Lunatics ➳ Derek Hale/Teen Wolf [1]

3. clumsy

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.).

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"I—I don't know what it was," Scott insists as we cross a small stream in the middle of the woods. Since we weren't able to find the inhaler last night—thanks to the body and the large mutant wolf that attacked us—Scott's forcing us to come out here again to look for it in the daylight. Well, he definitely didn't have to force Stiles out here. Stiles is just excited to see the body. "It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball. And that's not the only weird thing. I—I can hear stuff I shouldn't be able to hear, smell things!"

"Smell things?" Stiles wonders. "Like what?"

Scott sniffs the air for a second, shooting a glance at Stiles' jacket over his shoulder. "Like the mint mojito gum in your pocket."

"I don't even have any—" Stiles cuts himself off, searching through the pocket of his jacket and finding half a piece of gum that's probably been sitting in there for weeks.

Scott shrugs as if to say I told you so.

The gears in my head click, realizing what he's saying. "Like—like earlier." I speak up, remembering the few weird events of the day. "You heard Allison talking about the pen. And you heard what I said at practice."

Scott nods, stepping over a log.

"So, all this started with the bite?" Stiles asks as we continue through the woods.

"Yeah. What if it's like an infection? Like, my body's flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock or something?" he wonders out loud, a fearful expression crossing his features.

"I'm sure you're fine," I say, fighting back the feeling bubbling in my gut again. Normal people can't do the things my brother is doing.

"No, you know what? I actually think I've heard of this. It's a specific kind of infection," Stiles says matter-of-factly.

"Are you serious?" we ask at the same time. Stiles pauses, muttering something like, "twin telepathy," before continuing.

He places his hands on his hips. "I think it's called lycanthropy."

Lycanthropy—werewolves. I shake my head. It would make sense—the mutant wolf, the bite, the superhuman abilities—except we aren't living in a fantasy world. There is some rational explanation for what's going on.