AN: First ever Teen Wolf fanfic. I was meant to be doing many other things, so naturally this happened. I was bitten by a plot bunny, and an adoration of Stiles and Derek and sat down with a note book and a pen, and ignored the work and chores and friends and projects. I will do my best to keep updating as regularly as I can.

Warnings for angst, misery, drama, fluff, OC villain, er... probably other things. Enjoy, and please talk to me about it. I crave reviews possibly more than I crave chocolate. And I can't live without chocolate. Thank you for reading.

He'd run from his mother's funeral.

There had been tons of people in his house, milling around, looking him with pity, talking in not so hushed voices, saying things like 'that poor kid,' and 'imagine grouping up without a Mom,' and 'poor John, all alone with that hyperactive kid,' and 'we all thought he was gonna be sheriff. That's not gonna happen now is it?'

Later in his life he might have understood, that was just the sort of thing people said at wakes; meaningless sympathy, mindless chatter, but, at the age of eight, he didn't know that. He'd taken it for hints. He was something to be pitied because he'd lost his mom, but not as much as his dad, because his dad had lost his mom and was now stuck with the hyperactive kid.

His dad had been crying a lot, drinking a lot. He'd been watching from the stairs when his idol passed out on the couch last night. Right now, his dad was being looked after by Scott's mom. They were talking together quietly in the kitchen as other well-meaning people wondered, talking quietly about Mom. No one really wanted to talk to him. There'd been a couple of 'Hey sweetie, how ya doing?'s and the odd pat on the shoulder, but it hadn't taken much to get out the back door. It was already twilight, but he didn't think anyone would notice any time soon.

He thought about going to Scott's house, but he knew Scott wouldn't be there, because Scott was at some grandparent's house now. Scott's mom had whispered something about Scott being too young to understand. So he didn't stop at Scott's house. He just walked. Miles.

At least, it might have been miles. He was only little, and his sense of time and distance were probably not as developed as they would become. He made it as far as the trees that outlined the preserve, but it was almost pitch black by then, and he hadn't thought to bring a torch. In fact, he hadn't brought anything.

He was shivering now, not just from the cold. The woods, which had always seemed like a fun place for adventures during the day, seemed to loom threateningly in the dark. But that didn't stop him. He was ADHD and impulsive; scary forests that could have come straight out of a fairy tale were little more than a temptation to him.

He only got so far in before he realised he couldn't see. The sun had disappeared from the sky, and any glow from the stars seemed to be. He shuffled blindly for a while before he heard the snuffling. It was probably something tiny, like a squirrel, but to his eight year old ears, it was nothing short of a dragon ready to roar and eat him.

He didn't scream, because he may be eight but he wasn't some girl. But he did run, because he wasn't stupid.

He fell a lot. Over roots and rocks and other stuff. He grazed his knees and cut his hands, and he ran and ran and ran until he was caught by a pair of arms.

Then he screamed.

It took him a while to hear the voices.

"Shut him up! Where did he even come from?"

"I don't know!"

"Can't you make him stop? He's just a kid!"

"What do you suggest I do, Peter?"

"I don't know, knock him out? Gag him?"

"He's a kid!"

"Just … put a hand on his mouth or something!"

"He's like… 8!"

"You want me to do it?"

"No, just…"

A hand was placed gently over his mouth. It didn't calm him down.

"He's trying to bite me!"

"Well, maybe we could just use him as bait for the…"

"Peter!"

The one called Peter made a disgusted noise. "Fine, we take him back to the house. You can look after him until we've dealt with everything."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the one who doesn't want him to be eaten."

The one holding him moaned a bit, but he felt himself be lifted by an arm around his waist, the hand still on his mouth. He kicked and wriggled, but it did very little.

They got to a big house, and his brain, that had watched one too many episodes of Scooby doo, couldn't help thinking that this was going to be haunted. It was practically a mansion, and obviously millions of years old, and had a great big door and was twice as tall as his house.

As he was dragged inside. He gave up kicking and tried scratching.

"Ow!" said the one holding him.

"Oh, little boy," sneered Peter, "Are we getting claws out, now? Do you think that's wise? You wouldn't want us to do the same, would you?"

There was enough light now for him to see Peter, who was a thin, sneering young man, who leant forward right at him and finished; "You see, our claws are slightly bigger."

Peter's fingernails grew before his eyes. That time he did scream, and struggle for all he was worth.

"Peter!" scolded the one who held him.

"Well, have fun with my nephew, little boy," Peter smiled.

"Peter! What am I supposed to do with him?"

Peter shrugged, "Read him a bedtime story, teach him his ABCs, test him on his times tables, just make sure he doesn't leave this house until it's safe."

"Peter!"

"Hey, kid, what's your name?"

The boy told him. Peter laughed.

"Yeah, I'm never gonna say that. Have fun!"

"Peter!" protested the guy holding the boy.

But Peter had gone, leaving the boy with just the one who held him. He stilled. Looking around him, at the ancient furniture, at the luxurious carpets that could have been part of a film set, he saw nothing that could calm him.

The man holding him had stilled. He imaged the man was watching him.

"If I let go, do you promise you won't try to run?"

The boy nodded. The man holding him released him slowly, but he could see those hands ready to grab him once more, so he didn't try anything. He turned slowly so he could look at his captor.

The man was much younger than he expected. In fact, he thought this was a teenager more than a man, significantly taller than he was, but shorter than he'd expected.

"Who are you?" he asked instead of obeying his desperate need to run.

The teenager shifted slightly, "I don't think I should tell you that."

The boy frowned at him.

"Why not?"

"Because… then I'd have to kill you."

He jumped up in fear, and the teen looked sorry. "I don't mean… that was a joke!"

"A joke?" the boy repeated.

"Yes…"

"You know jokes are supposed to be funny, right? They're not supposed to make you piss your pants with fear."

"Yeah…"

"I think that was more a threat than a joke."

"No, look, it was just a stupid thing to say, I didn't mean it."

"Then don't say it!"

"Ok!"

There were a few moments of silence as the boy observed his captor. The teen shifted from foot to foot, but his hands were in his pockets as though he were trying to look relaxed.

"Come on," said the teen, pushing the boy gently into a room on the left, which turned out to be a kind of living room.

"What am I supposed to call you?" the boy asked.

The teen seemed surprised by the question. Maybe he'd expected the boy to hush up. But the boy never could be quiet. "I don't know…" said the teen, "Maybe sir?"

The boy blinked at him. "You want me to call you Sir?"

"Well, that's what people call strangers, right?"

"No, that's what shop assistants call my dad."

"Yes, fine, whatever," the teen mumbles, clearly annoyed.

"Well, sir," said the boy, throwing as much of a sneer into the word as he could, "what now?"

"Now we hope nothing turns up trying to eat you."

The boy's eyes widened. "Is that another joke?"

The teen smirked, "Nope."

The boy hesitated a moment, then made a run for the door. He never got there. The teen was super-fast, and had grabbed him before he'd even made contact with the handle.

He screamed again as the teen pulled him back into the room, which made the teen push a hand against his mouth again. "Just… will you shut up?" the teen cried. "Look, if you don't stop running I'm going to have to… tie you up or something…"

That did nothing to stop the boy fighting.

The teen pulled him back away from the door.

"Stop struggling!" the teen kept repeating, "You don't understand what's out there!"

That did little to calm the boy, who tried biting again. The teen growled and then his eyes glowed an unnatural shade of blue. The boy screamed.

"Enough!" yelled the teen, and he dragged the boy to a desk in the corner. Keeping one hand firmly on the boy's arm, he opened the drawer and pulled out duct tape.

"I warned you!" the teen growled, but the boy could barely see straight now, he was so scared. The teen pushed him firmly onto the couch, held him still with a knee and wound a great strip of duct tape around his wrists.

The boy felt ready to pass out from shock.

"Calm down!" The teenager ordered.

"You tied me up!" said the boy.

"To stop you hurting yourself," replied the teen.

"You want me to calm down because you've tied me up and because someone wants to eat me?!"

"Well… yes!" said the teen. "Just… it won't be long! My mom's out there now, she's taking care of everything. You'll be back home soon, back to your parents.

Parents. Mom. The casual way the teen talked about them. The boy bit his lips. He was not gonna cry in front of this teenager. No way.

"Oh, God!" groaned the teen, "Don't cry."

"I'm not crying!" spat the boy.

"Look, it's going to be fine!" said the teen, "Really. We just couldn't leave you out in the woods, not tonight! You're safe so long as you stay inside this house."

They heard a door inside the house creak open.

They both froze. The teen turned. "Mom?" he called.

The boy could hear wind in the trees outside. He could hear the teen's obviously frightened breathing. And he could hear soft laugh coming from the next room.

"What's that?" he asked, suddenly strangely relieved to feel the warmth of the teen still so close to him.

"Wait here," said the teen.

"No!" said the boy, "I want to go home!"

"You can't. It's probably just a breeze or something anyway."

"I've never heard a breeze laugh!"

"It wasn't a laugh, it was just the air moving."

"Yeah, the air moving from someone's lungs as they laughed!"

"Shut up!" snapped the teen. "Stay here, I'm going to see what it is."

"That's a really stupid idea," the boy told him.

"It's probably nothing," said the teen, pushing the boy back down onto the sofa, and because he suspected the teen was more than capable of duct taping him to the sofa, the boy obeyed, even though it was a really stupid idea.

The teen crept to the door of the room and opened it carefully before slipping out.

"A really stupid idea," the boy repeated, because he knew it was a really stupid idea.

His hands still bound in front of him, the boy chose to stand in a corner, hoping that he could hold anything back that approached him with his hands. He could still hear a sound of laughter, shuffling, breathing, but not the teen. He didn't know whether to be pleased or terrified at that. He sunk further into the walls, as close to them as he could manage.

The walls swallowed him.

He screamed, at the top of his lungs as the solid walls on either side of him darkened and enveloped him. He screamed and rushed forward but he was trapped. Solid stone seemed to be pushing in on him, holding him still.

He saw the teen sprint back into the room, his eyes wide.

"Let him go!" the teen shouted.

The boy struggled as the walls wrapped around his body, screaming, writhing. He was lifted from his feet so he used them, too, to kick, even though he knew there was no point kicking walls.

"Let him go!" the teen shouted again, and his eyes lit up blue. And this time, his nails grew too, as Peter's had earlier.

"Are you going to attack me, little wolf-cub?" hissed a voice in the boy's ear.

"If I have to!" the teen growled.

"And do you think you could win?" The voice broke into a laugh, "oh little cub, little cub. I could devour this little human child right now. I could break him apart, I could take him somewhere you would never find him."

The teen growled once more and pounced. At least, the boy thought it was meant to be a pounce. He darted across the room in a gallop on all fours, and then leapt into the air, only to slam suddenly to a stop. The voice behind the boy laughed again, and the teen was launched across the room, to land on a table at a painful looking angle.

The boy fought anew at the sight. He hadn't particularly liked the teen and his threats and tying him up and leaving him alone when there were crazy wall people around ready to attack little boys, but he was far preferable t said wall person who went around and attacked little boys.

"Hush, child. What is your name?" The voice was soft, now, a cool breath in his ear.

"Not telling you!" said the boy.

"Oh, child, I can find it out so easily."

"Yeah, well none of my teachers have learnt to say it!" cried the boy, triumphantly. He'd never really felt having such an unusual name was a good thing, but there was something immensely satisfying at denying the monster that held him anything.

"Hmm, I think I like you," said the monster, "you've got spirit."

"And arms," said the boy, for some reason.

"And a weight of sadness," said the monster, "Here in your heart. I can feel it. You've seen death."

"None of your business!" shouted the boy.

"Who was it? Let me see…"

A hand from nowhere grasped his head, and there he suddenly was, as his beautiful, intelligent, kind wonderful mother, lay on a hospital bed, singing his name. Making him promise to look after his dad. Telling him she loved him more than life.

"No!" he shouted, "No, no, no, no, no, no…"

"Oh my poor child," breathed the creature, "Such loss, so young!"

"None of your business!" he shouted, "get away! It's nothing to do with you!"

"I can take the pain away, little one. I can take you somewhere safe, somewhere you will always be safe; where you'll never need remember this place, this sadness!"

"No!" shouted the boy.

"You'll never need be a burden. You will be mine! Forever. I will keep you, just give me your pledge, give me yourself, and I will take care of you."

"Let go!" the boy screamed, louder.

"Look at me!"

The voice had changed. Where it had been breathy and echoing, it was now soft and gentle, where it had been scary, it now sounded like home, like the voice the boy had thought he'd never hear again, no matter how much he craved.

"Mom?"

"Look at me, sweetheart," said the voice, "turn around."

The wall no longer holding him, the boy still didn't move. He'd seen the light leave his Mom's eyes, he'd seen the doctors rush to her, to try to save her and fail. He'd listened to his father's broken words, the nonsense that told him his mom was dead. She couldn't be here.

"Come away with me," his mom's voice breathed in his ear. "You will be mine, forever."

The boy couldn't stand it any longer. He turned his head.

Another pair of arms grabbed him, lifted him away from his Mom. He yelped in shock.

"You can't take him!" the teen shouted, "He has a family! You can't steal him!"

"I can if he gives himself to me," hissed the boy's mom, now clear to see, all glowing skin and fresh clothes, not like that last time the boy had seen her in the hospital, pale and thin with dark eyes and limp hair. "He doesn't belong to anyone. His mother is dead. There is no one to claim him."

"He has a father!" hissed the teen.

"You want for me to wait for him little teen wolf?" hissed the boy's mom, who even as they watched grew thinner and stranger and taller, "He will grow up. Is sixteen the age boys become men, now?"

"Eighteen, and you still can't take him!" hissed the teen, "Because then he'll be mine!"

"Ha!" cried the creature, "You left him alone to be taken; he is not yours."

"No!" the teen protested, "I'll claim him."

"If he chooses you over me," hissed the creature. "And who would? Look at you, a worthless little beta. Not even strong enough to go on the hunt."

"I will be!" the teen replied, "I'll be strong enough!"

The creature smiled, and crept forward. The boy was limp in the teen's arms, too confused and shocked by this creature that had appeared to be his mother, but now shimmied across the room on legs too long, with skin too clear, with a face too beautiful. "You'll be mine," the creature whispered to him, "Forever. When you turn eighteen."

"No," the teen hissed, "stay away from him!"

The creature leaned in closer, even as the teen tried to escape. "So long," it breathed, and then in the boy's ear it whispered his name, clear and perfect, exactly as his mother would say it. He shivered.

And then the creature was gone, as a crowd of monsters burst in through the door.