Dark Side of the Moon

“I still don’t think you should be here,” Stiles argued. I threw my head back and let out a loud, exasperated sigh.

“I’m going to have to agree with Stiles on this one,” Scott said defiantly. “Especially after what happened last night.”

I hooked arms between Stiles and Scott to keep them going. We were back in the forest looking for Scott’s inhaler that he dropped. I refused to be afraid of coming back in here and (against Scott and Stiles’ wishes) I came along to retrieve the inhaler.

“I’m perfectly fine. I’m here with two strong, capable men,” I tried reassuring them but they weren’t buying it.

“You are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” Stiles snorted, “You know that, right?”

“It’s crossed my mind,” I released their arms and walked ahead.

“Let’s just drop this.” Scott reconciled, “The faster we find my inhaler, the faster we get her out of here.”

“I’m not some helpless child!” I cried, swerving around to glare at them. “I can take care of myself.” We all just stared at each other for a few moments before Scott bent down and sifted through the leaves and dirt. Stiles huffed with annoyance but said nothing.

“I found it!” Scott announced fifteen minutes later. Stiles sighed in relief. He had taken to standing extremely close to me. Whenever I walked, he would too, like we were attached by some invisible string.

“Let’s go,” He said anxiously. He waited for me to start walking back to the jeep but I crossed my arms resolutely and raised my eyebrows. He jerked his head to the direction of his jeep, expectantly.

I rolled my eyes but as soon as I started walked, Stiles grabbed my arm. “I thought we were going.” I growled but Stiles’ and Scott’s attention was elsewhere. I nervously glanced to where they were looking; half-terrified (and half-hoping) it was the wolf.

I turned around to see a familiar face. His smoldering blue eyes were studying us with an intensity that made me fidget. He had changed drastically since moving away ten years ago after the accident. I chanced a glance at Stiles and we were both wondering the same thing, ‘What the hell was Derek Hale doing back in Beacon Hills?’.

Having parents who were so in involved in the community gave me and Stiles the knowledge of everything that went on in this city. My family founded Beacon Hills (and ingeniously named it after us) and the power had passed down through the generations of politicians to my father. Stiles’ father has only been the sheriff for four years but he had been on the force since before we were born. Whether we were eavesdropping on our fathers’ conversations or saw the scene first hand, we knew what was what in this town.

Scott, however, had moved to Beacon Hills after his parent’s divorce when we were seven and his mother didn’t hold a position of power. She was a night nurse at the local hospital. Sometimes I wished my father was normal like Scott’s mom, but my dad would be lost without the power. I loved my dad, but after my mother passed away he threw himself into keeping the rest of the citizens of Beacon Hills safe, instead of being there for me.

“What are you doing here?” The newcomer demanded gruffly, striding towards us. “This is private property.”

“Sorry, man.” Stiles hand gripped tighter around my arm, “We didn’t know.”

“We were just looking for something,” Scott said. “But, forget it.”

Derek chucked something at Scott so fast I couldn’t tell what it was. But the unsettling thing was the quickness of Scott’s reaction to catch it. He opened his hand to reveal his inhaler. Derek scrutinized Scott with his deep blue eyes, expecting something. I couldn’t tell if he had found what he was looking for but he veered around and left with almost inhuman speed. I frowned, watching him leave.

“I gotta go. I’m gonna be late for work.” Scott said, breaking the silence.

“Dude, don’t you know who that was?” Stiles exclaimed, hitting Scott in the stomach lightly.

Scott shook his head, looking confused. “Derek Hale.” I said softly. Stiles waited for me to say something more but I didn’t.

“His family burned to death in that horrible fire—”

“Ten years ago.” Scott finished, understanding immediately. They both looked at me anxiously.

“Guys, it was ten years ago.” I sniffed. I couldn’t help but avoid their pitiful looks. “I’m over it.”

“You lost your mom. You barely even survived—.” Stiles reminded me.

“So when did you develop cat-like reflexes, Scott?” I changed the subject so abruptly that he was taken aback.

“I don’t know,” He scrunched up his brows.

“Yeah, and tryouts yesterday and today?” Stiles added, “You’ve never played goalie a day in your life and suddenly you’re Brian Dougherty!”

“I don’t know what it was,” Scott exclaimed, “It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball!”

Stiles and I listened as we walked back to the jeep.

“And that’s not the only weird thing….” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “I hear stuff I shouldn’t be able to hear—”

“--like people’s thoughts?” I asked abruptly.

He shook his head quickly and went on, “Like conversations from far away and whispers. I smell things—”

“Smell things?” Stiles asked disbelievingly, “Like what?”

“Like that Solstice gum in your pocket.” He explained, giving Stiles a meaningful look. We all stopped suddenly.

“I don’t have any Solstice gum—” He chuckled, rummaging through his jacket until he pulls out some 5 Gum. We stared at Scott in awe as he lifted up his hands, as if to confirm the truth of what he was saying. He started again as we followed.

“So this is all from a bite?” I asked incredulously. “Did you perhaps get a wolf confused with a radioactive spider?”

“What if it’s like an infection, like my bodies flooding on adrenaline before I go into shock or something?” He said in a rushed, distraught voice, ignoring my glib remarks.

“You know what,” Stiles nodded understandingly, “I actually think I’ve heard of this, it’s a specific type of infection.”

Scott whipped around, smacking into me. Straightening me up again he said, “You serious?”

Stiles put his hands on his hips, nodding, “Yeah, yeah, it’s called lycanthropy.”

“Stiles,” I warned, “He’s really freaked out about this. Don’t be a dick.”

“What’s that?” Scott glanced from me to Stiles, “Is that bad?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s the worst.” Stiles continued with his dumb joke, “But only once a month.”

“Oh, stop it.” I groaned as we reached the jeep.

“Once a month?” Scott questioned skeptically.

“On the night of the full moon...” He mimicked the cry of a wolf. Scott shoved him with one hand as he opened the passenger seat door. We piled in.

“Hey,” Stiles laughed. “You’re the one who heard a wolf howling. And Mason was attacked by something wolfy.”

“There could be something seriously wrong with Scott.” I scolded as we drove off.

“I know; he’s a werewolf! Grrr!” He grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

Both Scott and I glared at Stiles. No laughs escaped our lips.

“Okay,” He shook his head, “Clearly I’m kidding.”

“Good,” I said, leaning back into my seat.

“But,” Stiles went on, his obnoxious smirk plain on his face, “if you see me in shop class melting all the silver I can find, it’s because of the full moon coming up.” I punched Stiles so hard in the arm, his jeep swerved into the other lane.

“Stop being a dick.” Scott nodded in appreciation.

“I’ll be sure you’re the first one I greet on the full moon,” Scott mumbled darkly, sarcasm pouring out of him.

“Good,” Stiles said childishly.

We sat in silence for a few minutes before I piped up, “Why do you know when the full moon is?”

He incoherently mumbled something about never knowing when the moons patterns would come in handy.