Flutter.

"Did it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine? Did you fall for the same empty answers again?" -Exile Vilify, The National

Chapter I: The Lonely Wolf & The Sad Reaper.

Who would have guessed the grim reaper was a seventeen year old girl? The answer you're looking for is no one. Not a single fucking soul. Sunny (a completely appropriate name for the angel of death herself) sat at the kitchen table while her mother rubbed soothing circles into her back and her father set down a steaming cup of tea in front of her. No, she was not the product of Satan and Medusa. In fact she hadn't really even been born. She had materialized into existence as an infant, and been placed on the doorstep of an unsuspecting couple and they'd taken her in, read the terms and conditions paper she'd come with, and decided to keep her.

Her parents - Bonnie and Clark - were, needless to say, a little insane. Bonnie, her mother, worked in nuclear science and Clark owned a petting zoo. Bonnie was the equivalent of a mad scientist and Clark was crazy about farm animals. It was no doubt their questionable sanities had brought them together; together, and brought them to the decision to raise the angel of death. The idea probably wouldn't have sounded too inviting anyone else.

"Sun, I'm sure you can take a day off of work. Let that mind of yours rest." Clark said sympathetically, sitting down across from her. He folded his hands in front of him and gave her the pitying look that most aging and dying barn cats received.

Barn cats in which she always had to bury, by the way. And pass their soul on. But, you know. It was a part the perks of being the grim reaper. "I can't take a day off," she attempted to keep her voice level, "I live in my workspace. I can't just stop a subconscious action." Her workspace, being her mind. One would have supposed that the grim reaper would live somewhere other than the physical world, but unfortunately whoever had created this damned universe had decided otherwise. Sunny's mind was in a constant state of movement, emotions that were not her own whipping through her thoughts. Sorrow, anger, resent, peace, joy - you name it, and she had felt it. The deepest pits of hell rested in the planes of her subconscious, as well as the gates of heaven, and it was up to her to determine which threshold was passed. For every soul. For all of the millions dying each day. They were all whizzed over continents and states and dimensions, and into her head. Life was just great.

"Well...you seem to be getting better at it! You don't sit in your room all day staring out your window anymore." Bonnie chirped hopefully. Sunny rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. Why couldn't I have been some etheral being? Like God or something?, she thought miserably. Of course her human body had grown emotionally attached to her parents, but her true self - the true, real reaper - saw them as a couple of walking corpses. Clark had maybe fifteen to twenty years left while Bonnie had about ten. If she hadn't been stuck inside of this stupid body with its stupid needs and wants that wouldn't have bothered her like it oh so did.

"Speaking of that," Sunny rose from her spot, brushing off her mother's touch and leaving the cup of tea her father had brewed for her steaming on the table, "I think I'll head up to my room." Don't bother me. Please. She passed out of the kitchen and into the living room, where she ascended the stairs. On the way to her room - at the very back of the hallway - she stopped by the bathroom, grabbing a bottle of painkillers before continuing.

She locked her door behind her and downed about four tablets dry. The thing about your mind never shutting up was that it came with horrible, dreadful migraines. She set the bottle down on her desk and gently perched herself on the window seat that resided under the only window in her room. She glanced around her room, and each time she looked at it, it seemed more and more surreal. It had been this way ever since she was a child - though she felt no less different than her six years old self. The only thing that had changed was her body. Even her room had remained the same - dull and simple; mahogany floorboards decorated with a simple black carpet and a desk pushed into the corner by the door. Her bed was only a mattress, bare of sheets and blankets and pillows. She rarely slept on it. She opted for the window seat, where she spent most of her time anyway. It made sense to sleep on it. It was about as comfortable as the bed.

Sunny let out a sigh and pushed a lock of black hair out of her face. She settled against the wall and brought her knees up to her chest, encircling her arms around them and letting her chin rest atop them. Bonnie would have been dismayed at the way she gazed out the window. If you had wanted a normal child, Sunny thought bitterly to herself, maybe you should have thought that through before you invited death into your home.

A bitter sadness rose in Sunny's throat.

Who would have guessed a small Indian reservation was the breeding grounds for werewolves? The answer you're looking for is no one. Not a single fucking soul. Paul stared up at the popcorn ceiling in Sam's house with his feet kicked up on the arm of the couch, wondering why sleep hadn't clawed up to claim him yet. He certainly felt tired; he had run patrol all night long with Seth prattling on and on about God knows what. He should've been asleep. He knew it.

"Paul," he didn't move from his spot or look in the direction the voice had come from. "We're ordering takeout for dinner. You want your usual?" Well that's a stupid fucking question. Of course I want my usual.

"Yeah." Replied Paul.

"What are you doing?"

"Sleeping."

"Clearly, you're not sleeping."

"Shut the fuck up, Leah."

The female wolf scoffed and decided to see her way out of the situation before things got ugly. Paul was never in a good mood and he knew it, took pride in it, and rubbed it in everyone's face. It was his thing. Ever since he had first joined the Pack he had been known as the one in the worst mood possible at all times, and Paul clung to it like a raft in a choppy sea.

After a few more minutes of lying down and staring at the ceiling, Paul finally gave up on sleep and sat up. The world wavered around him, making if feel surreal and whimsical. He hadn't slept in weeks, he realized. He couldn't remember the last time he had closed his eyes, felt the blackness, and then awoke to light filtering in through the windows. Everything just morphed together, one huge gaping consciousness that constantly poked him in the cheek, reminding him of how tired he was and how unable he was to sleep. Insomnia, said a passing thought, but he ignored it and stood up.

Perhaps there was something in the kitchen waiting for him. Takeout usually took about twenty minutes, and knowing Leah, she hadn't even gotten around to ordering the stuff yet. He hated her.

Walking through the dining room - past a game of chess between Sam and Jared - and into the kitchen, Paul opened the fridge and peered inside. There was a leftover steak in a styrofoam box, and since there was no name bolded in sharpy written on it, he took the liberty of grabbing it out and throwing the box away. He bit into the cold meat and didn't taste anything. He stared out the window; it was raining.

For what felt like the millionth time Paul recognized that he hated being a werewolf. He hated the boiling rage that always sat beneath the surface of his skin and he hated the heat, the way he could never truly cool down and he absolutely fucking hated sharing a mind with fifteen, twenty, thirty - how ever many more idiots there were now. He hated it. He wanted nothing more than to pick up and leave and taste solitude again, because it had been so, so long since he had spent more than three hours alone. What was it like to be alone? He couldn't tell you. He was constantly surrounded by people and talking and movement.

And why couldn't he sleep? It was like someone had flipped a switch and turned off slumber. No matter how tired he was or how many sleeping pills he took he couldn't close his eyes without thoughts filling his eyelids like images drawn to a projection screen. He just wanted to clock out; kick the bucket for a few hours; hell, he could settle for a dream or two. But he was stuck with this endless stream of reality and loneliness and hatred and fuck, couldn't he just catch a break for once in his life?

The word loneliness drifted through him like a gentle breeze. The sound it made was hollow and empty. He dropped the bare steak bone in the garbage can and leaned against the counter, gazing out into the hazy, rainy day and wondering why the universe had chosen to put him here; why it had chosen to make him so unhappy. He could no longer remember the sweet days of his childhood which had surely been filled with sunny beach days and laughter and joy. He could barely recall his mother's smiling face, and his father's warm and sure grip that had steadied him. Now, his memories were filled with tearing apart bloodthirsty stone creatures and endless patrols and sad, gloomy days such as this one. Did he even have a life outside of the pack?

A deep scowl formed on his face as he answered his own question. No.

Loneliness crawled up Paul's spine and gripped his throat.

A/n: I have no business starting a story while I have another one running but this idea grabbed me and ran. I'm not too sure when and if I'll update this again, but I felt pretty good about putting it out there.

Reviews are appreciated!