The schitzo of beacon hills (teen wolf x male oc)

(Edited) Chapter 1: The New Girl

"Get up and get ready for school." A middle aged man spits out at his son. The boy curled up on the floor, his ribs and stomach throbbing thanks to his fathers steel tipped boots.

"Yes, sir." The boy grunts out, shakily standing to his feet, his vision spinning for a second before it balances out.

The boy begins to limp to his room - his torso curled over slightly - muttering curses under his breath as he begins to feel the newly damaged tissue slowly repair itself, a painful little gift he's received because he's a supernatural being. Whatever the hell he is, none of the dead would tell him no matter how many times he asked.

"God dammit this hurts." He grunts out, lifting his shirt over his head with a silent cry. In his mirror he sees that he torso is covered with purple, green, and yellow bruises, all slowly - and painfully - healing and fading away before his eyes.

He walks over to his closet - no longer having to limp - and picks out an oversize plain black t-shirt. Throwing it over his head and sore body, he walks over to his nightstand, taking and swallowing an aspirin to help numb the pain.

Finally being able to walk without the need to grimace and curse, he leaves his room and walks downstairs, ignoring his father as the man begins to drink a beer, and walks outside, getting on his old and worn bike before peddling off to school.

On his way to school he does what he usually does. He try's to ignore the wandering dead and instead try's to focus on the passing trees. The other teenagers walking or running to school. The sun that filters down, trying to make the world less dark and dull.

Arriving at school, he ignores the usual taunts and looks of others, long since used to that fact that he's a freak and other people have no problem pointing it out.

He walks through the school halls - earphones plugged in his ears - and ignores everyone and everything. All the chattering of his fellow teens. The gross smell of cheep cologne and teenage hormones mixing together - another "perk" of being whatever he is - creating this gross smell that burns his nose. Ignoring as people push and shove each other, either with their friends or to pick on those that are weaker than them.

He ignores it all as he walks over to his locker, opening it to gather all the necessary books for his first period. But as he's rummaging through his locker, he feels something. The same feeling he gets whenever a werewolf spirit is near by, but this one's alive.

Brows furrowed, he looks over to where the feeling is strongest and sees a Latino boy with a slightly crooked jaw next to a buzz cut boy. The Latin boy is the werewolf he quickly summarises, noticing the supernatural energy intertwined with his soul - another "perk" his supernaturalness grants him.

Deciding it's none of his business, he turns back to his locker to pack everything he needs in his bag before walking to his first class, ignoring the intense stare on his back.

Scott's eyes follow the curly haired boy intently, somehow smelling him from across the hall. The boys scent is a perfect balance of what he imagines - if they had a scent - life and death would smell like. The bitter and old smell of death, perfectly intertwined with the sweet and fresh smell of life. Weirdly creating the most mouth water smell he's ever smelt, drowning out the gross smell of cheap cologne and teenage hormones - which he still doesn't understand how he can smell.

"Hello." Scott's trance gets interrupted by his friends hand waving in his face, the buzz cut boy wearing an exasperated look. "Dude, we're you paying attention?" He asks.

"No." The newly turned werewolf answers.

"What were you staring at?" Stiles asks, trying to look exactly where Scott's focus switched to, pushing his friends head back to get the perfect angle. "Dude, you were staring at a dude?" He asks, turning back to his friend when he sees the boy with dark curly hair.