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Growing up, Stiles had heard all of the stories about the monsters in the woods surrounding his hometown of Beacon Hills. Tales of bodies torn asunder by claws and fangs too big to be an animal. One of his dad’s deputies swore he heard wolves howling one night while out on patrol, but everyone knew there were no wolves in California.
Despite all of the stories he’s heard, Stiles spent as much time as he could in those very same woods. There were so many different types of birds and small creatures to study. He already knew he would be studying zoology in the fall when he went off to Michigan State University.
That was part of the reason he was in the woods at that moment. He held his camera up, trying to get a photograph of a deer with her fawn drinking from the small creek running through the clearing Stiles had discovered when he’d been younger, and the woods had been his escape from the reality of his mother’s death.
The doe watched Stiles warily while drinking, so he kept his movements to a minimum as he snapped a few photos. He was about to try and move a little to the left to get a different angle when the doe’s head shot up, and she looked behind her. Stiles strained his ears but couldn’t hear anything.
A tense moment passed before the doe relaxed and went back to drinking water. After a few more minutes, the doe raised her head again, looking directly at Stiles. Moving quickly, Stiles managed to get off a couple of shots before the deer took off into the woods, her fawn trailing awkwardly behind her.
Stiles straightened up and took a step into the clearing, freezing when he heard the trees rustling across from him. He thought he saw a blue glow, but it was gone in the blink of an eye, so he chalked it up to hallucinations. He pulled up the photos he’d taken of the deer and frowned. A strange glare ruined the ones of her looking directly at him. The others had turned out fine, but he’d been really excited about those two. He shrugged and packed his camera away; he might be able to do something about them in photoshop.
The alarm on his phone went off, alerting him that sunset was half an hour away. He might like to explore the woods, but even he wasn’t foolish enough to stick around after dark. Turning around, he followed the trail he knew like the back of his hand. He paused when he thought he heard rustling behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he couldn’t spot anything in the trees, but he picked up his pace, making it back to his car in less time than usual.
As he pulled away down the road, Stiles nearly slammed on his brakes when he glanced up at his rearview mirror. A figure stood in the middle of the road behind him, and he could swear that it was a wolf. Shaking his head and speeding up, Stiles reminded himself that there were no wolves in California.
By the following morning, excitement about spending the day at the pool with his best friend, Scott, replaced the previous night’s events. Grabbing his swim trunks and a towel, he raced downstairs. He skidded to a stop when he found his dad standing between him and the door, arms crossed over his chest.
“Is there a reason one of my deputies spotted you speeding away from the Preserve just before sundown?” he asked.
“Now, if one of your deputies saw me speeding anywhere, wouldn’t he have pulled me over?” Stiles countered, hoping to distract his father from whichever deputy had ratted Stiles out. Probably Haig; that man was a dick.
“Nice try,” his father said with a huff, the corners of his lips twitching with a restrained smile. “Just be careful out there.”
“Don’t tell me that you believe in monsters,” Stiles asked his dad as he reached for his car keys hanging next to the door and tried to edge around his father.
“No, but I believe in rabid animals.” Stiles nodded in understanding, returning the hug his father pulled him into before patting him on the back and racing out the door to his car. “I’m working a double tonight!”
“Won’t be home for dinner anyway,” Stiles returned as he pulled his car door shut and peeled out of the driveway, and headed to Scott’s house.
The pool was understandably crowded, but they managed to snag a couple of seats near the lifeguard stand. Stiles definitely wouldn’t be complaining about the view. Derek Hale had been lifeguarding there since he’d been a senior and Stiles a freshman. It had only taken one summer of watching Derek for Stiles to realize just how gay he really was, at least for a tall, dark, and handsome man who looked amazing in red swim trunks.
Stiles dropped down onto the chair to get comfortable and waited until the sun warmed his skin enough to make the pool feel ice-cold when he dove into the water. Glancing around, he froze when he saw Derek staring down at him over the top of his Wayfarers. Stiles leaned over and whispered to Scott behind his hand, “Dude, I think Hottie McHottie is staring at me. Do I have something on my face?”
Scott studied him seriously as a chuckle carried down to them from the top of the lifeguard chair. “Just moles,” Scott said after a moment with a shrug. “The usual.”
He snuck another glance up at Derek, but the lifeguard’s eyes were on the pool in front of him. His lips curled into a tiny smile, something Stiles rarely saw on the usually grumpy man’s face. He would’ve thought about it more, but a couple of kids next to them started talking loudly about another animal carcass found the night before in the Preserve. As Stiles listened, he realized the police had found it in the clearing where he’d been taking photos.
A few minutes later, Scott jumped up and cannonballed into the water, sending a splash over everyone on the opposite side of the pool, including the girl he’d had a crush on since the first day of sophomore year. Sitting with the girl was Lydia Martin, a girl Stiles had crushed on from third grade until he’d discovered Derek Hale. Glancing up at Derek, he caught him jerking away his gaze and giving a delayed reaction to Scott’s stunt.
Stiles rose to his feet to join Scott, stopping when Derek growled at him, “Do it, and I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth.”
Before Stiles could snap his brain to mouth filter into place, he glanced over his shoulder and smirked. “You say that like it would be a bad thing.” Then with the last ounce of his self-preservation leaving him, he winked and proceeded to cannonball into the pool, his splash only slightly less spectacular as Scott’s and earning him an ejection from the pool for the rest of the day.
“Worth it,” he said as Derek gripped him by the arm to escort him to the parking lot where he waited for Scott, who was dancing on air after getting Allison’s phone number.
That evening after Scott had spent the entire day texting Allison instead of paying attention to Stiles, he left to go home and try to convince his mom to let him use the car to take Allison out on a date. Stiles stared out the window at the setting sun and tried to figure out what he should do with the rest of his night. As he let his mind wander, he thought he saw movement in the bushes across the street. Narrowing his eyes, he swore he saw the shape of a large dog, but most of his neighbors were cat lovers, the heathens.
He continued watching, and eventually, the canine limped out of the bushes, and Stiles could see a strange shine to its black fur as it passed beneath a street light. Concern raced through him, and he hurried down the steps and outside before he could even give his idea a second thought. “Hey!” he whisper-shouted because a lot of his neighbors were old and went to bed early. “Hey, pup!” The animal froze and turned to look at him, his eyes flickering strangely in the combination of fading sunlight and street lights. “C’mere.”
The dog shook his head and turned to run towards the trees. The run was more of a hobble than anything. Stiles discovered drops of blood on the earth where it had been standing. Hurrying, he trailed the animal, still calling for it. He froze when the animal, definitely a wolf by the glint off its fangs when it snarled, lunged dangerously.
“Hey, dude, well, maybe a dude. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he said, holding his hands up in front of his face and a weak show of strength while thinking the beast could tear him apart without a second thought. The wolf huffed and turned on him again, lifting his tail high, revealing that he was definitely a male wolf, and hobbled away into the trees.
“You are not getting rid of me that easily,” Stiles called, scrambling to his feet and following the wolf, continuing to call out to get him to stop.
When the wolf managed to slip away from Stiles’ view, he let out a shout and heard a growl from the trees to his right. Moving carefully and talking in what he hoped was a calming manner, he moved toward the sound, freezing when a figure leaped from the darkness, landing a few feet in front of Stiles.
The beast was like nothing Stiles had ever seen. Brown fur covered the body while yellow eyes glowed over a slavering jaw. Screeching, Stiles stumbled backward, landing in a sprawl only a few feet from where Stiles had seen the deer the previous night. He searched for a stick or something to defend himself as the monster grew closer.
Stiles could feel its breath on his neck, a glob of saliva falling and burning against his skin. Stiles’ mind went back to Derek’s threat earlier in the day and decided that it was actually a pretty decent one when it was coming non-verbally from a dangerous creature. He felt a claw digging into his hip when there was a roar, and the monster reared back, taking a slice of Stiles’ side with him.
Curling into a ball and protecting his side, Stiles listened to the different roars echoing around him before a gunshot echoed through the trees, followed by his father’s voice saying, “Dammit, kid,” and a warm hand resting on his forehead as his father called for an ambulance.
Another voice spoke up, startling Stiles. “Is he alright?”
Forcing open his eyes as he uncurled his body, hissing at the pain in his side, Stiles was surprised to see Derek Hale standing there in only a pair of jeans. Blood coated the denim and his skin; Stiles fought off the sudden nausea racing through him.
“He should be, thanks to you,” his dad responded. “Although, you look a bit worse for wear. What were you thinking, trying to take on that...what the hell was that?”
The distant sound of sirens drowned out whatever answer Derek gave, and before Stiles knew it, paramedics broke through the treeline and scooped him up, working on him as they carried him on a stretcher back to the road where the ambulance had been parked. They gave him something for the pain, and the last thing Stiles remembered was his father climbing into the ambulance and the door closing on a very concerned-looking Derek.
The hospital room was dark when Stiles opened his eyes. He could hear the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor as he glanced around, surprised to find the room absent of his father. His phone sat on the overbed table, and when he reached for it, he spotted first the IV in his arm and then the post-it note with his father’s scrawl on it— Gone to work. Call when you wake up.
Hitting his father’s contact number, he looked out the window at the full moon shining onto the floor. He remembered the stories of a wolf howling in the woods, and now he wonders if it was the one he’d seen. Not the thing that had attacked him, but the one he’d followed into the woods. He hoped nothing had happened to the animal because, despite its injuries, it had been beautiful.
He got his father’s voicemail and left a message, nearly dropping the phone when the door to his room opened, and a black snout poked through, sniffing the air. “Hello?” Stiles called and the wolf from earlier slunk into the room, turning to push the door closed with his head before crossing to the bed and hopping up to put his front paws next to Stiles’ hip.
Stiles gaped at the animal, noticing it looked cleaner than before, and there was no sign of a limp. There was a black pack of some sort strapped to his back. “You seem to be better,” he said when the wolf just stared at him. “You are a wolf, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “Anyone walks in here, I’m going for a mandatory psych eval,” he muttered, and the wolf huffed, almost like laughter. “Are you laughing at me?” The wolf stared him in the eye and very pointedly nodded his head. “Holy shit! You understand me. Hey, I didn’t think wolves could roll their eyes.”
Shaking his head, the wolf hopped down from the bed and crossed to the window, looking up at the moon. He opened his mouth and let out a low, mournful howl. “Shhh! Are you trying to-”
The door to the room flew open, and a nurse stood there, face set in a stern frown. “Do you have a dog here?” she demanded, eyes flying around the room and freezing.
Stiles followed her gaze and found Derek Hale walking out of the bathroom, a sheepish grin on his face. “Have to admit, that’s the first time I’ve been accused of being a dog,” he said to the nurse.
“Visiting hours are over,” she said, glaring at Stiles, who shrugged helplessly.
“I know, ma’am,” Derek said. “I was hoping to see my friend for a couple of minutes. I was worried when I heard he was injured.”
The nurse pursed her lips before turning on her heel and exiting the room, reminding Stiles that he wasn’t the only patient on the unit and needed to keep his voice down. Once the door was closed, Stiles turned back to Derek, but he was gone, and a moment later, the wolf loped out of the bathroom, carrying the black pack in his mouth.
“Where did Derek go?” Stiles said aloud, staring at the bathroom door. The wolf huffed again, laying the pack on the chair by Stiles’ bed and hopping up onto the bed. He curled up next to Stiles’ legs, his giant head resting on Stiles’ thigh.
Stiles stared at the animal while it appeared to go to sleep, but then its eyes slit open and studied Stiles. There was something familiar in the gaze, and Stiles began to wonder if he’d taken a hit to the head and was hallucinating. “Derek?” he questioned, reaching a hand out, hesitating above the wolf’s head.
The wolf snorted and butted his head against Stiles’ paw before laying back down. “Holy shit, dude, you’re a werewolf!” Derek growled lowly, and Stiles slapped a hand over his mouth. “We are so talking about this later.” Derek sighed, his breath ruffling the covers. “And you’re going to tell me what the hell that was that attacked me because I don’t care if you’re a werewolf; there’s no way you’re the monster in the woods.”