Disclaimer: I do NOT own any parts of Teen Wolf or its plot or characters. I do not own Derek Hale. However I do own Skylar McCall and some of the things that come along with her plot (Like Harv & Kelly's, etc.).
☽❁☾
I wake up in a clearing—a familiar clearing, in the preserve. My body gently lays flat on my back, the dirt feeling like a pillow as my eyes peel open. In Beacon Hills it rarely snows, but a few flakes drift through the tree tops here and there, glistening in the tiny bit of sunlight peeking through the clouds. I sit up, getting a head rush as I do so, and look around. It is daytime, yet the shadows of the forest still project an eerie atmosphere. I'm scared but I don't know why.
In the distance, wolves howl—hundreds of them it sounds like. I spring to my feet as the sunlight drifts completely behind the clouds and the clearing darkens. A tree branch snaps behind me and I turn, and then another snaps behind me and I turn again. Glowing red eyes stare back at me, menacing, and I back up. The wolf emerges, stalking towards me on all fours, just as monstrous as it was the night it bit my brother. I hear footsteps running towards us—sounding human, but at an inhumanly fast pace.
A figure rushes into the clearing, and it takes me a moment to realize who it is. The coined leather jacket is what gives the identity away. On Derek's face is an expression I've never seen on him before: fear. Not just fear—terror. His green eyes lock onto mine with desperation, and he looks between me and the wolf.
"You can't take her!" he shouts definitively, charging full-speed towards me, but he is too slow. The wolf crosses the distance between us in seemingly no time and opens his large jaw, fitting my entire shoulder in his mouth and digging his teeth into my chest and shoulder blade. This is when I realize that this is all a dream, because this type of pain is something I have only ever experienced in a dream state.
Despite knowing it's not real, I can't gain control over any of it. I fall to the dirt and Derek catches me as I do so, the emotions so clear on his face that it only confirms that this is not real life. The wolf has disappeared, leaving just us here. Derek's eyes water but no tears drip down his cheeks. Even in a dream he refuses to show that type of weakness. He brushes my hair out of my face and leans down close to me in the best embrace he can given the circumstances, and he apologizes over and over again, until finally I snap back to reality.
When I open my eyes, my face is wet. What a wild dream, I think to myself. It really came out of nowhere. One of the things that bothers me the most: why did my brain separate Derek and the wolf? Consciously I am aware that they are the same person. Maybe for a born werewolf it is different, I think, remembering Scott telling me that the two are not the same. Maybe for them it is more like having two separate identities: human and wolf. Maybe that's why I can never get a real read on Derek as a person.
By the time I've gotten up and gotten ready for school, Scott comes into my room and—surprise—he tells me about a crazy dream he had as well. Though his was a bit different. It was about Allison, which, ew, but it ended with him shifting into a wolf and attacking her in one of the school buses. Literally ripping her to shreds—which is concerning, considering he's supposed to go out with her tomorrow night.
Stiles picks us up for school today, hooking our bikes up to the back so we can go to work after school. Scott spends the entire ride there explaining his dream again—this time providing more detail about him and Allison that I definitely could have lived without knowing. I practically leap out of the car when we get to school, Stiles waiting as we hook our bikes up to the rack and walk in.
"So you killed her?" Stiles asks once we get into the motion of maneuvering through the halls together. Scott leads us in the direction of the bus entrance, thinking maybe he'll remember a little more of the dream if he can see the setting in person. Personally, I don't think he needs to remember any more details.
"I don't know." Scott shrugs. "I just woke up. And I was sweating like crazy and I couldn't breathe. I've never had a dream where I woke up like that before."
"Really?" Stiles smirks. "I have. Usually ends a little differently though."
"Ew, Stiles." I cringe, shoving him as he chuckles to himself.
"A—I meant that I've never had a dream that felt that real," Scott says. "And B—never give me and my sister that much detail about you in bed again."
"Noted." Stiles sighs. "Let me take a guess here though—"
"No, I know. You think it has something to do with me going out with Allison tomorrow. Like I'm gonna lose control and rip her throat out."
"No, of course not." Stiles shakes his head. Scott and I give him a pointed glance, and he realizes we know him too well for him to lie to us. "Yeah, that's totally it."
I sigh, shoving my way between the boys and looking at my brother. "It's gonna be fine," I tell him, despite not being sure myself. He managed to keep control around her after the game last weekend, but will it always work like that?
"See? I'm sure I speak for Skylar too when I say that we think you're handling this pretty freaking amazingly," Stiles says. I nod in agreement. "You know, it's not like there's a lycanthropy for beginners class you can take."
Scott shrugs, thinking it over momentarily. "Yeah, not a class. But, maybe a teacher."
"Derek," I clarify for Stiles, who looked confused at first. He sets his jaw in annoyance and smacks Scott upside the head. I laugh—you'd think after all the times my brother has gotten pissed and wolfed out in front of us, Stiles would be more cautious.
"Did you forget about the part where we got him tossed in jail?" he snaps incredulously.
"Yeah I know!" Scott admits. "But chasing her, dragging her to the back of the bus. It felt so real."
"How real?" he asks as we come to the bus entrance. I push open the doors and feel sick at the sight in front of me.
"Like it actually happened."
Police officers and investigators swarm one of the school buses, taking photographs and pieces of evidence. The bus is practically drenched in blood—it drips down the steps and out of the bent front door. The boys on either side of me stare at the scene with their jaws to the sidewalk, my brother looking absolutely terrified.
"I think it did," I croak, not wanting to believe my eyes.
"Allison," Scott mumbles, pivoting and scurrying back into the school.
"Scott, she's probably fine." Stiles tries to assure him. He's very emotionally unstable—he could go from worried to furious in a matter of seconds, and that would not be a good thing for us.
"She's not answering my texts," I whisper, looking down at my phone. Scott stops, spinning around to look at me incredulously. I mentally cringe—I forgot about the werewolf hearing. We start moving down the hall again, in search of the raven haired girl.
As we continue passing by groups of students, none of them being Allison, Scott's frustration grows. He walks faster, disappearing around a corner. As Stiles and I rush after him, we watch him let out a loud groan and punch a locker, which bends it so much that I'm surprised it's even still attached to its hinges. I go to rush after him, help him calm down as he backs away in awe of what he did, but then I notice the girl he's about to back into—Allison. I breathe a sigh of relief. He didn't hurt her. So is this a coincidence? Because from the looks of that bus, someone really did get hurt last night.
"Attention students, this is your principal," an affirmative voice rings out over the intercom. "I know you're all wondering about the incident that occurred last night in one of our buses, but while the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as scheduled. Thank you."
A collective groan sounds from everyone in the hallway. A day off would be great. The weekend was unbelievably dissatisfying, as I spent Saturday panicking over Scott and Sunday was spent catching up on late work.
"Let's get to chem." Stiles grabs my attention, tugging on the sleeve of my jacket.
We take our seats just as the bell rings, Mr. Harris giving us a nasty look. None of us are really sure why, but Mr. Harris hates Scott, Stiles, and I. Stiles especially, for some reason. Any chance he gets to give us a referral or send us to the office he takes full advantage of. I've met with the principal on three separate occasions just in the last few months.
Scott, who is my lab partner thanks to the alphabetical seating chart, turns around in his seat to talk to Stiles while Mr. Harris is writing something on the board.
"Maybe it was my blood on the door," Scott suggests quietly.
"Could've been animal blood." Stiles nods, pausing from his melodramatic underlining in his chemistry book.
"Maybe you caught a rabbit or something," I whisper, not wanting to catch the teacher's attention.
Scott's eyes widen. "And did what?"
"Ate it." I cringe at the mental image.
"Raw?" Scott looks between me and our best friend, his lips curling in disgust.
"No, you stopped to bake it in a little werewolf oven," he retorts sarcastically. I notice Mr. Harris staring the three of us down. "I don't know, you're the one who can't remember anything!"
"Mr. Stilinski," Mr. Harris calls him out. He literally has a smile on his face. Bothering us is way too pleasing for him. "If that's your idea of a hushed whisper, you might want to pull the headphones out once in a while." Stiles scoffs as he continues. "I think you three could benefit from a little distance, yes?"
"No." The three of us drop our jaws, trying to protest. He still moves my brother and my friend away from me, one to the front and one to the back.
"Let me know if the separation anxiety gets to be too much." Mr. Harris ends the snarky comment with a mocking grin. Stiles and I both give him a fake laugh. The second the two boys sit down, I raise my hand politely. Mr. Harris stares at me, looking as if he would literally rather stab himself in the eye than hear what I have to say.
"Mr. Harris?" I give him a fake smile. "The separation anxiety has gotten to be too much."
Scott and Stiles both stifle their laughs as Mr. Harris opens his mouth, no doubt to send me to the office for my comment.
"I think they found something!" A girl sitting in the front by Scott stands up, rushing to the window where we conveniently have a view of the gory scene from earlier. The whole class including me follows, trying to catch a glimpse of anything. We all watch as two paramedics wheel a flat stretcher with a body on it over to a waiting ambulance.
"That's not a rabbit," Scott, who somehow made his way next to me, whispers fearfully. The body was so still I almost thought he was dead, but he suddenly shoots up, letting out a frantic scream. I jump, clutching onto Scott in surprise as the entire class stumbles back, a few kids letting out a shriek. Scott staggers backwards, not breaking eye contact with the ambulance.
"Hey, this is good, this is good," Stiles says reassuringly. "He got up, he's not dead. Dead guys can't do that."
"Guys," Scott whispers, looking between the two of us in utter defeat. "I did that."
☽❁☾
At lunch time, a press release video reveals that the victim from the bus incident was actually Scott and I's old bus driver, Harrison Meyers, which makes this whole situation even more confusing. Was he attacked because of his connection to Scott? There's no way all of this was just a coincidence. There has to be some correlation here.
Scott has been debating all day whether or not to cancel his date with Allison, but somehow, despite the fact that I don't think it's a good idea either, Stiles and I manage to convince him not to. Truthfully, he shouldn't have to cancel his entire life because of this, although it is a dumb idea to date the daughter of a man who wants to kill him.
Usually we sit alone at lunch, but today Lydia and her crew decided to join—to talk about "our" plans for tomorrow night. I guess Allison made the mistake of mentioning her date to Lydia. Something I had to learn the hard way: if you don't want Lydia there, don't mention it, because if she wants to go, she will. She also took the liberty of inviting her boyfriend, and me as well, although she knows better than to think she can control what I do at this point.
Since they hadn't decided on exactly what they were going to do, she suggested bowling. Now, before Scott got the bite, he was a terrible bowler. Whether or not the dramatic improvement in lacrosse skills will translate to bowling is up in the air for right now, but somehow they did all agree on that activity for their newfound double date.
The second the three of us got the chance to run away from that table, we took it. I love Lydia to death but she is a different person when she's with her crew, and we don't get along as well. I could tell during the conversation that Scott was pretty upset at the sudden change in plans, but having some common sense I'd assumed it was because he wouldn't be alone with Allison anymore. As the three of us emerge from our last class of the day, I realize I'm incorrect.
Stiles matches the disappointment radiating from my brother. "It was like watching a car wreck. First it turned into the whole group date thing, and then out of nowhere comes that phrase—"
"'Hanging out'!" Scott throws his arms up in disbelief.
"Do you guys really worry about that phrase?" I wonder out loud. I never thought there was anything wrong with it.
"Yes! Okay, you don't just hang out with hot girls!"
"Well, girls definitely hang out with hot boys," I murmur to myself, but Scott stops walking and I bump into him. He turns as I rub my nose.
"You hang out with hot boys?" He quirks an eyebrow in concern.
"No." I shake my head and he looks relieved. "I mean, you don't think Jace Evans is hot, do you?"
Scott opens his mouth to reply but must decide it's not worth getting worked up over right now. He continues walking, the three of us slowly making it back to the main entrance.
"Look, Scott, once it's hanging out, you might as well be her gay best friend," Stiles says, and my brother spares me a glance.
"I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that statement."
"Be both," I tell him as we continue walking. "Because that's not true."
"Yes it is," Stiles disagrees. "You and Danny can start hanging out."
"How is this happening? I either killed a guy or I didn't!" Scott stresses, running a hand through his hair.
"Actually I haven't talked to Jace in a while," I ponder, pursing my lips.
"I don't think Danny likes me very much." Stiles frowns.
I nod, pursing my lips. "I think you're right."
"I ask Allison on a date and now we're hanging out?" Scott scoffs.
"Am I not attractive to gay guys?" Stiles wonders, eyes wide.
"Stiles, you're barely attractive to straight girls," I retort.
"I make first line and the team captain wants to destroy me and now—now I'm gonna be late for work!" Scott suddenly notices the time, taking off to his bike outside.
Stiles smirks at me, giving me a theatrical wink. "So you think I'm attractive?"
I can't help but chuckle, heading outside to my bike.
"C'mon, Skylar! Admit it! I'm hot!" he yells after me. I look over my shoulder and watch Danny give him a weird look as he passes by.
"I'll admit it if you give me a lift to work." I negotiate as he finally catches up to me.
He holds up his keys with a grin. "Done."
☽❁☾
"Skylar, will you please just come with me? I biked all the way here," Scott complains as I untie my apron, hanging it back up on the employee hook at work.
"You biked here for food. Not me," I point out.
"C'mon, you're just gonna go home anyway, right?" he presses as I come out from the back. I lean against an empty booth.
"Yeah, so I can actually maybe get more than four hours of sleep tonight," I say. "Plus, I'm not helping you manipulate Mom into getting the car."
"Why not?" he asks as Abby comes out from the kitchen, handing Scott the to-go bag he ordered for Mom. "C'mon, Sky, she likes you more."
"I don't care!" I exclaim, letting out a laugh. "Say that one more time though."
"She likes you more!" he admits again, putting his hands together in a praying stance. "Now will you please?"
"This is gonna be so much exercise," I whine under my breath, finally having given in.
Scott grins as he gets his way, the two of us leaving the diner and hopping on our bikes. By the time we reach the hospital, I'm sweating and out of breath. Scott's just fine though—he practically skips his way through the automatic doors, eager to manipulate our mom. He hands the bag to me for effect and I roll my eyes. We find her quickly, standing behind one of the nurse's desks.
She grins when she sees us, setting down a clipboard and fixing her bun. "Is my beautiful, talented, wonderful daughter bringing me dinner?"
I snort, handing the bag off to Scott.
"Told you," he mutters.
"It was Scott's idea, actually," I tell her. Her jaw drops in exaggerated shock.
"I thought you wouldn't mind skipping the cafeteria tonight," Scott lies smoothly.
"You are the most thoughtful, loving—" Mom starts, and Scott grins, thinking he has her. "—most conniving little con artist ever. You are so not getting the car tomorrow night."
Scott's jaw goes slack in disappointment. "Mom."
"What? There's a curfew, no car." She rubs hand sanitizer on, smirking at us as she plucks the bag from Scott's grasp. "But I will take this. Love you!"
"Love you too," I call after her as she walks away.
"Love you too," Scott mutters under his breath. "Unbelievable."
We start to walk back outside when Scott abruptly stops, pivoting back around. I frown, watching his gaze steady on a hallway.
"Scott, what is it?" I ask him.
"It's him," he whispers, and starts walking down the hallway towards the patient's rooms.
"Who?"
"Meyers." He stops in front of a door in the ICU, pushing it open and slipping inside. I go to follow but he stops me.
"What?" I frown.
"Stay out here," he instructs. "I'll just be a second."
Before I can say anything more he shuts the door in my face, and I'm left to wait. Less than a minute later I hear yelling, and I shove open the door to see a bloody Mr. Meyers grabbing at Scott's sleeve and seizing. Someone shoves past me, and I recognize her as our mom.
"What the hell are you two doing in here? Get out! Go!" she yells, shooing us away. Scott tramples over his own feet, he's so freaked out.
"I think we need to make a pit stop on the way home," Scott mutters as we exit the hospital.
"Where?" I ask.
"Derek's," he replies, and after that he says nothing.
I debate going home alone but I don't want to bike that far by myself at this time of night. The two of us head toward's the Hale house, my mind racing with thoughts of my own dream. The whole thing was just weird—it was almost like it had no real significance to me. . . Like it wasn't even mine. I honestly didn't care much when I got bit. Obviously, consciously I don't want that to happen, but I wasn't really emotionally invested in the outcome of the dream. But Derek was.
We drop our bikes in front of the porch, neither of us knowing for sure if he's even here.
"Stay behind me," Scott orders quietly. Scott raises his voice, staring at the seemingly vacant house. "I know you can hear me. I need your help."
Slowly, we make our way onto the porch in front of the door. Somehow he manages to appear in front of us without either of us seeing which direction he came from—as always.
"Okay, I know we were part of you getting arrested," Scott starts. Derek just stares at him blankly. "And that we basically announced you being here to the hunters. Also, I don't know what happened to your sister, but I think I did something last night. I had a dream about—someone—but someone else got hurt. And it turns out that part of the dream might have actually happened."
"You think you attacked the driver?" he asks bluntly, seemingly caught up with our current issue.
"Did you see what I did last night?"
"No."
"Can you at least tell me the truth?" Scott pauses, sending me a side glance. "Am I gonna hurt someone?"
Derek looks at me too, his face forever a blank expression. "Yes."
"Could I kill someone?"
"Yes."
"Am I gonna kill someone?"
"Probably," Derek admits. Scott leans against a charred wooden support. "Look, I can show you how to remember. I can show you how to control the shifts, even on a full moon. But it's not gonna come for free."
"What do you want?" he mutters. My heart sinks. My poor brother is utterly miserable. For the first time I realize how he must feel when he loses control. He's the one who has to live with the guilt. All I have to do is support him, and try to help him gain control.
"You'll find out," Derek assures him. "But for now, I'm gonna give you what you want. Go back to the bus. Go inside. See it. Feel it. Let your senses—your sight, smell, touch—let them remember for you."
"That's it?" I raise an eyebrow. Derek's green eyes lock on mine. "Just have him go back?"
"Do you want to know what happened?" he asks us.
"I just want to know if I hurt him," Scott replies.
"No you don't," Derek disagrees. He gestures to me. "You want to know if you'll hurt her. If you'll hurt Allison. Stiles."
Scott looks down, knowing he's right. Derek turns on his heel, walking back inside the house without another word.
"Let's go." Scott tugs me away, back towards our bikes. "And call Stiles."
Stiles picks us up from our house after we drop our bikes off, and I find myself at school for the second time today. We park outside the gated lot and Scott gets out. Stiles follows him, and from inside the jeep I watch the two debate, waving arms at me in the car and to the bus that's still sectioned off with police tape. After a minute Stiles comes stomping back to the jeep, mumbling things under his breath, and Scott jumps the gate.
"We're Robin, you know that?" he tells me bitterly. I roll my eyes, something I tend to do a lot around Stiles.
"Sure."
We watch from afar as Scott hesitantly approaches the bus. He swoops under the caution tape and inside the bus. The time ticks by slowly as we wait for him to finish whatever it is he is doing in there. After about ten minutes, a bright light emerges from the other side of the bus. Stiles sees it too, the both of us sharing a glance. Someone's coming.
"What do we do?" I panic. We have to get Scott out of there now.
Stiles shrugs, slamming down on the horn. Within seconds Scott emerges from the bus and starts running inhumanly fast back to the jeep, jumping on a car and flipping over the fence.
"Show off," I mumble as Scott gets in the car. Stiles reverses and takes off before Scott even has time to shut his door.
"Did it work? Did you remember?" Stiles asks, his voice still shakey from the adrenaline rush.
"Yeah, I was there last night. And the blood, none of it was mine." Scott frowns.
"So you did attack him?" I ask, my heart dropping. That poor guy is so torn up, so broken. If it was my brother's fault, I don't know how to feel.
"No!" Scott yells, almost like he's offended. I sigh in relief. "I saw glowing eyes on the bus. But they weren't mine. It was Derek."
"What about the driver?" Stiles asks.
"I think I was actually trying to protect him," he tells us, and I smile. That's the brother of mine that I know and love—not the guy who attacked Stiles and I in the locker rooms.
"Wait, why would Derek help you remember that he attacked the driver?" I realize, raising an eyebrow. Derek's been saying that he needs Scott on his side, and admitting he attacked the driver is not the way to achieve that.
"That's what I don't get!" Scott sighs.
"It's gotta be a pack thing," Stiles says, struggling to keep his eyes on he road.
"What do you mean?"
"Like an initiation. You do the kill together," he suggests.
"Because ripping someone's throat out is a real bonding experience?" Scott retorts sarcastically.
"For psychotic werewolves, I guess." I shrug. There's really no good explanation for all this—I still feel as though there are pieces of information being withheld.
"Anyway, you didn't do it! You're not a killer. And it also means—" Stiles starts, but Scott cuts him off with a grin.
"I can go out with Allison." Happiness floods Scott's features.
"I was gonna say that you won't kill Skylar and I." Stiles rolls his eyes.
"Oh yeah," Scott says with a nod. "That, too."
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A/N: