Teen Wolf: Sun Hill Pack

—(Markus)—

Noah leaned forward from the back seat, his voice laced with mock indignation. "How come you get to sit in the front seat, and I'm stuck back here like some kind of kid?"

I glanced at him briefly. "Because I need the leg room and you are a kid."

"No way that's fair," he mumbled, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.

Calvin, who was in the passenger seat, chimed in without missing a beat. "You want me to turn this truck around and go home? Cause I will!"

I raised an eyebrow, my eyes still on the road. "Michael will strangle you if you make us miss our first day of school."

"Yeah, yeah, fair enough," Calvin said with a smirk. But it was clear he was enjoying the banter.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I could feel the eyes on us. Maybe it was the truck, maybe it was Calvin and me—either way, we weren't exactly blending in with the crowd. I felt that familiar twinge at the back of my neck, a feeling I was getting used to.

Noah glanced around nervously. "You feel that? Everyone's staring."

"Eh, just ignore it," I said, trying to keep things low-key. Calvin, however, seemed to feed off the attention, grinning like a maniac.

We got out of the truck and started walking toward the school entrance. It wasn't long before a teacher in a track suit stepped in front of us, looking us up and down.

"Jeez, what have you two been eating?" he asked, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Food," I answered flatly.

The teacher raised an eyebrow. "Smart guy, huh? How about you two giants join the lacrosse team? We could use some muscle on the field."

"Not interested," I said, already trying to step around him.

"Same here," Calvin added, dismissing the offer with a wave.

Noah blinked, his voice filled with disbelief. "What? No way—"

"He wasn't asking you, shrimp," Calvin said, reaching over and giving Noah a noogie, pulling him into a headlock.

Noah yelped, trying to wriggle free. "Let go, Cal ill tell Micheal!"

I laughed at the sight. Calvin's grip on Noah was like a bear trap, and Noah was trying to act all tough, but I could see he wasn't bothered by it. Not really.

The coach not giving up on his offer. "You sure I can't convince you, Mr…"

"We're all Ambrose," I replied, cutting him off before Noah could make another snarky comment.

The coach eyed the two of us, narrowing his gaze. "Huh, you two look pretty alike. Is he the adopted one?"

Without missing a beat, both Noah and I answered in unison, "Yes."

Calvin was left look like someone had smaked him. Rapidly opening his mouth like a fish. 

"Alright, alright. Well, if you change your mind about lacrosse, come find me. But hey, nice to meet you guys."

Calvin ruffled Noah's hair before letting him go, laughing as Noah glared at him.

Noah straightened up, brushing his jacket off. "Yeah, well, I'm gonna make sure you pay for this later."

"Get used to it, Noah," I said, slinging an arm over his shoulder. "We're just getting started."

The hallways were crowded with students moving from class to class, the buzz of chatter and laughter filling the air. I was just trying to make it to my locker, feeling the weight of the day settle in as the initial chaos of the first bell had finally died down.

I was opening my locker when it happened.

A kid—scrawny, awkward—bumped into me from behind. I barely even flinched, the impact so small it might as well have been nothing.

"Hey, sorry!" he stammered, his voice shaky. "I didn't mean to—"

I glanced over my shoulder, expecting a random kid to apologize and move on, but instead, the guy was standing there, nervously shifting on his feet. He looked like he was trying to shrink into himself, like he wanted to disappear into the locker.

Great, another person who's a little too aware of their own size in comparison to me.

I didn't say anything, just turned back to my locker, but my patience was already wearing thin. The kid was still standing there, shifting nervously.

"I said sorry," he muttered again, his voice barely above a whisper.

I paused, annoyed now, but I wasn't about to make a scene. "Yeah, I heard you," I said flatly, not looking at him.

The kid's eyes flicked nervously to the ground, then back up to me, clearly unsure of whether he should leave or keep apologizing. His nervous energy was making my skin itch. There was something about him—something familiar. I couldn't put my finger on it at first, but when he spoke again, it clicked.

"You—uh… you're one new, right?" he asked, his voice quieter now, but the question hanging heavy in the air.

I looked at him again, more curious than annoyed now. He wasn't just any random kid. He was trying way too hard to act like he didn't care, but his wide eyes and the way his hand kept twitching at his side told a different story. This kid was anxious, and I hated how easily it was to read him.

"Yeah, want a gold star?" I said, my tone neutral. "You're?"

He hesitated for a moment, like he was deciding how to introduce himself without giving too much away. "Scott," he finally said, his voice low, like saying his name out loud was somehow a burden. "Scott McCall.".

"Alright, Scott," I said, trying to get him to move along. "You can stop acting like I'm gonna bite your head off."

Scott flinched slightly, his eyes widening again. "Sorry," he muttered, almost too quickly. "I just… you're, uh, big. And I'm not—well, you know."

I couldn't help the slight smirk that tugged at my lips. "Yeah, I know. But you don't need to be freaked out about it."

I didn't want to spend the rest of the day talking to some random, nervous kid. But as he stood there, shifting from foot to foot, it was clear he wasn't going to leave anytime soon.

"So," Scott said, his voice still uncertain, "you think… you think we could hang out sometime? I mean, I'm not trying to be weird or anything. But I know some people, maybe…"

I glanced at him, wondering why he was suddenly so desperate to talk. I wasn't in the mood to make friends with anyone who wasn't at least somewhat confident. This kid was the exact opposite.

"Look, Scott," I said, getting ready to cut the conversation short, "just… chill. I don't bite unless you give me a reason to." I slammed my locker shut and took a step back. "But seriously, don't go around acting like you've got a target on your back. That'll only make things worse."

Scott gave a small, sheepish nod, and finally, he backed away, looking like he was about to burst into a run at any moment.

"Who was that?" Noah's voice pulled me out of my thoughts as he appeared beside me, giving me a questioning look.

I shook my head. "Some kid named Scott. Freaked out because I barely even noticed him bumping into me."

Noah chuckled, glancing at the hallway where Scott had disappeared. "He looked like a deer in headlights. What a mess."

"Yeah," I muttered,

"Well, maybe he's just nervous," Noah shrugged

"Yeah," I muttered under my breath

The cafeteria was buzzing with the usual lunchtime chaos—tables packed with students chattering, trays clattering against one another, and the low hum of people catching up after the first half of the school day. I wasn't all that hungry, but Noah had insisted we join him at lunch, so here we were, sitting at the back of the cafeteria, near the far wall.

Calvin, as usual sprawling out like he owned the place, and I followed suit. We weren't exactly the type of people to worry about fitting in; we already stood out enough. But Noah… he wasn't big, and that always made him a little more cautious about who he brought around us.

"Yo, you're late!" Noah grinned as we sat down, his tray already half-full of whatever mystery meat the cafeteria was serving today.

"You know what they say—big guys take their time," Calvin responded, elbowing Noah and cracking a smile.

Before I could even sit down, a kid with messy brown hair and wide eyes came around the corner, looking like he was trying to blend in with the shadows. He glanced over at Noah nervously and then shot a quick look at Calvin and me, like he was deciding if he wanted to walk in or run the other way.

Noah immediately jumped to his feet, waving him over. "Alan! Come on, man. Don't just stand there like an idiot."

The kid—Alan, apparently—muttered "sure why not sit next to not one but two people who look like they can easily snap me" under his breath but made his way to the table, visibly hesitant. I didn't blame him; anyone in their right mind would be nervous about sitting next to me or Calvin, especially when we already had made a reputation for being not exactly "approachable." I could already see Alan's eyes flicking between us, as if trying to figure out where to sit.

Noah quickly gestured to the empty seat next to him. "Just sit here, Alan. It's all good."

Alan took a step forward, then immediately seemed to second-guess himself, glancing back toward the cafeteria door like he was about to bolt.

"Yo, what's the matter?" Noah raised an eyebrow.

Alan swallowed, his throat bobbing nervously. "I… I don't know, man. I mean, I've heard stuff about you guys, and, uh… you're, like, really tall." He glanced at Calvin, then me, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Calvin snorted, leaning back in his seat with a smirk. "What, you scared of us?"

Alan quickly took a step back, as if he was about to turn and flee. He half-dragged Noah with him, his hand grabbing his arm in a mild panic. "Maybe I should just, uh, go sit somewhere else? I mean, I didn't realize—"

Noah slapped Alan lightly on the back, making him jump. "Chill, Alan. They're my brothers. They're not gonna eat you or anything." He pointed at Calvin and me in turn. "Markus, Calvin, this is Alan—he's a freshman like me and in my class."

Alan's eyes widened as he looked back at Calvin and me, still unsure whether he should run or stay. Calvin raised an eyebrow, but there was an amused glint in his eye. "Yeah, Noah's right," Calvin said, leaning forward. "You're good, kid. We won't bite unless you do something stupid."

Alan hesitated, glancing between us, his hands twitching like he was ready to take off running at any second. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally lowered himself into the seat, his posture stiff.

"I, uh, I didn't mean to, you know, freak out or anything," Alan muttered, staring down at his tray. "It's just that… you guys are, like… way big."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Yeah, we get that a lot," I said, glancing at Calvin, who gave a small nod.

Noah just rolled his eyes. "You're fine, Alan. They're just big guys with big hearts, right?"

"Speak for yourself," Calvin teased, but there was no malice in his tone. "I'm just here for the food."

The awkwardness seemed to ease a bit as we all dug into our lunches. Alan still kept his distance, but he'd relaxed slightly, no longer looking like he might pass out from fear. We talked about the usual nonsense—the assignments, the teachers, the classes that had already been a drag—and Alan seemed to come out of his shell little by little.

After a while, though, I could tell that Alan was still on edge. Every time Calvin reached for his drink or I shifted in my seat, Alan flinched just a little. It wasn't a big thing, but it was enough that I could tell he wasn't fully comfortable yet.

"So, Alan," I said, breaking the silence, "tell us something interesting about you."

Alan paused, clearly thrown off by the question. His eyes darted between us again, then he cleared his throat. "Uh, I dunno… I guess I'm into… video games? Yeah, I like to play."

Noah grinned. "Finally, something we can talk about. You play anything cool?"

Alan's face brightened a little. "Yeah, actually, I've been obsessed with this game called No Mans Sky lately. I've been trying to get better at it, but, you know, I'm still learning."

"huh?" Calvin chuckled, clearly amused. "You know I don't know that one."

I leaned back in my chair, thinking about how odd it was to be having this kind of conversation with someone who was almost half my size. He wasn't a bad kid, but there was something about the way he was constantly looking over his shoulder that was still bugging me. It wasn't just the size difference; it was almost like he was… hiding from someone.

Next was swim class, and to be honest, I wasn't exactly looking forward to it. I mean, swimming was fine and all, but it wasn't like it was my favorite thing in the world. As I walked into the locker room, I spotted Alan, the kid from lunch, fumbling with his locker. He looked a little out of place, almost like he was trying to shrink into the walls to avoid being noticed. He gave me a nervous smile when he saw me.

"Hey, Alan," I said, tossing my gym bag onto the bench. "You ready to jump in?"

He gave a half-smile, his nerves still visible. "Yeah, I guess. Trying not to make a fool of myself out there, you know?"

"Don't worry. Just try to keep your head above water, and you'll be fine."

He nodded, though he looked a bit uncertain, probably because he didn't seem all that confident in the water. I could tell his mind was elsewhere, probably running through a million thoughts all at once. But hey, I couldn't blame him.

As I pulled off my shirt to change, I caught Alan glancing at my back. It wasn't the first time I'd noticed people staring, but his gaze lingered for a moment too long, making me feel that familiar tension in the air.

I had scars. Big ones. The kind that were hard to ignore, running down my shoulder, across my back, and even on my calves—long, jagged claw marks that looked like something out of a horror movie. They looked old, but they still were fesh to me fresh, like a reminder that some things didn't fade.

Alan's eyes widened just slightly, and I caught him looking again.

"Don't ask," I said firmly, without looking directly at him. I kept tugging on my trunks, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that someone was about to ask me about the damn scars. "Seriously, it's not something I talk about."

Alan froze, clearly unsure whether he should push further. But after a second, he just nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay… I wasn't gonna."

The tension hung in the air, but Alan seemed to respect the boundary I'd set, which, to my relief, meant no further questions. We both finished getting ready in silence, though I could feel the weight of his curiosity in the way he glanced at me once more.

We headed out to the pool shortly after, the cool air hitting our skin as we joined the rest of the class. The swim drills started, and I noticed Alan struggling a bit, splashing water everywhere and not quite keeping up with the rest of the class. I stayed focused, though, my natural ability in the water helping me breeze through the exercises with ease. Alan, on the other hand, kept at it, though I could see the frustration building as he got tangled up in the ropes.

After a while, Alan caught up a little, though he looked exhausted. I gave him a nod as we took a breather at the edge of the pool, for his benefit rather then mine.

"You're getting the hang of it," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "Just gotta get that breathing rhythm right."

Alan wiped his face, clearly trying to hide his embarrassment. "Yeah, I'll get it. Just don't think I'll be setting any records anytime soon."

I smirked, shaking my head. "Hey, we all start somewhere."

As the class wound down and everyone climbed out of the pool, Alan kept his distance, clearly still uncomfortable. As we walked toward the locker room, I noticed him glancing at me again, like he was debating whether to say something. But in the end, he kept quiet.

When we reached the locker room, Alan hesitated, then spoke up. "Hey, I just… I didn't mean to make it weird with the whole scar thing. I was just… you know… I didn't expect that."

I could tell he was trying to be careful with his words, but I appreciated the effort. "It's fine," I said, pulling my shirt over my head and shrugging. "People stare. It happens."

We changed quickly, and I could tell Alan was trying to move on from the moment. Good. He was smart enough to let it go.

"Alright," I said as I slung my gym bag over my shoulder. "You survived the first swim class. I'll give you that."

Alan smiled more genuinely this time. "Thanks. I guess I didn't drown, so that's a win."

"Exactly. One step at a time."

We headed out of the locker room together.

As the three of us piled back into the truck, the ride home was relatively quiet. Noah, still animated, kept recounting his day, though his words became background noise as I stared out the window, my mind elsewhere.

Calvin drove, his hands loose on the wheel, while Noah kept pestering him about how he should join lacrosse . "You totally should've joined! You could've been a legend."

"Yeah, I'll pass," Calvin said, smirking. "I'm not into team sports. If I'm not the captain ."

Noah rolled his eyes. "You just don't wanna wear the gear."

"Exactly," Calvin replied with a grin.

When we pulled into the driveway, the house was a welcome sight. It had a rustic charm—wooden beams, a wraparound porch, and the faint smell of pine from the surrounding trees. As we climbed out of the truck, the front door opened, and Michael stood there, his imposing frame silhouetted against the warm glow of the living room lights.

"You're back," he said, his tone calm but curious. "How was your first day?"

Noah immediately launched into a monologue, describing every mundane detail with a dramatic flair. Calvin followed behind him, nodding along occasionally, clearly ready to let Noah take the spotlight. I hung back, taking my time as I shut the truck door and followed them inside.

Michael listened patiently, nodding here and there, but his eyes flicked to me occasionally, like he was waiting for something. Once Noah finished his story and Calvin added his usual sarcasm, Michael clapped his hands together. "Sounds like a full day. Good job making it through."

Noah grinned, clearly pleased with the praise, and headed upstairs to drop off his bag. Calvin followed, tossing a casual "Later" over his shoulder. I made a move to follow them, but Michael stopped me with a single word.

"Markus."

I froze, my hand on the banister, before turning to face him. His expression was neutral, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes that put me on edge. "Yeah?"

"Can we talk for a minute?" he asked, gesturing toward the living room.

I sighed inwardly but nodded, following him. I didn't like these "talks." They usually meant he had something serious on his mind, and I wasn't in the mood to play therapist tonight.

Michael sat down on the couch, gesturing for me to take a seat across from him. I didn't bother, leaning against the armrest instead. He rubbed his hands together, a gesture I'd come to recognize as him trying to find the right words.

"How are you holding up?" he started, his tone careful.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, not wanting to get into it. "First day was… uneventful."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Uneventful? You met a hundred new people, dealt with teachers, students, coaches… and that's uneventful?"

I shrugged. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

Michael studied me for a moment, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Markus, I'm not blind. I see how you carry yourself—how you carry all of this." He gestured vaguely, probably meaning pent up emotion and the scars I hated people staring at.

I stiffened, not liking where this was going. "What's your point?"

He sighed, his voice softening. "My point is… you've been through a lot. More than most people your age. And I think it might help if you talked to someone about it."

I felt a surge of annoyance, my jaw tightening. "I talk to you, don't I?"

"This is different," he said, his tone steady. "I'm your Alpha, yes. And sometimes… you need an outside perspective. Someone who can help you process everything without judgment."

I pushed off the armrest, standing up straight. "I don't need a therapist, Michael."

His gaze didn't waver. "I think you do."

The air between us grew tense, the weight of his words settling over me like a lead blanket. "You think I can't handle this? That I'm… what, falling apart?"

"I didn't say that," Michael replied, his voice calm but firm. "But there's no shame in needing help, Markus. You've been through things no one should have to face alone."

I felt my chest tighten, the familiar anger bubbling up. "I've been handling it. I've been handling everything. The pack, the scars, the people —everything. And now you're telling me I'm not doing enough?"

"Markus, that's not what I'm saying." Michael stood now, his tone measured but more authoritative. "You're doing more than enough. But even the strongest people need help sometimes. It doesn't make you weak. It makes you smart."

I clenched my fists, my mind racing. I hated this—hated feeling like I was being analyzed, like my every move was being questioned. "I don't need someone poking around in my head, telling me how I should feel."

"No one's telling you how to feel," Michael said, his voice softening again. "But if you keep burying everything, it's going to come back to haunt you. You know that."

I didn't respond, the anger and frustration swirling inside me like a storm. After a moment, Michael stepped closer, his presence steady but not overwhelming.

"Just think about it," he said quietly. "That's all I'm asking."

I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to speak without snapping. He sighed, clearly reading my body language, and stepped back.

"You're strong, Markus," he said, his tone filled with quiet conviction. "But strength isn't about how much you can carry. It's about knowing when to let someone else help."

With that, he turned and headed toward the kitchen, leaving me standing there, the weight of his words sinking in. I didn't want to admit it, but a part of me knew he wasn't wrong. Still, the thought of opening up to someone—anyone—felt like a mountain I wasn't ready to climb.

I shook my head, forcing the thought aside. For now, I'd stick to what I knew: keeping everything buried and pushing forward, one step at a time.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon through the curtains. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the walls settling. I was in the middle of a dream—a bad one.

In the dream, I was running through a forest. Trees blurred past me, their gnarled branches reaching out like claws. The ground beneath my feet was uneven, slick with mud. Behind me, there was something—a shadowy figure that I couldn't quite see, but I could feel it. Its growls echoed in my ears, its breath hot on my neck.

No matter how fast I ran, it got closer. And closer. And closer.

The moment its claws reached out and sank into my back, I woke up with a start, a scream ripping from my throat. My fist lashed out instinctively, the adrenaline coursing through my veins like fire.

"OW! What the hell, Markus?!"

The voice was groggy, irritated, and unmistakably Calvin's. My vision was still blurry as I sat up, my chest heaving. Calvin was holding the side of his face where I must've hit him.

"Cal?" I managed, my voice hoarse.

"No, it's fucking Santa Claus," Calvin snapped, rubbing his jaw. "Dude, what was that for?"

I blinked, trying to piece together what had just happened. The dream lingered in my mind like a haze, the fear still gripping me. "I… I didn't mean to," I said finally. "I was having a nightmare."

Calvin groaned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and getting to his feet. "Nightmare or not, you've got one hell of a punch, man. You could've broken something."

"Sorry," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. My shirt was damp with sweat, and I could feel the tremor in my hands.

Calvin's irritation faded as he got a good look at me. "You okay?"

I nodded quickly, too quickly. "Yeah. Just… bad dream."

He frowned, stepping closer. "You don't look okay. You're pale as hell, and you're shaking."

"I said I'm fine, Cal," I snapped, more forcefully than I intended.

Calvin raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off. But maybe don't swing at me next time you wake up screaming, yeah?"

I didn't answer, staring down at my hands. The nightmare was still vivid, the image of the claws digging into me refusing to leave my mind.

Calvin sighed, his voice softer now. "Look, I get it. You've been through a lot. But if this keeps happening, maybe you should talk to someone. You know, like Michael's been saying."

I shot him a glare. "Not you too."

"I'm just saying," he said with a shrug. "You don't have to deal with this crap alone. And maybe talking to a pack therapist or whatever isn't the worst idea."

"I don't need a therapist," I said through gritted teeth. "I just need to sleep."

"Sure," Calvin said, his tone skeptical. "Because that's working out so great for you right now."

"Calvin," I warned, my voice low.

"Fine, fine," he said, holding his hands up again. "I'll drop it. Just… try not to hit me next time, okay? My face is too pretty for this."

Despite myself, I let out a small, reluctant chuckle. Calvin grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

"Alright," he said, heading back to his bed. "Try to get some rest, Markus. And maybe, just maybe, keep your fists to yourself."

I lay back down, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet again, but the weight of the nightmare still pressed down on me.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep. But as the minutes dragged on, I realized it wasn't the claws or the shadowy figure that scared me the most.

It was the feeling that no matter how fast I ran, I'd never escape.

[A/N I'm alive just sick]