A/N:This is an AU (clearly) with Scott and Derek as actual bros, both of them in high school, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, full wolf shifting, and whatever other random trope thing I love that I could throw in. Pretty sure Scott's dad in the show is named Rafael, but since I hate Agent McCall with the unrelenting passion of an Oni after a dark spirit, I've given him and Derek a dad with a different name because artistic license. Also I can't really speak Spanish so forgive any inaccuracies in any terms within this fic in respect to the random words/phrases their abuela uses. Most of my knowledge of that language comes from watching "Dora the Explorer" while babysitting and Google Translate. All other characters within are property of "Teen Wolf" (which is a gift), Jeff Davis (who is a painful yet wonderful gift), and noMTV (which is kind of a crappy gift, lesbireal). I just stole them and made them do other stuffs. Title from "Touch" by Daughter. Fic rated for language, explicit and underage sex, A/B/O Dynamics, heat cycles, knotting, teenage angst, minor character death, bullying, douchebaggery, slight discrimination, and werewolfness.


The rhythmic dribbling of the basketball filled the living room, like a third heartbeat in the still house.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound was soothing, calming even, and Derek didn't bother hiding the small smile that it brought to his face. A smile that was also partially created due to his younger brother's obvious annoyance at the elder bouncing the ball inside their Queens house, right next to him on the couch.

Derek continued bouncing the ball as he heard Scott huff, hands slamming down on the keyboard of his laptop as it sat on his legs. The elder McHale didn't say a word, didn't acknowledge him in any way, just simply smirked and kept dribbling.

"Seriously?!" Scott finally snapped, head turning towards his older brother, dark eyes narrowed in a glare, thin lips pressed in a hard line.

The elder kept his smirk up, his own head twisting to look at the younger, still dribbling the basketball. "What?" he feigned ignorance, his tone light as he joked around. "Am I distracting you from your World of Geek-craft game?"

Scott's glare intensified, eyes flashing gold for a brief moment, a muscle in his uneven jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth. "Warcraft," he corrected, the word growled more than spoken.

The ball bounced back up, Derek catching it and placing it in his lap, holding his hands up in innocence. Sure, he picked on his brother, was kind of his job being the elder one, and Scott just made it so damn easy with his dorky passions and his complete lack of social skills. But Derek knew when to back off, when to let shit go before it went too far and they wolfed out on each other. It hadn't happened since they were kids, and with the elder brother having reached full werewolf maturity a few months ago—not to mention the fact that he was an Alpha—he was extra careful to not push it too much and end up hurting the younger one. The guy might've been an Alpha like his brother, but he was only sixteen, hadn't gained his full powers yet—and wouldn't for another two years—and was no match for Derek in strength or skill.

Not that Derek thought Scott would be able to take him even when he did reach full maturity, but still. There was a distinct lack of bloodshed between the two brothers and he was gonna keep it that way, if for no other reason than for their mom. She saw enough of the red stuff at her job as a nurse.

Leaning back on the couch, Derek got comfy, legs splayed as he practiced spinning the basketball on the tip of a finger. "Yeah, yeah," he placated, still thinking his brother's hobby of online role-playing games was by far the nerdiest fucking thing he could think of. And considering his own secret love of classic novels, that was really saying something.

Scott continued to glare for a long moment before a beep from his laptop drew his attention back to the device. The ball fell off Derek's finger and onto his lap, allowing him the chance to lean over and try to peek at the screen, only to have Scott twist it away.

"Back off, Derek," he ordered, voice more annoyed than anything.

"Why? Afraid I'll see your lame li'l fairy character?" Derek teased, smirk still on his face, dimples formed on the smooth skin.

"Goblin," Scott corrected again, this time through gritted teeth. Not that he needed to set the elder werewolf straight. Derek knew exactly what kind of mythological being it was. He just didn't give a fuck and preferred to call it a fairy because he knew it bugged his little brother.

This time clearly wasn't any different.

"And I'm not playing Warcraft right now," the leaner male added, still sounding annoyed that his brother was in his business. "I'm chatting with Stiles."

Derek rolled his eyes, spinning the basketball on his finger again. "Stiles" was Scott's supposed best friend, a guy he met on WoW that lived in California. Over the past couple years, the two of them had developed a friendship of sorts, chatting online and on the phone constantly, to the point where everyone else in the house knew all about what was going on with Stiles and his sheriff dad.

It was annoying as fuck.

Wouldn't be so bad if Scott had actual friends, people that he saw in real life and interacted with face to face. But the little nerd was as awkward as one could get, always keeping to himself, never hanging out with anyone. Sure, he talked to people on their lacrosse team, got invited to their parties and post-game dinners at the local pizza joint, but he never joined in. And even when he did, he spent the entire time attached to Derek's hip, not talking to anyone. Derek had tried to get convos going between his brother and their teammates, but without fail Scott would start talking Warcraft this and internet that and soon the elder McHale was pulling the younger away before he added to his rapidly expanding reputation as a total dork.

And it wasn't that Derek thought anything was wrong with his brother. The two of them were thick as thieves, partners in crime. They'd driven both their parents crazy as kids, their living room turned into a battlefield as they built forts and launched pillow bombs at each other, their shared bedroom a space station as they fought evil aliens, their small backyard their own personal wildlife preserve where they could wrestle and roll around in the grass until they got too big for any of it and gained their own bedrooms.

But even in their teenage years, Derek still loved his little brother, loved spending time with him. Playtime changed into practicing lacrosse together, Scott playing one-on-one basketball whenever their dad was too busy and Derek wanted to work on his skills. They watched the same TV shows, went to the movies together, hung out on a near daily basis. Derek would even go so far as to say Scott was his best friend. But even with all that, Derek still had other friends he hung out with, teammates he'd party with on the weekend, a girlfriend he went out with, while Scott stayed at home on his computer, chatting with people who may or may not actually be named Stiles and may or may not actually live in California.

That was the thing about the internet. As much as Scott wanted to believe this guy, he could totally be lying about being a sixteen year old living across the country.

Not that Scott took Derek seriously when he said any of that shit, but whatever. Wasn't like Derek hadn't seen every episode of "Catfish" ever.

Focusing his attention on his basketball, Derek kept up the conversation with his brother as he spun the ball with his left hand. "Oh, your imaginary boyfriend?"

That earned him another huff, causing another smirk to form on his face. "Okay," Scott started, annoyance back in his voice. "One: he's not imaginary."

"Funny how that's the part you point out first," Derek commented, his statement going ignored as his brother went on as though he hadn't been interrupted.

"And two: he's not my boyfriend."

The elder snorted, catching the basketball before it fell onto the floor. "Yeah, right," he replied with an eye roll. "You guys talk as much as me and Kate. You're totally dating."

The smaller male turned to the larger, dark eyes locking onto light ones, both wearing a "get serious" expression. "I'm not gay."

"Didn't say you were."

"Not all of us are whores like you, Derek."

"You call it being a whore," he started, balancing the basketball on his finger again. "I call it keeping my options open." He grinned at the eye roll he got in response.

Derek's bisexuality wasn't a secret in their family, not since their dad had caught him kissing another guy back in his freshman year. He'd been embarrassed as hell, but after a long talk with both parents, he realized there was nothing to be ashamed of and that it was perfectly okay with them. Explaining it to an eleven year old Scott had been awkward and more than a little difficult, but Derek had managed, Scott taking the whole thing the only way he knew how: with a wide grin, sparkling brown eyes, and an easy-going shrug. Derek doubted anything could get his younger brother down.

Their maternal grandmother—or Abuela, as she preferred to be called—wasn't so thrilled, still believing the whole thing was just a curious phase, especially since he was now in a relationship with a girl. Derek's mom had reassured him that she was just from a different time and had a different mindset and that didn't mean she loved him any less. The words had done their job and he learned not to let it bother him whenever his abuela made any sort of passive-aggressive comment on his sexuality, just like he ignored similar statements from his mom about his girlfriend.

Basketball back on his lap, he pulled his cell out of his jeans pocket, checking for messages. Nothing from Kate. Hardly a surprise. She'd texted him earlier asking if he wanted to go out later that night, an offer he'd turned down, which had unsurprisingly pissed her off. His dad was supposed to be home early to help him practice lacrosse in the park, something that had become a rarity lately as his old man had gotten busier and busier with his job. But no matter how much work he had piled up, he still made sure that the weekend was family time, starting with that Friday night and helping his eldest son try to make captain that year. Derek wanted to end his high school career on top and really leave his mark on his school's athletic history and with his dad's help, he had a good feeling he'd do just that.

But whenever he explained that to Kate, his girlfriend would roll her eyes and mutter out a "whatever". Despite being a varsity cheerleader, she still didn't see the point in spending so much time practicing, not to mention she loathed having anything to do with her own family and therefore didn't get why Derek would wanna hang with his. His mom let out a non-committal "hmm" when he talked to her about it, obviously trying not to badmouth her son's girlfriend who she obviously disapproved of, despite never saying so out loud. His dad chalked it up to them just coming from different families, that Derek's was closer due to his mom's side being on the west coast and his dad's side having nothing to do with them, leaving them with just each other.

No matter the case, Derek still found himself wishing that Kate understood his desire to hang with his family, especially now that they were preparing to become seniors, meaning it was their last year at home before going off to college. Derek wanted to soak in every last moment he had with his family before he left them. Kate just wanted to leave already.

Sometimes Derek felt like he was just another person she was waiting to ditch as well, just like the rest of her family. Especially when she didn't text him anything other than a "fine, loser" when he turned her date offer down.

He decided not to let it bother him, told himself that he'll just head over to her place tomorrow bearing gifts and make it up to her. It'd probably take some grovelling, but whatever. Wasn't like he hadn't done it before.

Relationships between two Alphas weren't without its complications. And ego-blows.

The lack of messages displayed allowed Derek to see the time, making him realize he should probably get a start on making dinner. With his dad always working late and his mom's shifts at the hospitals never resembling anything close to normal, he'd been put in charge of cooking more often than either of his parents. He didn't mind it, especially since it got him out of dishwashing duty. But there was also a small amount of satisfaction that came with seeing others enjoy what he made. Plus he never had to eat something he didn't like, so that was awesome.

Rising to his feet, he put his basketball where he'd been sitting, adjusting his t-shirt around his waist before heading to the kitchen. He heard the usual ticka-ticka-ticka of Scott's fingers across the keyboard as he typed furiously in response to whatever it was Stiles—if that was even his real name—had said, followed by a small silence, a chuckle, then more typing.

Derek sent a quick text to Kate as he walked, asking if she wanted to hang the next day, grateful for werewolf senses that allowed him to do two things at once and not run into a table or a wall. Message sent, he slid his phone back in his pocket and set about trying to find something to make. Grocery shopping the day before had filled their cabinets, giving him countless possibilities, but in all honesty, he was craving meat.

Not much of a change there.

He opened the fridge door, trying to locate the ground meat for burgers, hearing the sound of Scott closing his laptop and placing it on the coffee table before he shuffled his way into the kitchen.

"You and Dad still practicing lacrosse after dinner?" the younger McHale questioned, pulling out a chair and plopping down on it in his usual graceless manner.

Derek nodded, pulling the pack of meat out the fridge as he rose to his full six-foot height. A quick glance out the kitchen window showed it was still light out, one of the upsides of it being mid-June. Not that it mattered really. Being a fully mature werewolf meant Derek now had night-vision, allowing him to see perfectly at midnight as he would at noon.

"Think I could join ya?"

He turned his head to see his brother's lips twisted in a lopsided grin that matched his jaw, hope sparkling in his dark brown eyes. He looked a lot like their mom, something that would just randomly come to Derek at times. But it was true. Both had the same tan skin, same curly black hair, same dark eyes. Made their whole family picture look even more perfect, considering how Derek resembled their dad more with the same wide build and sharp features. His bright eyes weren't from his father though, the patriarch having brown ones like the rest of his family. Derek figured he gained the eye color from someone on his paternal side, since no one ever mentioned why they were that shade, just like no one ever talked about the McHale side of their gene-pool.

Derek shrugged a shoulder in response to his brother's inquiry, not really seeing a problem with it. He'd been planning on practicing shots with their dad, something that Scott could stand to partake in himself. And with the old man being a full-blooded werewolf, he could handle both his sons throwing balls at him at the same time and still defend the goal.

Not that the human half of their DNA slowed them down. The werewolf gene was more dominant, making both McHale boys wolves themselves, giving them all the powers that came with it. Because of that, they were enrolled in the local werewolf academy in Queens, a requirement since werewolves had become a known thing. Human parents had worried about their kids going to school with "monsters" and how unfair athletics would be against those with preternatural abilities. Werewolf parents were more concerned with the schools discriminating against their kids and being unable to understand the problems that came with full moons and heat cycles. So separate school systems were set in place: one for humans, one for Alphas and Betas, another for Omegas, whose powers put them a step above humans but scent made them a target for attacks by Alphas and Betas, especially those close to heat. In order to avoid any rapes or fights amongst Alphas over who gets to claim the Omega, the group was given its own K-12th academy in Manhattan.

Colleges, apparently, were just a free-for-all, although most tended to be understanding and willing to work with werewolves when it came to moon and heat cycles. It was a major topic when Derek had begun his researching process as he tried to figure out where he wanted to apply. He'd been lucky when he found out that most of his top choices all had special allowances for those who tended to grow fur and walk on four legs.

Scott's grin grew, overtaking his entire face, curly hair covering his forehead. Derek kept telling him it looked like he had a fluffy brown bowl over his head, but the younger male didn't take him seriously on that either. Their mom telling him he had a great head of hair didn't help.

"If," Derek started then paused, watching as his brother's smile dimmed slightly. "It's still light out."

That killed it.

Scott frowned, lips turned down at the corners as he picked at his thumbnails. Or lack thereof really, considering how much he chewed on them. It was a miracle the guy could produce claws really. "What time's Dad supposed to be home anyway?"

The question had Derek pulling his phone out and rechecking the time. Five fifty-seven. Even with rush hour traffic and the fact that it was a Friday, their dad should've already been home by then.

Assuming he even left at five.

"I dunno," Derek muttered, putting the packaged ground meat on the counter before typing up a text to their father asking where he was. "Figured he'd be here by now."

Scott nodded, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he focused on the table. Derek noted how his brow was furrowed, how his eyes seemed distant, recognizing the look.

"It's probably nothing," he reassured his younger brother, pocketing his cell once more. "He probably got caught up in work again and lost track of time. You know how he is."

The leaner male nodded more, small smile playing on his lips as he looked up at his brother. "Yeah, probably." His voice was small, like he wanted to believe it but for some reason didn't. It wasn't like him to be so negative and pessimistic about things, especially when it came to their dad not being home on time. Both of them knew not to fully rely on their old man coming back when he said he would, both well aware that when his dad got into his work, it was hard to take him out of it. They'd heard countless stories of him working through lunch breaks and staying late because he had no idea what time it was, despite the lack of sun in the sky. Derek had lost track of the number of games their dad had missed, figuring their was no point in keeping count. Besides, he always seemed to show up for the ones that really mattered, the first and last ones of the year, the play-offs, any championships, something that made the missed matches not that big a deal.

Derek figured Scott would know that by now, that neither of them should put too much hope into their dad being there at a certain time. It wasn't that he did it on purpose, but being the main source of income for their family meant he had to work a lot, something both kids understood. But he always put his family first, never missing birthdays, anniversaries, or holidays, making sure each event was special and his job wasn't brought up.

Practicing shots with his eldest son in the park on a random Friday night during summer break wasn't what anyone would call special, meaning Derek hadn't really expected his dad to show up on time.

Scott, apparently, had.

Reaching over the table, Derek put a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, meeting his eyes. "Relax. It's not a big deal," he reassured him, his heartbeat even and smooth. Scott's hearing wasn't as developed as Derek's, but the elder McHale still hoped the younger could tell there wasn't a lie hidden in there.

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, Derek straightened up as his phone rang in his pocket. "See? That's probably him now," he commented with a "told ya so" look on his face, not bothering to check to see who was trying to contact him as he pulled his cell out and answered the call. "Hello?"

"Derek?" Definitely not his dad. Not unless his dad had suddenly become an elderly sounding female. An elderly sounding female who was clearly shaken up by something.

Pulling the phone from his ear, he checked the screen to check who had dialed him, finding the number he'd programmed in his contacts under his mom's work displayed.

LaGuardia Hospital.

Shit.

He felt his stomach drop, panic causing a tingle to break out over his skin. Focusing, he tried to keep his breathing even and smooth, despite the fact that his heartbeat felt louder in his ears. But he needed to remain calm in front of his brother, to make sure he didn't cause any anxiety in Scott.

Easier said than done.

Swallowing, he put the phone back against his ear, mind racing with a million thoughts, none of them good. His mom hardly ever called from work, only ever sending an "I'm okay" text during her breaks when she was working overnight shifts and those usually went to his dad's cell. And even on the extremely rare occasion that she did call, she always did it from her own phone, not the hospital's.

Basically, no good was gonna come from this call.

Derek gripped the back of the chair before him, using it to ground himself, refusing to let paranoia and worry take over and cause him to lose control. "Who's calling?" he questioned down the line, feeling a small amount of pride at how even his voice sounded despite the shakiness within himself.

"This is Sheila. I work with your mom?" It sounded like a question, like she was making sure Derek knew exactly who she was and why she'd be calling him, before she continued. "There's been an accident."


Things went fuzzy for a while after that. Derek vaguely remembered hanging up on Sheila, remembered yelling at Scott to grab his shoes as he raced for the keys to his car, remembered getting in it. The drive itself was a blur, warped images of his claws digging into his steering wheel and his fangs biting into his lower lip until all he could taste was his own blood. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears, skin feeling too tight, too hot. His mind was racing as fast as his Camaro, countless possibilities of what had happened to his mom running through his brain, each one worse than the last.

And it wasn't like he hadn't had those thoughts before. He always worried about her at work, especially on overnight shifts, afraid that someone would come in high on what-the-fuck-ever, that they'd attack and hurt her, stab her, kill her. He worried about feral werewolves showing up and biting, scratching, maiming her. He worried about her being shot by a random crazed gunman, about her being infected after being stuck with a dirty needle, about her being taken by some psych patient who got too attached.

He knew his dad had similar thoughts, would watch the elder McHale rub his cheek on his wife as he held her close, covering her in his scent so no one would touch her. But even still, there was always the possibility of a wolf not caring who she belonged to, would hurt her despite or even because of it. None of the McHale men slept well when she worked during the night, all four members of the family looking like zombies at the breakfast table. Although clearly they were happy zombies, knowing the lone female had survived and had come home to them in one piece.

Apparently they weren't having a meal like that the next morning.

Derek must've parked somewhere because the next thing he knew, he was bursting through the emergency room doors and racing to the counter, the sounds of his younger brother scrambling behind him in his ear. Scott's heartbeat was just as frantic and erratic as his own, despite not knowing what was going on. He had to have had an idea at that point, considering they were at their mother's place of employment and Derek still had visible claws and fangs, eyes glowing red as he stared at the nurse working reception.

"Melissa McHale?" he managed to get out, mentally cringing at the snarl in his words.

The nurse's eyes flashed gold, a sign she was a werewolf and understood his lack of control, that she wasn't offended by his lack of manners or his gruff way of speaking. "Derek and Scott?" she questioned in response, glancing back and forth between both brothers as she rose to her feet.

Her voice was familiar, even without the static of a phone line, and her name tag showed she was Sheila. Derek nodded frantically, breath sawing in and out of his lungs as he tried to get a grip on his emotions and failed. He needed to see his mom, needed to make sure she was okay, needed...

"Down that way," she pointed to the double-doors on her right, wordlessly giving permission for them to go through. Not that anyone could stop either McHale brother if they tried to go through it without technically being allowed. Getting between a werewolf and an injured family member was tantamount to suicide.

Scott thanked her for both of them, clapping his brother on the back before they both jogged over. Derek shoved the doors open with more force than necessary, racing down the hall with his younger brother on his heels.

He always hated the smell of the hospital, the too strong scents of disinfectants and cleaners, the lingering stench of blood and death, fear and concern. He wondered how any werewolf could stand going to a place where they'd constantly be surrounded by the smells of worry and grief, sickness and disease, but figured they'd get used to it, become immune to it in a sense.

He never would.

Especially as he was hit in the face with a too familiar scent of blood and family, loss and depression, tears and anguish.

Oh. God. No.

Halfway down the hall, a group of nurses stood gathered around someone seated, the air around them thick with despair and loss. Derek's heart plummeted even further into his knotted stomach as he slowed to a stop, his entire being overtaken by the anxiety of his worst fears having been realized. His mind was buzzing like a beehive that had been hit and he felt a thousand stings all over his body, his throat swelling shut, his pounding heart too big in his too tight chest.

The seated figure rose, the group moving to allow her to move, to step forward, to head towards her sons.

Nurse McHale. Their mom was okay.

Derek felt his breath leave him in a rush as relief flooded him at the sight of his mom walking over, noting how there was no limp, no bruises, no cuts. But as he strode over, Scott by his side, he discovered blood on her scrubs—something that could easily be written off as a side-effect of working in an emergency room, since she'd come home on several occasions with her uniform in a similar state. But the tear tracks on her cheeks couldn't be as easily explained, nor could the scent of her grief and loss. And as she reached out to pull both of them into a hug, she began sobbing harder, gripping onto both of their t-shirts as though she was holding them in place, preventing someone from ripping them away from her.

"Mom?" Scott's voice was as shaky as his heartbeat, his own worry a bitter scent in Derek's nose. His brown eyes were wider than usual as they flipped over to his older brother, hoping for some sorta explanation.

But Derek had nothing but a gut-feeling and a godawful theory, having hung up after Sheila had mentioned the word "accident". Part of him wished he'd gotten the whole story before racing down to LaGuardia. The other part of him realized it wouldn't matter.

Their mom sniffed loudly, lifting her head from where she'd had it buried in Derek's chest. He was vaguely aware of a wet spot that now resided on the front of the fabric, but his mind was more focused on his mother, on the broken look on her face, the deep despair in her dark eyes. She was so small, something that sometimes escaped him as he heard about her fighting to save lives, witnessed her bossing around doctors twice her size and strength, heard her putting her werewolf husband and children in place. But at that moment, she was every inch the tiny, frail human that she truly was.

And Derek was more terrified than ever.

"It's your dad," she stated before sniffing again, managing to keep her voice even. Her fingers tightened on both her son's t-shirts, her entire body shaking as she tried to keep it all together, only to fail. "He. He's gone." She broke down once more, face resting on Scott's chest now as her younger son wrapped his lean arms around her and began crying himself.

Derek didn't move, couldn't move. Something inside of him broke off completely, the sound of his entire world crashing down ringing in his head as he stared off at nothing. And as his mother and brother sobbed violently against him, he felt himself go completely numb.


They had to move.

Their mom couldn't stand living in New York City anymore, not after their dad had died. The house had become nothing but a reminder of what had been, every inch holding a memory of the person they'd lost. The armchair where their dad had watched TV. The desk in the corner where he'd paid the bills and did the budget. The chair at the head of the table where he'd eaten every meal. The spot along the sidewalk where he'd parked his car, a car that had been totaled after an eighteen-wheeler had run a red light and side-swiped him on the driver's side.

He'd been killed on impact.

Derek had asked, demanded to be told what happened. Scott didn't wanna hear it, had taken their mom to the break room where he held her as they both cried. But Derek needed to know what had gone down, why his dad had been taken from them so early and so suddenly. And as he listened to the on-call doctor explain the accident and his dad's injuries, he felt himself grow cold, distant. It was like he was listening to someone in another room, forcing him to really focus in order to hear all the words and even when he did, they barely registered.

He didn't remember the drive home or the next few days.

At the funeral, he sat stoically with his mom, she sobbing as she clung onto both her son's hands, the grip bruising to a human. Scott had cried, although it was quieter, subtly wiping away tears with the sleeve of his blazer.

Derek hadn't shed a tear, not even when they lowered his dad's casket into the ground, not even when he stood there watching them shovel dirt back into the hole they made, not even when he planted the wolfsbane flower by the gravestone. His mom couldn't bear to do it. His dad's family hadn't showed up.

His mom had asked if he was okay after the wake, when everyone had gone home and he was busy putting away the leftovers. He'd simply commented that he wondered if people brought families food because no one felt like cooking after someone died and if they didn't supply meals, the family would starve and end up buried next to the person they'd just put in the ground. His mom had given him a look he couldn't—and didn't want to—decipher, so he left the room without uttering another word.

Things didn't get any better. Scott became more withdrawn than usual, sitting sullenly on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. Derek would see him texting every now and then, presumably to Stiles, considering how Scott had brought the other boy up and mentioned how he'd lost a parent, too, so he was able to talk about things with him. But other than that, the younger McHale son was cut-off from his internet world, no social media sites, no WoW, nothing. Derek would hear him sniffing every now and then, would catch the scent of tears and loss on him, but he never saw any crying.

Their mom was just as bad, taking the allotted three grievance days before using her vacation and sick days, remaining in bed for most of the day. On the rare occasion she was up and about, she was always in her pajamas and bathrobe, shuffling like a zombie with unwashed tangled hair and the overwhelming stench of despair and depression hanging around her like oversprayed perfume. She never smiled, which wasn't all that surprising really, the light that seemed to be a constant presence in her dark eyes now gone, her expression as sullen as her mood.

Nurses from LaGuardia would stop by every now and then to offer condolences, along with flowers and baked goods. Derek thought it was a stupid human tradition, insensitive really. To him, cakes and pies were for holidays and birthdays, celebrations of some description, not suitable for telling someone you were sorry for their loss. It was almost like a slap in the face and he trashed every single one Scott brought into the kitchen.

They didn't hear from the McHale side of the family, which seemed perfectly normal considering that was how things had been the first eighteen years of Derek's life. He'd just thought that the death of one of them would cause them to put aside petty bullshit and reach out to the next generation of their bloodline. Apparently he was wrong.

His abuela called on a daily basis, Scott always answering the house phone and lying about how things were okay there. He'd jog up to their mom's room to tell her who was on the line, only to sullenly return and say it wasn't a good day.

"It's never a good day, querida."

"Yeah, I know."

Derek stopped talking completely. Aside from his commentary on people providing food at wakes and telling his mom that Kate wasn't coming to the funeral—which earned him an "I'm sorry, sweetheart" that he ignored—he hadn't said a word since that night at the hospital when his dad had died. He just didn't have anything to say. To anyone.

Scott had offered to talk, which had gotten him a slammed door to the face. His mom would rub his arm and ask if he was okay, which he'd ignore and leave the room, abandoning whatever task he'd been in the middle of. Friends and teammates had texted their condolences, but he wouldn't reply. He went over to Kate's once, the day before the funeral, but spent the entire time sitting there, unresponsive even to her touches. She ended up getting annoyed and told him if he wasn't gonna fuck her, he might as well leave.

And he did just that. He hadn't talked to her since.

Derek became even more cut-off than his mom and brother, who at least responded to other people's inquiries over their state of being. His mom forced small talk with her fellow nurses, crying on offered shoulders when her emotions became too heightened and everything was just too much. Scott had Stiles that he leaned on via texts, talking to his online buddy about whatever was on his mind. And it wasn't that Derek didn't have anyone, because he did. He just didn't want them.

A week after they buried his dad, his mom announced they were moving to California. She needed a change, they needed a change, she explained, further adding that she still had family out there and all three of them could use the support during this time. God knew they weren't getting it from the other McHales.

Scott nodded, tiny smile on his face as he agreed to the plan, saying whatever their mom wanted and thought was best, ever the supportive one. Derek simply got up from his seat on the couch and headed straight to his room without looking at either of them.

Standing in his room, he stared at his belongings, at the trophies and awards he'd received playing sports. It had been something he shared with his dad, father-son bonding through a shared love of physical competition. His dad had taught him how to play, how to sink a free-throw, spin a ball on his finger, make a pass behind his back, how to trick the goalie, avoid defenders, use his wolf-vision to find the ball even in the rain.

But now his dad was gone. No more one-on-one basketball, no more practicing lacrosse shots, no paternal cheerleading from the crowd.

No more sports.

In one swift move, he knocked the trophies off one his shelves, before smashing the actual shelves. Ribbons were torn, trophies broken, certificates slashed, all in a fit of rage. His vision was red and all he could think about was destroying all of it, of breaking it into pieces, just like his family had been. His entire world had come crashing down due to a red light and a smashed car. It was only fitting he do the same to the very thing that he'd allow to define him for so long.

"You're Andrew McHale's kid, right? The athlete?"

Not anymore.

When it was done, when nothing remained of his former self, he stood there observing the damage through red-tinted vision, his chest heaving, his eyes glowing, his body shaking. A glance in the mirror showed he was in his hybrid form, fangs on display, claws extended, brow hardened and enlarged as his sideburns grew longer. He'd completely lost it, had allowed his wolf partial control. And it'd felt amazing.

His dad wouldn't be proud that he'd lost his grip, hadn't kept a hold of his anchor and stayed human, stayed calm and in control.

That thought made him want to fully wolf out and just forget to be human ever again. He had a feeling they wouldn't figuratively stop their lives because someone had literally had their's stopped for them.

Grabbing his keys, Derek stormed out his room, through the house, and out the front door to his car, all thoughts centered on getting to a local wooded preserve in order to shift and run. He needed to run, needed the wind in his fur, needed the numb, emotionless state that came with being in his full wolf form.

He briefly considered staying a wolf for the rest of his life. Sounded a million times better than how things were going for him at that moment.