Perigee

Chapter 3

When I was seven, I began to think that I was invincible. I was learning to control my shifting back and forth from human to werewolf and my throaty yelp of a roar was turning into more of a menacing yap. I was damn proud of it. I was still unable to feel the pull of the moon. Laura had begun to and it made her grumpy, though Uncle Peter said it had less to do with the moon and more to do with something he’d explain to me when I was older.

I began to draw. Mostly they were rudimentary pictures of the adventures Stiles and I had in our constructed dream world and snippets of the various tattoos that covered him. Mom would fawn over them and add them to the growing collection on the fridge. Uncle Peter and I started going to the park more. I overheard one night that it was because mom wanted to encourage me to start making friends with other kids. She was worried I had become too dependent on Stiles.

She didn’t understand my friendship with him, but Stiles was teaching me that it was okay. She didn’t have to. But mom didn’t know about the nightmares he helped me defeat, or the fears he helped me overcome. She didn’t see the things he taught me both about myself and how I fit into the world. She didn’t realize that I knew that with Stiles by my side, I could accomplish anything I wanted.

I still didn’t have proof that Stiles was magic. Every time I asked about it, he told me he didn’t have a reason to use his powers. As a precocious and inquisitive seven year old, that answer didn’t satisfy me. On one of the increasingly frequent trips to the park, Stiles hung upside down in the jungle gym imitating a monkey. He made goofy faces to go along with the noises and motions and I laughed loudly. The kids rarely ever approached the jungle gym when I was there because they thought it was weird that I was talking and laughing to someone they couldn’t see or hear.

Naturally, the jungle gym became our home base in an imagined war of epic proportions. Together, Stiles and I monitored the movements of every child in the playground, planning ways to defend our station should it come under attack, drawing our proposed plans into the sand.

Neither of us planned for Eric Baker. He was a tough kid. Even though he was only seven, he looked closer to 10 and whatever he wanted, he got. Especially when it came to playground equipment. As he lumbered toward the jungle gym in a way that would have made his Neanderthal ancestors quite proud, he terrified me because at 7, I had little in the way to defend myself without shifting, which I knew I couldn’t do in public.

“I want to play on the jungle gym,” he grunted.

Rather stupidly, I refused to give up the jungle gym. It was Stiles’ favorite. “I’m playing here.”

“If you don’t move, I’ll move you myself,” Eric replied.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I challenged. Again, not my smartest moment.

He climbed into the central dome. I stood up, ready to protect my territory. This jungle gym was mine. I had peed here. “Derek, let it go…” Stiles urged. “Be the bigger person.”

“Shut up!” I whispered.

“I didn’t say anything, freak!”

I growled. “I wasn’t talking to you, butt face!”

I didn’t see the punch coming. It landed painfully on my cheek. I fought back the urge to cry. I stumbled backwards, putting my fists up, ready to defend myself. Stiles pulled off his robe, leaving him in some strange looking pants. He looked mad. “Derek… get behind me.”

For once I didn’t question him. His tattoos glowed a bright blue. There was a burst of bright light and Eric was flat on his back staring up, dazed.

Stiles fell to his knees, panting hard. He looked exhausted as he pulled the robe back on. Uncle Peter ran over to us, so did Eric’s mother. I knelt next to Stiles, both impressed and intimidated by his display of power. “What happened?” Uncle Peter asked as he got close enough.

“He hit me. So… Stiles got him back. He used his magic,” I said.

Uncle Peter looked puzzled. “Come on, let’s go home.”

We never went back to that park again.

************************************

When we got home, Stiles lay  down on my bed. He didn’t look good. “What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“I just need to rest,” he told me.

“You really are magic,” I pointed out, my voice teeming in awestruck wonder.

He nodded. “Yeah, I am. But I can only use my magic to keep you safe. And it’s really hard to do. So I need you to be careful. Can you do that for me, buddy?”

I held my pinky finger out to him. He smiled and hooked his with mine. Stiles drifted off to sleep. I snuck out of my room and listened in on my parents and Uncle Peter talking.

“You have to be kidding, Peter. He’s an imaginary friend,” my mom said.

“Talia, You had to have been there. That kid slugged Derek, there was a flash of light… I saw a grown man appear for a split second, then the kid was flat on the ground,” Uncle Peter replied.

“Honestly, Peter… think about what you’re saying,” my dad chimed in. “My seven year old’s imaginary friend cold clocked his would-be bully with a flash of light.”

“We’re werewolves. Is it really that much of a stretch?” Uncle Peter asked.

“Yes!” mom replied. “It is! Maybe he needs to go to a psychiatrist.”

Uncle Peter raised his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with him!”

“Peter, calm down! No one’s saying there is. Let’s give it a little more time and see if he outgrows it on his own.” My dad ordered. The Alpha had spoken. Uncle Peter walked out of the dining room, heading toward his bedroom.

I scampered back into mine. I wished that they could see him like I could. I crawled into bed next to him and pulled the covers over us, tucking him in tightly. “I hope you feel better,” I told Stiles as I turned in the opposite direction from him and closed my eyes, trying to fall asleep. 

“Thank you, buddy,” Stiles yawned. “Sleep well.”

************************************

The next day, I had to be content to play in the yard. Stiles and I took my G.I. Joes to a corner we never played in and began setting up our scene. After a couple of hours, we moved on. “What was it like getting the tattoos?” I asked him.

“It hurt,” he told me. “A lot.”

“Did you cry?”

“Nope,” he replied.

“Did your mom kiss them to make them feel better?”

“No, she wasn’t able to. But it was all worth it,” he ruffled my hair. “Let me hear the roar. I know you’ve been practicing!”

I grinned and concentrated, summoning the best roar I could from deep within my stomach. He clapped. “That was great! Keep it up. That’s an Alpha roar.”