my pancake—the one with only one bite missing. I scarfed it down, unable to eat slowly and savor it. It was gone before I knew it, and I really wanted more. So I gave Derek—bringer of pancakes—an expectant look. He raised an eyebrow, but I persisted. "No," he said, with a small shake of his head.

I scowled, squinting one eye nearly shut. "I'm..." I pointed my fork at him, hunting for the word he'd used once. Finally, it came to me. "I'm malnourished," I said. "You have to feed me."

"You'll make yourself sick if I give you any more," Derek firmly. His arms were crossed, which usually meant he was going to put his foot down on an issue.

I flopped back onto the couch, throwing a hand over my eyes. "I don't care," I complained, not concerned in the least about overeating. "I'm hungry."

"You're not hungry, you're high," Derek rationalized. "And I'm not going to clean up your puke again, so stop asking."

I let out a persecuted groan, but in truth, I'd already moved on from food. What I wanted now was something different. I'd already identified that me being high did not make Derek happy, so the best way to make myself normal again was...

"Running," I said. "Imma go running."

Derek snorted. "Not after that stunt you pulled last time, you're not."

"Screw you," I called obnoxiously, knowing that's what guys said to each other in the hallways all the time at school when they weren't happy about something.

"Excuse me?" his tone had gone brittle, which told me that maybe I shouldn't have said that.

Still, he didn't understand. He never understood.

"Understand what?" Derek said quietly. Had I said that outloud? Whoops.

I was tired now, and feeling a little less happy and floaty. A dull ache popped up and disappeared intermittently behind my eyes, even though they were closed and had an arm flung across them. "I gotta run," I whispered. "Running is like breathing."

"Go to sleep, AJ," Derek said with a long-suffering sigh.

"'M not tired," I said sullenly. But just a few minutes later, I did just that.