Disclaimer: I don't own MTV's Teen Wolf or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: Part of the "Regress to my mean" series. This story is meant to fit in to the plot previous to the events of "Regress to my mean (and kiss me pretty)." This stand-alone ficlet will not make sense unless you have read that far in the previously mentioned fic. – This fic focuses on the night before Chris and his family left Beacon Hills and what was going through Chris' mind during that time. Set during middle school. For onedayyoujustchange.

Warnings: Spoilers for seasons three and four and one or two vague illusions to things that have happened in season five.

Cri de Coeur

"Your weirdo friend is standing outside," Kate announced, ignoring the "knock first" sign on his bedroom door as she let the knob slam onto the wall with a chalky sound. Sprinkling drywall across the carpet as the force behind it buried the rounded part just a bit deeper into the wall. Just another reminder of the door-stop his parents had never gotten around to buying.

Not like they stayed anywhere long enough for that shit to be an issue.

Usually, anyway.

Beacon Hills had been the longest run they'd ever had in one town. Long enough that he'd gotten stupid enough to start letting his guard down. Making friends. Thinking about things he'd never thought much about before – like prom, graduation and maybe something more than just learning the family trade. Setting down roots or whatever. But at the end of the day that door-stop was just another reminder of how different they were from everyone else.

His parents had never worried about that kind of stuff.

Normal stuff.

"What? Who?" he asked, distracted as he zipped up his duffel bag and lugged it to the landing. Looking down the stairs - left, right, then again just in case - before dropping it on top of the pile of bags and last-minute boxes they were taking with them ahead of the moving van tomorrow.

"Don't know, don't care," she sing-songed, already getting on his nerves even though he hadn't seen her since breakfast. It didn't seem to take much these days. He wasn't sure if it was her, him, or just the funk he'd fallen into when their folks broke the news that they were moving again. Chasing the job. The wolves. The rumors. The whatever. "The loser that got beat up at school last week or whatever."

He head whipped up, surprising both of them with the force behind it.

"What?"

She just wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. Pausing long enough to make sure he saw before flouncing off down the hall towards the bathroom.

He waited until the door closed before he scrambled down the stairs. Skipping over the pile of boxes to peer out the window. Ignoring the muffled sound of his parents arguing in the basement as he made his way to the front door.

And sure enough-

He closed the door softly behind him. Hyper-aware that he was being watched as Bobby stepped awkwardly out from around the thicket of trees that hid the front of the house from the road.

There were words he could have said.

More than a few actually.

Things like "stalker" and "what the hell?" Or just the inconvenient truth that while he'd picked the kid out of the dirt more than once after he'd taken a beating - they'd never really been friends.

But there was something about the moment that made him still. That made the angry words - that had nothing to do with Bobby and everything to do with what his parents did for a living - die before they could make it to his lips. Maybe it was the way the moon framed him. Backlighting spiky black hair and that stupid red jacket that was two sizes too big. Or maybe it was just the fact that for some reason he was almost desperately glad to see him too.

"Your leaving," Bobby muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets without looking him in the eye. Kicking at the dirt until it scuffed the toes of his worn sneakers. Wearing the same jeans as Friday and a shirt that looked like he'd slept in it the night before.

It wasn't a question.

It was an accusation.

And the worst part was that he knew it.

Everything about him leaving was wrongwrongwrong.

He just didn't know why.

"Yeah," He bit off, just shy of challenging as frustrated anger rose up his throat like bile. "Tomorrow morning."

Bobby advanced a step before wavering. Unsure of his welcome.

"That sucks," the kid muttered sullenly. Dark hair sticking up in off-centre spikes as his chin dipped into his neck with a tired tuck. Looking like he wanted to say more, but was in the process of choking on it. Trying to navigate against pride and doubt and a hundred other bits of emotion. Just like he was.

Bobby wasn't wrong.

Hell, he wanted to scream it.

But instead, he said nothing.

Did nothing.

And Bobby did the same back.

Watching each other like there was something else passing between them unsaid. Something underneath the awkward micro-aggression and the lump in his throat that felt suspiciously familiar to frustrated tears.

"But I'll be back," he blurted suddenly. Not realizing how desperately he needed to believe it until the words left him with an embarrassing pitch. Not sure why he said it in the first place despite meaning it more than maybe anything. "Probably."

Bobby reached for it like it was a life-line anyway.

"Yeah?" the kid asked hopefully. Ranging a careful step forward. Then another. Like the words had given him confidence to creep closer. Every movement impossibly careful. Like one wrong one would bring the entire thing down on them. Whatever it was that'd been building long before he'd closed the front door and found him out here. Long before that first day at school, or even-

"Yeah," he echoed, rubbing at the back of his neck as the moon centered the night sky. It had been a long time since he'd just looked. Not since his grandfather had-

He shook the thought away with a violent jerk.

"What's wrong?"

The concern underneath Bobby's tone was grating and out of place.

Making him want to recoil or maybe just scream.

He didn't want this.

Any of it.

He didn't want to leave Beacon Hills.

What if he didn't want to be a hunter?

They hadn't even asked.

They'd just put a gun in his hands and-

"It's complicated," he gritted out, realizing that somewhere along the line Bobby must have moved again. So close now that he swore he could tell from the shift in the air. Mind moving a mile a minute trying to process everything, while his body stayed almost frozen. Barely able to twitch, no less take a step back as Bobby chewed distractedly on a hangnail.

The absence of any other sounds sunk in slowly.

No people.

No cars.

No-

"Wait- did you walk here?" he asked incredulously. Standing up on this tip-toes trying to see the road. "Don't you live on the other side of town?"

"Huh, I'm not too good at complicated," Bobby returned nonchalantly, flashing him a low smile that only spread like an echo when he realized he was smiling back. Unable to help himself as he remembered the cloud of dust and dirt that'd billowed off the kid's clothes when he'd helped him up after Bruneski had tossed him in the dumpster during free period. "And, yeah. What about it? Never heard of a midnight run before?"

He was tempted to call bullshit. But ultimately, he was too amused to do anything but duck his head helplessly. Extending his hand for Bobby to shake as the kid blinked owlishly – once, then again – before grasping it firmly. Grip surprisingly strong for being a mess of angles he hadn't grown into yet.

"Yeah, I noticed," he said with a snort. Realizing off-hand that it was the first smile he could remember in a long time. "Me neither."

The next day, almost down to the minute they passed the city limits, he was violently sick in the back of the van. Bad enough that his old man had to pull over – shouting angrily as Katie screeched and pinched her nose. Hearing going in and out like a bad radio as the hollowed out feeling sucked him down with a vengeance.

Leaving him with the damning realization that if he was a stronger person, he would have listened to the second pulse beating in his chest and told them all to go to hell. He would have stumbled out into the open and crawled all the way back to Beacon Hills. Back to his street, his house the flattened grass Bobby had stood on the night before. All just to be able to breathe freely again.

But he didn't.

It took years for him to stop seeing those sad, dark eyes whenever he closed his. And even longer for the taste of all those questions marks the kid had left on the inside of his skin to start fading. But just like Beacon Hills, he never really got the Bobby Finstock out of his blood.

Looking back on it, maybe that was the point.

A/N: This story is now complete. Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.

Reference:

* Cri de Coeur: an anguished cry of distress or indignation; outcry.