Yesterday morning seems so long ago now. I remember getting up after a rather …rough night and leaving Sebastian in bed. I distinctly remember burning the toast I was making for breakfast and running to the little shop two buildings down to get a cup of coffee and some chocolate rolls. I remember softly closing the door behind me when I left for school and running to catch the underground train. I had gone to lectures, joked with Rick a bit, watched him being turned down by the very guy now asleep on the bed behind me and returning home to a voicemail message from a friend I haven’t seen in years. If only it had stayed with that, though.

Now I’m stuck in a grimy hotel room with someone who’s dead set on returning me home to Westerville. And I have a terrible crick in my neck. I sigh, and move to get up from the ground. When I get up, I look at the bed in the corner and immediately notice that Kurt’s still asleep. For a moment, I consider sneaking out and going back to New York and just leave him here. It’s not like he’ll miss me much. I haven’t exactly been Mr. Congeniality so far. Then I remember he’s got the keys to the door and the car is actually his. There goes that plan.

I change into a different set of clothes and stuff the ones I’ve worn into a plastic bag I had put inside my bag. No need to have the worn clothes stink up the fresh clothes, I reason. I then step foot into the very small bathroom attached to our room and almost immediately step out again. Damn, that’s nasty. The smell is terrible and I’m pretty sure I’ve counted three different types of mould already. I look at the sink. Oh, look. Four different types of mould it is. Awesome.

I’m not by any means a neat freak, but I refuse to actually shower or brush my teeth here. Who knows what kinds of small bugs and bacteria are hiding in that faucet. I go back into our shared room and fish my water bottle out of my bag. I hesitatingly step back into the bathroom and use the water in my bottle to brush my teeth and clean my face with, all the while consciously not touching the sink. Not even a full day on the road and I already miss my immaculately clean bathroom at home.

Once I get back to the couch I left my stuff at, I start digging through my bag for something to eat. No success. Damn. We’ll have to stop somewhere along the road then, because I didn’t see any vending machines when we pulled into the lot here last night. I glance at Kurt. Still fast asleep. Well, that just won’t do. I walk over to the bed and just stand there for a few seconds. I’ve never seen anyone sleep so silently. He doesn’t huff, sigh, moan, snore, talk or even move. If not for his steady breathing, I’d swear he was dead.

“Kurt,” I say. He doesn’t move.

“Kurt.” No sign of acknowledgement. I resolve to poke him. No response. I snort. It’s actually kind of funny. Werewolves are usually extremely light sleepers. I wake at the drop of a needle, or when Sebastian does as much as turn over in his sleep.

I lean over him a bit so I can shake his shoulder. “Kurt! Wake up!”

His eyes shoot open and before I know it, I’m pinned face down to the bed with his arm around my throat and his legs straddling mine. I’m a bit surprised at this. I didn’t really picture Kurt to be a fighter or to even know how to save himself if ever a fight or an internal power struggle would occur in the Pack. I don’t have much time to be surprised however, as I’m beginning to feel a bit light headed.

“Uncle! Uncle!” I cry, clawing at the surprisingly strong arm around my throat. This seems to shake him out of whatever state of mind he’s in and the arm releases its hold. I let myself fall down onto the mattress and try to regain my breath. He starts to speak, but instead of the apology I’m kind of waiting for he says:

“Cheesus Blaine, don’t you even remember what it’s like to fight anymore?”

I sit up straight, indignant. Of course I remember. I just never particularly liked it, is all. I’ve never seen the point of fighting people or other werewolves and I certainly never liked going up against Pack enemies. That’s not to say I didn’t learn and that I didn’t do all that, but I’ve been living the human life for about four years now. I’m not used to having to fight anymore.

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t expect to be attacked by you this early in the morning,” I say with a small glare. “I was just trying to wake you so we can go get something to eat somewhere and get out of this crappy motel room.”

He sighs: “Rule number one: Always expect an attack.”

I glare at him some more. “That’s rule number four. Rule number one is to never tell anyone you’re a werewolf.”

He blinks. “Wait, there’s an actual rulebook?”

I look at him blankly, not impressed in the slightest. “Of course there is. Now go get dressed. I’m starving.”

One look at my face, and he does exactly that.

_________________________________________________________

“I can’t believe you’re actually eating that.”

I look up from my steaming pile of delicious ham covered pancakes. I’ve just finishes squirting about half a bottle of maple syrup over them. After checking out of our mouldy motel room (with the creepy receptionist looking at as like we were the scum of the earth, which, granted, we probably are. But he doesn’t know that.) we managed to find a small mom- and- pop diner just off the highway. Kurt happily ordered some blueberry covered waffles and a huge dish of fruit and is now watching me with utter disgust on his face as I polish off the first two pancakes in a single go.

“Wha’?”, I ask, mouth full of delicious mouth -watering pancake- y goodness.

His nose scrunches up, and not in a good way either.

“I can just see the calories going to your hips. Oh, there’s one, and another, and a few more, and holy hell, you didn’t even chew that last pancake, did you?”

I shake my head at him, grinning with syrup smeared lips. “Nope.”

For some reason, Kurt turns a very interesting shade of dark pink. I wonder for a second what might’ve caused it, but get distracted by the amazing scent of the pancakes I have yet to devour. I dig in again. From the corner of my eye I can see that Kurt has returned to his natural shade and is busy spearing fruit on his fork.

I finish my pancakes in a matter of minutes. Kurt’s still only halfway done with his fruit. I can’t believe he takes the time to eat daintily. I’m pretty sure he was just as hungry as I was when we got here. I decide to ask the question that’s been bugging me ever since he had dinner with Sebastian and me yesterday and he revealed (to me at least, Sebastian has no clue) that he had been Bitten on or near Dalton Academy school grounds. I wait till his mouth is empty before asking:

“So, who bit you?”

He looks at me and for a split second I can see the emotions shift in his eyes. First there’s surprise, then anger, then hope , a sense of knowledge and even a hint of fear. It’s gone before I can really think about it, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Who bit you? You said it was during school, so I imagine it was either a rouge wolf gallivanting around Westerville or one of the Pack boys who somehow lost the ability to think straight,” I elaborate, and I can practically see him close of his thoughts.

“I don’t know who bit me,” he says. A lie. Every Bitten wolf knows exactly who bit them. Just like every new born baby automatically knows who their mother is, a newly bitten wolf knows exactly who made the venom course through their veins. I don’t call him out on the lie and just nod.

“Oh, ok.”

He nods back, a sense of relief visible in his slightly sagging shoulders. He then regains his straight posture and counters:

“If we’re playing the question game; why did you leave home?”

I put down the napkin I was using to wipe the syrup from my lips and suddenly I know why those feelings were flashing through Kurt’s eyes just seconds ago. I’m pretty sure they’re flashing through mine at the moment, as well. Without being able to stop it, my thoughts suddenly flash back to the night I left home, and with it, the Pack.

“I just can’t believe you’d do that!” 16- year old me yells, slamming the front door behind me. My father whips around where he stands, the look in his eyes telling me he’s not impressed with me at all.

“You can’t believe it? Tough. I did.” He answers. The angry shift of his lips causes Julia and Max –my younger and older siblings, respectively- to bolt from the couch and shoot me a sympathetic look before booking it out of the house.

“You humiliated me in front of my friends, dad!” I yell right back, not even caring that the walls of our house aren’t as sound proof as they look and that there are probably more than a few Pack members in our backyard as we speak, or, you know, yell.

“I did no such thing!” He snarls. “It’s your own fault for refusing to come home on time.”

I growl in frustration. “How many times do I have to tell you, dad? Practise ran late!”

He snorts derisively. “Yeah, right. Practise. Is that what you’re calling it these days? You were probably fucking around with one of those damn Wogglers of yours.”

I rear back as if slapped. How dare he throw that in my face?

“You know as well as I do that I’m not. It’s not as if you’ll ever let me forget it.”

“You need a mate! You’re the son of the Pack Alpha and you’re still single at your age!”

“I’m sixteen, dad!” I bite back. “Attaching myself to someone isn’t exactly at the top of my list.”

He advances on me. “It should be. You’re going to be Alpha yourself someday and you need someone strong at your side! You’ll be seventeen in a month, it’s time to start looking.”

“Oh, now you remember my birthday!” I scream at him, glad to finally be able to get rid of all the frustration I’ve been feeling.

“Of course I do!” he yells back at me.

“Funny,” I say bitingly. “Haven’t seen you on my birthday for quite a few years. Never miss one of Julia or Max’s though, do you?”

“That’s not important right now! Damn it, Blaine, you’re so incredibly frustrating!” he growls at me, looking damn near close enough to start pulling out his own hair in frustration.

“Of course that’s what important!” I suddenly scream again. “You’re never there when I need you, but when one of them needs you, you can’t get there fast enough! I’m going to replace you as the Alpha one day and you don’t even take the time to get to know me like you do with them. Why?”

He looks at me, fury clear in his eyes. “You want to know why, Blaine?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

All of a sudden, he explodes: “It’s because you’re not good enough! You are too small, too weak, too well mannered, too busy with all your stupid music projects, not nearly commanding enough to lead a Pack, you’re stubborn, you Shifted later than any wolf I’ve ever heard about, you won’t even bring offspring into the Pack because you just had to be a queer and you’ll never, ever be a good Alpha for this Pack!”

My blood runs cold. All the things I had privately hoped my father wouldn’t think were now out in the open, just like I always knew they would be.

“I won the Alpha battles,” I say, referring to the battles that caused the scars now running across my chest.

“And I’ll never know how you did it. You must have cheated somehow, because you will never be good enough to lead this Pack. You’ll lead us to destruction.”

With that, he walks out the door and I’m left to stand there. It takes me stomping upstairs to my room, pulling a worn suitcase out of the closet and stuffing it full with clothing and other things before I really grasp what I’m doing. I’m leaving, and not just for the weekend, but for good. Why should I stay somewhere that I’m obviously not wanted? Why stay to prove I’m the disappointment my father claims I will be? Why stay to lead the Pack I care so much about to their downfall? No. I’ll leave tonight.

And I did. I didn’t even wait till dinner. I was gone before anyone even thought to ask why I wasn’t there at the dinner table. And I never looked back. I look up and Kurt’s still looking at me expectantly.

“Needed a change of scenery.”

An obvious lie. He doesn’t call me on it.