Seventeen and counting

Baker Springs was a small state park, so small it barely rated the sign along the highway that pointed out its location. It had been created with the more urban wolves in mind, a place they could go to run and howl at the full moon. Unfortunately it had never really gained popularity and remained mostly unknown except for a few smaller packs that liked to keep it their own personal secret hunting grounds.

Stiles' discovery of Baker Springs had been a moment of shear good luck, something he was starting to think he would never have. Human thugs hired by the Argents had tracked him through town. Desperate to lose them and still weak from his accident he had ducked inside the slightly ajar cargo door of a small vendor truck, hiding behind the boxes of chips and candy bars.

He could hear the two talking as they passed by the truck and then left, voices drifting off in the distance. With a clang the door shut, locking Stiles within the darkness. At first he didn't worry knowing that at the next stop he would be able to escape but the ride took longer than expected.

By the time the door opened again Stiles was wound to the point of a panic attack, holding on to his control by mere shreds. The door rolled open letting the sunlight and the smell of pines circulate through the small bay. Holding still until the vendor unloaded the boxes was the hardest thing he had tried to do in the longest time.

Once the vendor was out of hearing range and sight as well, Stiles jumped out and made a run for it, disappearing into the sparsely wooded area where he hid until long after the truck pulled away.

There were plenty of small cabins. Each was about fourteen foot squared; enough room to comfortable fit a family at night. The cabins were screened on three sides by dark mesh that made it hard to see in but allowed one to still enjoy the view from inside. They were neat and clean and, best of all easy to break into. Running a small nail between the space between door and arch, Stiles was able to quickly jimmy the lock and let himself into the cabin, curling into a corner as his body succumb to its need to shiver and shake.

With only the werewolf's jacket to keep him warm Stiles fell into an uneasy sleep woken only by the sounds of crickets and other nocturnal animals during the darkness of night. His head felt stuffed, his throat dry, and the skin on his body seemed prickly as if he was suffering from a sun burn.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Stiles knew he was really sick but that part of him was far away, lost behind the cottony pressure and the fevered weakness of his body. The fear of dying in this shabby cabin was but a whisper among the cacophony of aches and pains with which his body screamed.

He did manage to pull himself away from where he was sleeping to throw up, losing what remained of lunch on the wooden flooring. Stiles was vaguely aware of the passing of time, the cabin became lighter with sunbeams tracing his outline on the floor and then back to dark before he was finally able to pull himself up on shaking legs and exit the cabin.

Following the curve of the road until he found the public restrooms Stiles sent a word of thanks to whoever looked after lost humans and helped himself to a long, almost warm shower. A bar of misshapen soap had been left behind and he was able to scrub away the dirt and filth that caked his thin body.

The water burned when it touched his healing cuts, forcing the dried blood down his body in dark rivulets that pooled and swirled a murky brown at his feet. His palms, elbows, and backs of his arms burned as the water ran over partly healed skin but Stiles bit his lower lip and soaped everything until he was squeaky clean.

He dried himself off with a SpongeBob towel that had been left behind and pulled on his dirty jeans and Derek's jacket. Feeling a little bit better, Stiles gathered up his belongs including the soap and the towel and went to explore his surroundings.

The cabins were in a loose circle with restrooms on either end. The nicer, obviously more desired cabins were next to a winding stream that could be heard trickling in the distance. Following a meandering path Stiles found the shallow stream to be charming; large flat boulders were spaced so that one could jump, stepping stone like, from one side of the stream to the other. Some places were deep enough to swim if the weather was warmer while others were just right for playful splashing. Easing himself down on one of the larger rocks, Stiles allowed himself a moment to imagine what it would be like to visit this place with family, with someone he loved.

Images of his mother and father were hazy, their features blurring with time but then his brain shifted to Derek. The alpha's strong jaw and amazing eyes were all but seared into Stiles mind and the image of the powerful werewolf splashing in the shallows made him smile.

Shaking off visions of things he could never have, Stiles made his way back up the path and further along the shaded road. His steps slowed as he heard voices up ahead. Moving with caution he watched as a family packed up and prepared to leave. Three children ran and tumbled while their parents finished packing the last of their supplies. The sudden switch between two legged running and a four legged lope identified the family as Born Wolves immediately.

The sharp honk of the horn had the three tumbling into the car and soon after the family pulled away. Stiles waited until he could no longer hear the engine of the vehicle and then counted to one hundred, twice. Mostly sure that they were long gone Stiles ventured into the campsite and found the mother lode.

The entire remains of their cooler had been dumped into the trash can, the meats and cheeses wrapped in plastic and still surrounded by ice. The bread was slightly crushed by the weight of the half bottle of soda but smashed bread was still bread in Stiles' opinion. Gathering everything into his towel Stiles hurried back to his side of the campsite, where he jimmied another cabin open and moved in.

The next few weeks were bountiful for Stiles. The small park had only two rangers that looked after the upkeep of the park, a young wolf and a human female. Lucky for Stiles the human seemed to do most of the checking on the campsites in his area so he didn't have to fear being found out by his scent. The two had a regular pattern and it was easy to avoid detection.

The park wasn't busy. On weekends there might be four or five families of wolves visiting but the rest of the week was quiet. At the end of Sunday, when all the wolves had packed up and left, Stiles would raid their campsites helping himself to the enormous amount of food that the wolves just threw away. The amount of trash generated during one weekend was more than enough to tide Stiles over until the next.

Along with the food Stiles found items of clothing that were left behind. Shirts and shorts were the most common but one family had somehow left behind an entire suitcase. Stiles had wisely left that alone for the first week, tucking it behind a stand of trees so that it was out of site of the park ranger. After a week he considered it fair game and helped himself to a hideous blue sweater that was made of the softest, warmest material he had ever felt and a few pairs of baggy jeans.

Even with the weather getting colder Stiles was comfortable, better off than he had been in a long time and relaxed enough to let his guard down amist a park full of wolves.

"Are you a human?" Stiles had been sitting on a large boulder soaking up the afternoon sun. The soft question had him jumping and then scrambling to not fall off the other side of the rock.

Standing beside his resting place was a young wolf no more than ten years old with a curious tilt to his curly blond head.

"Yes, I'm a human. I'm Stiles." With a standing leap the young wolf jumped effortlessly in seconds the distance Stiles had to struggle to climb. He landed crouched over Stiles' legs and pressed his nose into the crook of his neck.

"I've never seen a human up close before. The ones I see when mom takes me into the city usually smell of fear. I don't like that, it makes my nose itch. You don't smell like that. I like the way you smell."

Stiles had been too shocked to even begin to panic and the little wolf was just too cute for him to fear. "Uh…thanks? I like the way you smell too."

The cub laughed. "Humans can't smell. You're being silly."

"We can too smell. Just not as well as wolves can." The young cub slid off Stiles and sat next to him on the boulder, feet swinging off the edge. They sat side by side for a few minutes staring off into the meadows.

"Why don't humans like us?" The cub's voice was soft and almost sounded timid to Stiles' ear.

"I don't think it's that we don't like you, I think it's that we are afraid of you?"

"Why? Mom says it's our duty to protect humans, to take you into our packs and keep you safe. But none of you really want to be our pack. There's only the human's that want to be turned and they never smell as nice as you do."

"I don't know what to say to that except from my experience all the wolves I've ever met, except for one alpha, have just wanted to grind me under their thumb. None of them have ever wanted to take care of me."

"That doesn't sound right." Frowning in thought the cub pulled out a candy bar from his jacket pocket and split it with Stiles. "When I'm an alpha you can be in my pack. I'll take care of you." Suddenly the cub's head lifted and tilted as if listening. "That's my mom. I gotta go."

Stiles watched as the young wolf dropped down from the boulder and ran off back to his campsite. Swallowing a sudden lump of fear Stiles hurried back to his cabin and packed all his belongings into the small suitcase and moved to another cabin further down the lane, keeping a careful eye out for the rest of the weekend in case the young cub had told his family about the lone human he found in the park.

By the time Stiles ventured out from his new hiding place the cub's family was long gone. The camp trash cans had been emptied and for the first time since he came to Barker Springs Stiles found himself forced to dumpster dive for his dinner. Wedging the lip open with a large rock his let himself drop into the darkness. The container was filled with the sickeningly sweat smell of decay and Stiles tried to breathe through his mouth as he quickly turned over the trash. Moving aside a tattered magazine he almost missed it, the date written in small print in the top corner. The magazine was dated three days past his birthday.

With a gasp of shear relief Stiles let himself slump to the bottom of the dumpster. He was now officially eighteen and no longer the responsibility of the Pack House. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his chest.

He was safe.