"Get up and get ready for school." A middle aged man spits out at his son. The boy curled up on the floor, his ribs and stomach throbbing thanks to his fathers steel tipped boots.
"Yes, sir." The boy grunts out, shakily standing to his feet, his vision spinning for a second before it balances out.
The boy begins to limp to his room - his torso curled over slightly - muttering curses under his breath as he begins to feel the newly damaged tissue slowly repair itself, a painful little gift he's received because he's a supernatural being. Whatever the hell he is, none of the dead would tell him no matter how many times he asked.
"God dammit this hurts." He grunts out, lifting his shirt over his head with a silent cry. In his mirror he sees that he torso is covered with purple, green, and yellow bruises, all slowly - and painfully - healing and fading away before his eyes.
He walks over to his closet - no longer having to limp - and picks out an oversize plain black t-shirt. Throwing it over his head and sore body, he walks over to his nightstand, taking and swallowing an aspirin to help numb the pain.
Finally being able to walk without the need to grimace and curse, he leaves his room and walks downstairs, ignoring his father as the man begins to drink a beer, and walks outside, getting on his old and worn bike before peddling off to school.
On his way to school he does what he usually does. He try's to ignore the wandering dead and instead try's to focus on the passing trees. The other teenagers walking or running to school. The sun that filters down, trying to make the world less dark and dull.
Arriving at school, he ignores the usual taunts and looks of others, long since used to that fact that he's a freak and other people have no problem pointing it out.
He walks through the school halls - earphones plugged in his ears - and ignores everyone and everything. All the chattering of his fellow teens. The gross smell of cheep cologne and teenage hormones mixing together - another "perk" of being whatever he is - creating this gross smell that burns his nose. Ignoring as people push and shove each other, either with their friends or to pick on those that are weaker than them.
He ignores it all as he walks over to his locker, opening it to gather all the necessary books for his first period. But as he's rummaging through his locker, he feels something. The same feeling he gets whenever a werewolf spirit is near by, but this one's alive.
Brows furrowed, he looks over to where the feeling is strongest and sees a Latino boy with a slightly crooked jaw next to a buzz cut boy. The Latin boy is the werewolf he quickly summarises, noticing the supernatural energy intertwined with his soul - another "perk" his supernaturalness grants him.
Deciding it's none of his business, he turns back to his locker to pack everything he needs in his bag before walking to his first class, ignoring the intense stare on his back.
Scott's eyes follow the curly haired boy intently, somehow smelling him from across the hall. The boys scent is a perfect balance of what he imagines - if they had a scent - life and death would smell like. The bitter and old smell of death, perfectly intertwined with the sweet and fresh smell of life. Weirdly creating the most mouth water smell he's ever smelt, drowning out the gross smell of cheap cologne and teenage hormones - which he still doesn't understand how he can smell.
"Hello." Scott's trance gets interrupted by his friends hand waving in his face, the buzz cut boy wearing an exasperated look. "Dude, we're you paying attention?" He asks.
"No." The newly turned werewolf answers.
"What were you staring at?" Stiles asks, trying to look exactly where Scott's focus switched to, pushing his friends head back to get the perfect angle. "Dude, you were staring at a dude?" He asks, turning back to his friend when he sees the boy with dark curly hair.
"No, I was just being traumatised. I got attacked by a wolf last night and saw half of a dead body. It's traumatising." The werewolf lies, knowing it would switch his friends focus onto something else.
"There are no wolves in Beacon Hills." Stiles tells the Latino again, already over having to say it. "Maybe you hav-." The buzz cut boy gets cut off when a warning bell rings.
"As you all know, there indeed was a body found last night." Azrael didn't know that, he was too drunk to know anything other than the fake stars on his bedroom ceiling. "And I am sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened." A note gets thrown onto Azrael's desk.
'I bet you did it, you crazy freak.' The note read, a quiet snicker coming from one of the boys in his class as he pushes the note into his pocket.
"But I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody, which means you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus which is on your desk outlining this semester." Azrael's teacher finishes his little talk.
Looking down at his folder which does indeed have the syllabus, Azrael quickly scans it, his scanning being broken by a sudden scent of confusion flooding off of the newly turned werewolf, though he chooses to ignore it and goes back to reading.
Scott can hear a phone ringing, though it seems nobody else does based on everyone's reaction as he scans the classroom.
"Mom, three calls on my first day is a little overdoing it." He can hear a teenage girl speak, his gaze moving to a window, focusing on a brunette girl sitting on a bench and searching through her bag. "Everything except a pen." He assumes she's answering whoever's speaking on the other end of the call, though he's still extremely confused as to how he can hear her. "Oh, my god, I didn't actually forget a pen." The girl mutters to herself, giving up on searching through her bag. "Okay, okay. I gotta go. Love you." She disconnects the call, the school principal walking up to her.
"Sorry to keep you waiting." He apologises, the brunette girl getting up. "So you were saying San Francisco isn't where you grew up?" The two begin to walk away from the bench and closer to the school entrance.
"No, but we lived there for more than a year, which is unusual in my family." The girl confirms, the two being out of his sight as he hears the faint noise of a door open and closing.
"Well, hopefully Beacon Hills will be your last stop for a while." The man says, the slight echo of his voice indicating the two are walking through the hallway. It being confirmed as he opens the classroom door, the brunette girl standing behind him.
"Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent." He announces to the classroom, Allison trailing in from behind him and into the classroom. "Please do your best to make her feel welcome." He begins to walk out of the classroom, the girl moving to sit in the only available seat, behind Scott.
The newly turned wolf turns in his seat, offering a pen to the confused but grateful girl.
"Thanks." She thanks with a smile, accepting the pen.
"We'll begin with Kafka's Metamorphosis on page 133." The class teacher breaks them out of their shared smile, the girl furrowing her brows in confusion when Scott turns back to face forward.
'Gross.' Azrael thinks after watching the two smile at each other for a solid 15 seconds.
Scott's at his locker while not so discreetly watching Allison from across the hall as she reaches her locker, his nose picking up on the smell of the boy with the curly hair, his gaze only having to move a few inches to the left to see the curly haired body rummaging through his locker.
Though Allison catches him looking, she just sends a smile back to him, not even opening her locker.
"That jacket is absolutely killer." The queen bee of the school, Lydia Martin, approaches her with a compliment, breaking the brunette's gaze from the Latino. "Where'd you get it?" The strawberry blond inquires.
"My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco." Allison answers the girl, smiling a little awkwardly.
"And you are my new best friend." Lydia states, smiling. "Hey, Jackson." She says with a laugh when her boyfriend appears at her side, wrapping an arm around her back, the two sharing a quick kiss.
"Can someone tell me how new girl is here all of five minutes, and she's already hanging out with Lydia's clique?" A dark skinned girl wearing a floral pattern shirt asks Stiles and Scott, looking back at the new girl in question, her gaze flickering over to the school freak.
"Because she hot." Stiles bluntly answers. "Beautiful people herd together." He says looking at Lydia, his eyes subconsciously flicking over to Azrael, not even noticing as it does so.
"So, this weekend, there's a party." Scott hears Lydia say to Allison, crossing her arms.
"A party?" The brunette wonders, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion, not getting why it's relevant.
"Yeah. Friday night. You should come." Jackson nods along, leaning his forearm against a locker near him while the other stays around his girlfriend's waist.
"Uh, I can't. It's family night this Friday. Thanks for asking." The brunette girl poorly makes up an excuse, the eavesdropping boy hearing a quiet snort of amusement coming from the curly haired boy near them.
"You sure? I mean, everyone's going after the scrimmage." Jackson asks, trying to get her to rethink her choice.
"You mean like football?" Allison asks, having no clue about the boys dislike towards the sport.
"Football's a joke in Beacon. The sport here is lacrosse." Jackson corrects her assumption with a mocking laugh. "We've won the state championship for the past three years."
"Because of a certain team captain." Lydia's attention instantly flips over to him, moving her body closer to his, Scott hearing a quiet, mocking gag come from the pleasantly smelling boy.
"Well, we have practice in a few minutes." Jackson offers. "That is, if you don't have anywhere else..."
"Well, I was going to..." Allison cuts him off, only to be cut of by the strawberry blond.
"Perfect. You're coming." She takes a hold of Alison's hand, forcing her to walk with her as her and Jackson walk away.
The interaction between Lydia and Allison was mildly amusing for Azrael, well, that was until Jackson showed up. He smells of arrogance and overly expensive cologne, a rather unpleasant smell in his opinion.
Though after a few seconds of waiting he walks off in the direction they went in, deciding he wants to study at the bleachers. Plus, being out of the house for as long as possible is a win for him.
Sitting on the grass near the miniature bleachers, Azrael's eyes move away from his notebook and onto the new werewolf once he feels his energy coming into his sensing radius. The boy is in his lacrosse gear and walking with the buzz cut boy.
Walking over to and sitting down on the miniature bleachers is Lydia and Allison, the brunette sending him a small smile as the two sit down.
"Let's go! Come on!" He hears coach call out after gently slapping the McCall boys face, the boy running over so he's standing, defending the goal.
"Who is that?" Azrael hears Allison ask the strawberry blond next to her, nodding her head in the direction of the goalie, Scott.
"Him?" Lydia wonders, looking at the boy whose rolling his shoulders. "I'm not sure who he is." She admits after a moment of consideration. "Why?" She asks.
"He's in my English class." Allison answers, shaking her head with a faint smile. The referee blowing his whistle almost immediately after she speaks, Scott hunching over in pain, his gloves clutching the sides of his helmet. Though, his obvious pain doesn't stop someone from throwing a ball, hitting his square in the face.
"Hey, way to catch with your face, McCall!" A boy on the team teases while everyone's laughing, including Coach.
As Scott gets up, another boy takes a ball, running slightly before throwing the ball. But to everyone's surprise, even Scott's, he catches the ball effortlessly, looking at his net to make sure it even happened.
"Yeah!" Stiles yells in shocked support.
Another boy takes a ball in his net, running and tossing the ball towards the goal. And again, Scott effortlessly catches the ball with his sticks net. A few students in the bleachers cheering out.
This happens again and again, each time Scott catches the ball with minimal to no effort, the cheering continuing with every save.
"He seems like he's pretty good." Allison comments, watching as the boy catches another ball.
"Yeah, very good." Lydia agrees.
Irritated with all the attention Scott's getting, Jackson pushes his way to the front of the line, repeating the process of all those before him but with more speed and strength.
And like every other time, Scott catches the ball with minimal struggle, nearly everyone cheering this time, even Lydia, Jackson's girlfriend stands to cheer.
"That is my friend!" Stiles yells among the cheering.
Deciding he's done rewriting his notes, Azrael gets up and walks away from all the cheering students, slinging his bag over his shoulder, ignoring the smile Allison sent his way as he plugs his earphones into his ears.
Azrael walks into his house as quietly as possible, smelling the bitter scent of alcohol from outside of the house. Only a quiet click coming from the front door as he closes it, wincing due to the sound.
Thankfully for him, he hears his fathers snoring fill the house, bear cans scattered throughout the hallway and a smashed picture on the ground. A picture of him and his father resting in the broken frame.
Walking up the old steps of his house, Azrael winces with every creek, breathing out in relief once he reaches the top without waking his father.
Walking over to the door of his room he ignores the chipped, stained paint on the walls. Each spot of brown-red being his dried blood, trying to ignore the fact that the majority of wall is in the brownish-red colour, the occasional patch of ugly yellow being seen.
When he walks into his room the first thing he does is lock the door. The second being hanging his bag up on the back of his door. And the third being cleaning up all the torn books, shredded clothes and crushed cans of beer scattered around his room, cursing his father as he does so.
It takes him around 20-30 minutes before his room is cleared of the destroyed objects - a medium sized black trash bag sitting in the corner of his room - before he can finally lay down on his bed, sighing in relief as his back meets the clumpy, springy mattress.
'New werewolf, huh?' He wonders in thought as his eyes look up at the fake stars on his ceiling. 'Gross.' His vision blurs. The neon green glow up stars becoming a blur. Until finally...
Everything goes dark.