Teen She-Wolf

Chapter 1 - Only At First Did It Have Its Appeal

***STILES***

When I wake up, I hear birds twittering outside my window. I never hear birds twittering outside my window. That’s probably because Beacon Hills, despite all outward appearances, is far from your ordinary, garden-variety sleepy small town. I should know. I’ve spent the better part of the last year or so discovering just how supernaturally screwed-up this place is. Not to a Twin Peaks level or anything, but then Beacon Hills doesn’t pretend to be as charming and sickeningly-fifties-sweet as Twin Peaks ever did.

I’ve always thought that usually, there’s no birds because some werewolf or other, more dangerous creature eats them all. I don’t think it would be Scott - he doesn’t have that serial-killer animal-killer thing going on. Derek probably does, but I can’t imagine him maintaining his ripped bod on a diet of however many mourning doves and robins every night. He’s much more of a red-meat kind of guy.

I pull the covers off. Because of the high altitude here, nights tend to get really cold, even in summer. Like, here it is, June 3rd, and according to the thermometer on my alarm clock, it’s only 58 degrees in my room. Which probably translates to low 40s outside. Definitely cold enough for my breath to show.

So far, this first weekend of summer vacation hasn’t been very eventful at all. In fact, Scott suggested we go see Age of Ultron today. Just him and me. It’s what he needs, after he broke up with Allison. I feel so bad for them both. What they had together was special, something I honestly don’t think I would ever experience. Especially if I keep foolishly holding out for Lydia. I know she and I don’t click that way, but you can’t fault me for continuing to carry that spark of hope in my heart, can you?

I didn’t think so.

I change out of my usual sleepwear and put on my usual street-wear. In this case, blue jeans and a Captain America T-shirt. Yeah, I’m going to be that guy, wearing a shirt advertising the movie I’m going to see. And why not? It’s perfect for the occasion.

Then my phone rings. My ringtone, “Gold” by Imagine Dragons, fills the room with its indescribably awesome sound. But seeing Scott’s name on the screen, I don’t feel quite so awesome. Scott almost never actually calls me. If he wants to talk to me, he either texts, video-chats, or actually talks to me in person. That last one’s kind of a lost art, even more so than making phone calls. Even my dad’s office has started using one of those automated monstrosities that puts you on hold when you try and call to report a mugging, or a drunk-and-disorderly, or a brutal Kanima attack on your friendly local gay club.

“Hey, what’s up?” I say, trying to fight down the slowly rising paranoia I’m feeling somewhere in my throat.

“Stiles, you gotta come down to Deaton’s office,” Scott says, his tone of voice urgent. “It’s Allison. She’s been bitten.”

“Bitten?” I repeat. I’m about to add “By what?” - but that would be a stupid question. Unless there’s some other kind of creature in this town that spreads its supernatural ability through biting - and as far as I’m aware, right now there aren’t any - the answer to that stupid question would be “a werewolf.”

“Yeah, so, uh, you need to come down here,” Scott says. “It’s too bad we probably won’t get to see that movie, huh?”

“Yeah, too bad,” I say, letting the words drag out a bit. “But, to be honest, I had a premonition our little hangout time wouldn’t get to happen anyway, so…”

I think I hear Scott trying not to laugh. At least that means he’s not too emotional over what’s just happened to be even the tiniest bit cheered up.