Teen Wolf: Sun Hill Pack

—(Markus)—

I ended up falling asleep on the way to where I would be living with Michael and Calvin. By the time the car arrived at a mid-sized house, the sun was starting to set.

Since my body was still a mess from that night, I'd be using the wheelchair for the next few days while it slowly put itself back together. Michael came to my side of the vehicle with the wheelchair in tow.

He opened the car door, and then moved to help me into the wheelchair.

"Don't touch me," I said quickly, my chest already tightening at the thought of someone—anyone—putting their hands on me.

Michael didn't say anything and stepped back, letting me awkwardly shift into the wheelchair with my one good arm. By the time I was seated, I was sweating and in pain.

Calvin walked up to me, making sure to stay in my sightline. He passed by me, stopping behind the wheelchair, and gently placed his hands on the handles before pushing me toward the house. Michael was already a few steps ahead, and by the time we reached the door, it was open.

Calvin guided me into the living room before stepping away. Michael sat down across from me on the couch.

We sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke.

"Look, I'm not going to pretend that you like me, and I'm not going to sugarcoat your situation or baby you. Hell, you might hate me, and that's fine. I don't need you to like me, but you do need to respect me."

While he talked, my attention wandered around the living room. Family photos were scattered throughout the space, most of them featuring Calvin, with a few including Michael. I couldn't help but notice there weren't any with someone who might be Calvin's mom.

Michael must have noticed that I wasn't really paying attention.

"Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you," he said firmly.

I turned my head toward him, meeting his face—a mask of indifference. I still refused to meet his eyes, but that seemed to be enough for him.

"How long until I can move freely again?" I asked.

"Probably in two or so months. If you were still human, you'd already be buried," he said bluntly. "Tomorrow, I'll give you a rundown on how things work in our pack."

"For now, you'll stay in the guest room on the first floor since you have mobility issues. Eventually, you'll share a room with Calvin. Dinner will be ready in an hour. Until then, I'll have Calvin take you to your temporary room."

With that, he got up and left the room, sending Calvin in a few minutes later.

I heard Calvin's footsteps before I felt the wheelchair shift as he started to push me into the guest room.

Calvin paused for a moment before asking, "Do you need help moving onto the bed?"

"No, there's no need. I'll just be getting back into the chair in an hour anyway. Just push me to the window."

Once Calvin left the room, I was left facing the woods outside. Alone with my thoughts.

My parents had given me up after I'd been their perfect son for sixteen years. I had sacrificed my childhood just to get the barest acknowledgment from them. The feeling of abandonment twisted into anger. Then into frustration. And finally, it turned into sorrow.

I tried to hold it together. I did a shit job.

I started to sob.

The sobs wracked my body, shaking me despite how weak I felt. I clenched my good hand into a fist, pressing it against my forehead, trying to wrench the tears away. But they came anyway, hot and relentless, until I felt like I'd drown in them.

"Awesome," I muttered bitterly through the tears. "New life goal: cry myself into dehydration. What a fantastic first day to my new life."

I didn't hear Calvin come back until he knocked lightly on the doorframe.

"Hey," he said, his voice softer than before. "Dinner's ready, but… you don't have to come out if you're not feeling up to it."

"Oh, good," I shot back, not even looking at him. "Because nothing cheers me up quite like an awkward dinner conversation with strangers who hijacked my life."

Calvin hesitated, clearly unsure how to respond. "Uh… do you want me to bring you a plate? You know, so you can keep wallowing in here?"

I turned my head just enough to glare at him. "Wallowing? Wow, thanks. I'll be sure to write that on the 'What Markus Did Today' chart."

"Hey, just trying to help," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Are you coming out or not?"

I rolled my eyes, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "Fine. Let's get this over with. Wouldn't want anyone thinking I'm not happy."

"Great!" Calvin said, sounding far too enthusiastic. "You're going to love dinner. Dad's cooking is actually pretty decent. Well, edible, at least."

"Fantastic," I said flatly. "Maybe choking on roast beef will be the highlight of my day."

He pushed me out to the dining room without another word, though I caught him suppressing a grin. Michael was already sitting at the head of the table, the picture of authority, dishing out food like it was a board meeting.

"Glad you decided to join us," Michael said without looking up.

"Yeah, well," I replied, wheeling myself to the table. "Figured I'd grace you all with my sparkling personality. You're welcome."

Michael's mouth twitched, but he didn't respond. Calvin helped me scoot closer to the table, and then plopped down across from me.

"So," Calvin said brightly as he started loading his plate, "how's the wheelchair treating you? Comfortable? Stylish? Thinking of adding some flames to the wheels?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, totally. Thinking of entering a race next week. Are you free to sponsor me?"

Michael cleared his throat "Eat," he ordered simply, spearing a piece of roast beef with his fork like it owed him money.

I sighed, stabbing at my food with the same enthusiasm I'd have for doing taxes. Calvin, on the other hand, filled the silence with his usual stream of chatter.

"You know," he said, gesturing with his fork, "once you're feeling better, I could show you around the pack's territory. There's a lake, some trails—pretty cool stuff."

"Wow, sounds like a dream," I said dryly. "Maybe we can make friendship bracelets while we're at it."

"Don't push him," Michael cut in.

 "He's been through enough. The last thing he needs is you overwhelming him with plans."

"Overwhelming?" Calvin repeated, feigning offense. "I'm a delight. Aren't I a delight, Markus?"

"Oh, absolutely," I said

 "You're like sunshine and rainbows. But louder."

Michael sighed, rubbing his temple. "You two can sort it out later. Just finish your food."

Dinner continued in relative silence after that, though Calvin couldn't resist throwing in the occasional comment. By the time the plates were cleared, I was thoroughly exhausted—not from eating, but from the sheer effort of being around people.

"You want to watch a movie or something?" Calvin asked as he carried the dishes to the sink.

I raised an eyebrow. "What, you don't have enough excitement listening to me complain all day?"

"Come on, I'm serious," he said, grinning. "It'll be fun. We've got a ton of stuff in the living room. Or we can stream something."

I hesitated, the idea of retreating to the guest room tempting. But then again, maybe a distraction wasn't the worst idea.

"Fine," I said, wheeling myself toward the living room. "But if you pick something terrible, I'm holding it against you forever."

Calvin laughed, following me. "Noted. But don't worry—I have excellent taste. You'll see."

As he started scrolling through the options, I leaned back in the chair, letting myself relax—just a little. For the first time since this nightmare started, I didn't feel entirely alone.

Not that I'd admit it out loud.

After about an hour of watching some mindless action movie Calvin had picked out, I found myself yawning despite my best efforts to stay annoyed. Calvin noticed, of course.

"Tired already?" he teased, stretching out on the couch like he owned the place.

"I've had a long day," I said, leaning back in the wheelchair. "You know, being kidnapped and thrown into a pack of strangers. Exhausting."

"Right, right," he said, smirking. "Well, I won't keep you. Need help getting back to your room?"

"No," I said quickly. "I've got it."

"Suit yourself," he replied. He got up from the couch and went into the kitchen.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I stopped just outside the door, staying out of sight.

"You're pushing him too hard, Dad," Calvin was saying, his tone uncharacteristically sharp. "He's barely had time to process what's happened, and you're already acting like it's boot camp."

"I'm treating him the way I treat anyone in this pack," Michael replied evenly. "He's part of the family now, and he needs to understand how things work here."

Calvin scoffed. "You're being too much of an alpha, and you know it. Markus isn't ready for this. He doesn't need a leader barking orders at him every five seconds—he needs space to breathe. And maybe, I don't know, some actual kindness?"

There was a pause before Michael spoke again, his voice softer this time. "You think I don't care about him? About what he's been through?"

"I think you're so caught up in being the tough guy that you're forgetting he's just a kid," Calvin said. 

"You're also a kid, Calvin." his dad cut in.

"He's been through hell, and he's barely holding it together. You need to back off before you push him too far." Calvin pushed on.

Another pause. Then Michael sighed, the sound heavy with something I couldn't quite place.

"I'll think about it," he said finally. "But he needs to learn how to survive here. Whether he likes it or not."

"That's the problem, You're so focused on teaching him to survive, you're forgetting how to help him live."

Michael exhaled sharply, the sound heavy with tension. "Fine. I'll back off. A little. But he still has to learn the rules. This isn't negotiable."

"It never is with you," Calvin muttered, but there was no real bite in his voice.

I didn't wait to hear more. I rolled myself silently down the hallway, my thoughts swirling.

I didn't know how to feel about what I'd overheard. On one hand, Calvin was sticking up for me—something I wasn't used to. On the other hand, Michael's words left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Did he care about me? Really? Sure didn't feel like it.

By the time I reached the guest room, I was too tired to think about it anymore. I parked the wheelchair by the bed and awkwardly shifted onto the mattress, wincing as pain shot through my body.

When I finally woke up the next morning, I was still in pain. Surprise, surprise. I started to shift myself painstakingly into the wheelchair, but my good hand slipped from the handle, and I went crashing onto the ground.

A string of unending curses left my mouth as I lay there, groaning. Footsteps pounded against the floor, and moments later, Calvin appeared at the door, looking down at me. I took deep breaths, trying to ignore the fresh wave of pain caused by the fall.

Calvin stepped cautiously into the room.

"DON'T you dare fucking touch me!" I snapped aggressively.

That must've flipped a switch in Calvin because his expression changed instantly. His eyes hardened, and he got that unmistakable "don't mess with me" look on his face. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and continued moving toward me despite my hostility.

"Look," he said evenly, his voice firm but calm, "you're on the floor. You're hurt. You can't get up on your own. You can hate me later, but right now, let me help you."

I didn't reply. Instead, I started scooting backward, dragging myself across the floor.

He took another careful step forward, his movements slow and deliberate. "Markus—"

Then it happened. I wasn't seeing Calvin any more. His hand moved toward me, but in my mind, it wasn't his hand. It was its hand—the monster that attacked me that night. Its bloodied, clawed fingers reached for my throat.

My breathing hitched. A crushing weight settled on my chest, suffocating me. Gasping for air, I clawed at the floor, trying to escape the nightmare playing out in my head.

—(Calvin)—

I was in the kitchen when I heard the loud crash, followed by a string of curses so colorful even Dad would've raised an eyebrow. My heart jumped, and I sprinted down the hallway toward Markus's room.

I stopped short at the doorway. Markus was sprawled out on the floor, breathing hard, his face twisted in pain and frustration. My first instinct was to help him, but I hesitated. Markus wasn't exactly a fan of being helped, as I'd learned the hard way yesterday.

Still, leaving him there wasn't an option.

I stepped cautiously into the room.

His head snapped up, and his glare was sharp enough to cut glass. "DON'T you dare fucking touch me!" he barked, his voice dripping with aggression.

I stopped mid-step, irritation bubbling up. I'd been patient. I'd given him space. But this? This was pushing it.

I took a deep breath, letting some of my usual calmness slip. If he wanted a fight, fine. I wasn't in the mood to keep tiptoeing around him.

"Look," I said evenly, "you're on the floor. You're hurt. You can't get up on your own. You can hate me later, but right now, let me help you."

Markus didn't respond. Instead, he started scooting back, using his good arm to drag himself away from me like I was some kind of predator.

I stepped closer, careful not to crowd him. "Markus—"

Then I saw it: the shift in his eyes. The panic, not anger.

I reached out, but as soon as my hand moved, he froze. His breathing hitched, coming in shallow, gasping bursts. His chest heaved, and his eyes glazed over, locking onto my hand like it was a weapon.

"Hey," I said softly, lowering my voice. "Markus, it's me. Calvin. You're safe."

No response. His hands clawed at the floor like he was fighting off something only he could see.

Shit. He was having a full-blown panic attack.

I crouched down, moving slowly. "Markus, listen to me. You're not there. You're here, in the house. You're safe."

Still nothing. His breathing was getting worse.

Dad's heavy footsteps echoed behind me, and I glanced back to see him entering the room.

"Calvin," he said firmly, his voice calm but commanding. "He's focused on you right now. Keep it that way."

"Okay, but—" I started, but Dad cut me off.

"Just keep his focus on you."

Dad began to circle around me, moving deliberately. Markus's gaze flickered for a moment, shifting toward Dad, but I moved my hand slightly, drawing his attention back to me.

"Markus, keep looking at me," I said gently, trying to keep my tone steady.

Dad moved behind Markus and carefully lowered himself to the floor. Slowly, he spread his legs out beside Markus, positioning himself behind him. Then, with careful precision, he wrapped his arms around Markus and pulled him into a tight hug.

Markus struggled at first, twisting and squirming against Dad's hold. But Dad stayed firm, murmuring soft reassurances.

After a few agonizing moments, Markus's breathing started to slow. The tension in his body eased, and finally, he went limp in Dad's arms.

Dad carefully picked Markus up and laid him on the bed before turning to me.

He grabbed my shoulders firmly and led me out of the room, steering me into the living room. He sat me down on the couch.

"It's not your fault, you know?" he started.

"I—"

"He most likely has some form of PTSD," Dad continued. "There were probably multiple triggers that caused a reaction like that. He'll probably wake up in an hour or so with only fragments of what happened."

"I think physical contact—or even the idea of it—is what sent him over the edge," I added.

"Yeah, that's most likely one of the factors."

"So, if that's the case, why did he calm down when you bear-hugged him?"

"Because he's running on instinct. Even though he definitely doesn't like me—or what I represent—his instincts know I'm his alpha. He knows I wouldn't hurt him."

"When he wakes up, I'll have a talk with him. I think it'd be best if you gave him some space today."

I nodded silently, grabbed my running shoes, and headed out of the house for a jog in the woods.