{2.7}

"pack"

***

OLLIE FIGURED THAT DEATH would be disorienting.

 The truth? It was kind of boring.

 He didn't remember most of anything from that night. Just bits and pieces; snippits from the moment he was shot to the moment he laid motionless on the floor. He wished he saw something a bit more visceral; perhaps a face, a voice, a picture. Anything was better than lying there in complete darkness. Feeling like you were waiting for something miraculous or horrible to happen. 

 He never did get to find out what he was waiting for, as a searing pain in his shoulder set his blood on fire and brought him back to life.

 The first thing he experienced was a piercing white light, and he assumed for a moment that it was some sort of last trick before sending him to hell. A final "you thought!" before he regarded his eternity; but instead, he heard the vague sound of wind outside a window. And a sharp tenor that sounded like an animal barking.

The white light turned to linoleum tiles. He found that his eyes were opening; his senses dulled and foggy as if he had just woken up from surgery. He felt a sharp surface under his back, his wrist drooped off the table, and smelled a sharp antiseptic. Like he was in a hospital.

 He inhaled deeply, and found that it hurt. His chest ached as if his ribs were broken again, and his throat was so dry he tasted blood when he coughed. He rolled to the side to try and see his surroundings; but fell from his small gurney; hitting the ground with a grunt. He gasped, turning onto his back, but couldn't muster the strength to stand. It was as if someone took every ounce of strength from his body and channeled into making his muscles hurt. He stared at the ceiling, but it was unfamiliar. The ground was cold, and the gurney he was previously laying on was cold and unforgiving. Maybe he was dead, and this was what he faced. Weakness and confusion; wandering in a world he couldn't recognize.

 That was when a face entered his vision. It was blurry at first, but fell into dim focus as Ollie squinted toward the light. A strike of familiarity pierced his skin, and he nearly cried with joy as he realized it was Scott's boss. The man who he once hit over the head with his baseball bat. Deaton - he was real; and his touch felt startlingly hot as he reached down and gripped Ollie's arms; hoisting him upward with surprising strength.

 The boy stumbled, feeling lightheaded as he held tightly to the edge of the gurney. He groaned, leaning onto his forearms and sinking back down to his knees, pressing his cheek onto the cold steel. 

 Deaton smiled, kneeling beside him. He began to speak, but Ollie didn't understand a word he was speaking. English may as well have been complete gibberish; he wished Deaton could speak Spanish. It wasn't until a few moments, when he repeated the words, that he understood. "It's good to see you awake."

 Ollie paused, before speaking in a voice so hoarse that it didn't sound like his own. "What happened?"

 The man's face seemed to darken, a shadow cast over his eyes. "Let's get you back on that bed."

 Ollie did his best to assist, wrapping an arm around the man's shoulders as he helped him to his feet. It couldn't have been easy - Ollie was nearly six feet tall and not exactly skinny -  but Deaton did it without complaining. Ollie wound up back on his back, an arm slung over his eyes to block the harsh lighting, and inhaled deeply to combat his nausea. He heard Deaton's voice, sharp and clear in the quiet room. "What do you remember?"

He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything. "I remember Matt kidnapping me from Lydia's." He began, moving his hand from his eyes to his throat as if he could massage familiarity back into his lungs. "I remember Jackson. I remember Nicole and Kat showing up. And Matt..." he sat up, the action slow and cramped and fueled by panic; and felt his face red. "Oh god. Am I dead?"

 Deaton smiled, "you are not."

 "Anymore? What the hell happened?" Ollie leaned forward, his stomach suddenly a knot of anxiety. "Oh god... Stiles. And Nicole, Kat, Scott... do they think I'm dead? Are they okay?"

 "Your friends are all fine." 

"Fine..." Ollie echoed, tasting the word on his lips. "Fine... that - that's bullshit. They're never fine."

 A smile hinted on Deaton's lips, as if he was wary to let it fully show. "I suppose you're right."

They fell into a brief silence, which Ollie used to clear his throat. "So, what now?"

 "You're gonna go somewhere safe for the time being, until you're strong enough." The man turned around, grabbing a small, prescription bottle of what appeared to be small white pills. "These should help with the pain."

 Ollie scrunched his nose, "no offense, doc, but I don't do pills. They never work. And what do you mean 'somewhere safe'? I need to see my friends, I need to see my mom-"

 "And you will," the man assured, "but first-"

 A new voice from the corner of the room made Ollie's head whip to the side, the sudden action making his already nauseous stomach seize. It was Derek Hale, standing in the corner with crossed arms and eyes that seemed to evaluate every inch of Ollie's skin. When he spoke, Ollie thought the tone was threatening - even if the man didn't mean for it to be. "You come with me."

 Silence ensued. Ollie gaped, "how... how did you get in here?"

 "I've been here the whole time." Derek said, "and I'm not your dad."

 "What?" 

 "Usually I wouldn't do this," Deaton said, his eyes drifting between Ollie and Derek. "But Derek is the only reason you're here right now, Oliver. His bite saved your life." 

 "B- his-" Ollie felt sick. He yanked the collar of the random white T-shirt he was wearing down, phantom pain spreading through his shoulder as he started to remember. The red eyes. The pain...

 There was no mark on his skin. Ollie's shoulders heaved as his breathing increased, and Derek rolled his eyes. "Don't freak out now, Sanchez." He snapped, "you were only dead for like, an hour and a half. That's not even that bad. And the bite obviously worked, so-"

 "No, no, no-" Ollie's hands reached up to grab his hair, shifting so that he could sit upright. "No! You can't be serious. I can't be a werewolf. I- I-"

 "There's no definitive proof that you will be a werewolf." Deaton assured, holding out his hands as if trying to talk down an unstable horse. Ollie didn't appreciate the thought. "The bite tends to... bring out one's truest self."

 "What?" Ollie gasped, finding it hard to breathe. "That doesn't even make sense! Scott's truest form would be like, a gerbil or something. And Erica, Isaac, Boyd-"

 "It's not supposed to make sense," Derek said, rolling his eyes again. "Now are you coming with me or not, Sanchez?"

 "Why the hell would I come with you?" Ollie demanded, pressing a hand against his stomach. "You've tried to kidnap me like, fourteen times!"

 "Well, I did just save your life." The man shot back. "And you're a part of my pack now, whether you like it or not."

 Realization shot cold down Ollie's spine. That was what Derek wanted. It was what he wanted all along. A seer in his pack - Ollie in his pack. Perhaps if that wasn't an aftermath of saving his life, Derek never would have done it. He would have left him there. To bleed out, to die-

 But then again, what would he do here? Hurt, sick, away from the people he loved who thought he was dead... god, they thought he was dead. The thought was so ridiculous that it didn't seem real. He wasn't dead, he was right here, how could they think he was dead?

 He side-eyed Derek. "Fine."

 He saw a flash of surprise in the man's eyes, but he quickly covered it up. "Good." He turned to Deaton. "Anything I should know about?"

 The man glanced at Ollie. "I think at this point only time can tell." 

 Derek clenched his jaw. "Great." He turned to address Ollie, "come on, Sanchez, we don't have much time. And there's no way in hell I'm carrying you."

 ***

 SPOILER ALERT: Derek had to carry him.

 Okay, not exactly carry. More like... provide support. Ollie's limbs were all jelly, and he occasionally had to stop to throw up in a bush or momentarily collapse into a tree. In his defense: he just came back from the dead. And werewolf spit ( or whatever it was that saved his life ) may be good at saving lives, but it wasn't doing much for Ollie's post-death symptoms. 

 Derek grunted, Ollie groaning as the man hauled him through the front door of the house. Derek's house - one that Ollie was unfortunately familiar with. It was weird - and Ollie didn't like how cold it was. Or that it smelled. Or that it belonged to Derek. The man let go of him, pushing him vaguely in the direction of a completely black chair that looked like it would collapse under Ollie's weight. Still, he collapsed into it gratefully, exhaling as he placed a hand on his stomach. "T-Thanks."

 The man didn't respond, he instead crossed his arms and glared at the doorway as if expecting something to come through it. "I didn't do it because I wanted a seer in my pack." He finally said, after what felt like ages of silence. "I don't even know if that's what you are anymore. I did it for McCall."

 "Scott..." Ollie breathed, feeling concern seep into his bloodstream. 

 Derek shot him a look, "Yes. Who knows what he would've done if you died. He's too..." he paused, as if searching for the right word. "Unpredictable."

 "Unpredictable?" Ollie mustered up a weak chuckle. "It's not that hard to read Scott. He wants to save everyone. He wants to be the good guy."

 "And I'd like to keep it that way."

 Ollie faltered, unsure what to say to that. The two fell into an uncomfortable silence, which he broke by clearing his throat. "Well, thanks." He said, wishing he didn't sound so awkward. "Even if you didn't do it because you wanna be best friends, you still saved my life. I owe you."

 Derek's words were surprisingly sentimental considering the fact that he said them with absolutely zero emotion on his face. "You don't owe me anything. You're a part of my pack."

 Ollie wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he figured it was better than immediately dying again on his own. Plus, Derek may be a freak, but he was a part of Ollie's life- whether he liked it or not. And right now, he was the only person who could protect him. At least until he could get back to his friends. 

 The sound of footsteps entering the doorway made Ollie tense; his immediate thought being that kanima-Jackson and Matt were back to finish him off. Luckily enough, Derek seemed calm - giving that he knew who it was before they even stepped through the threshold. 

 Erica and Boyd entered, dressed similarly in attire that Ollie would expect werewolf assassins to don. He wondered if they got their matching leather jackets custom made, but didn't ask, as he wanted to remain un-maimed for the time being. The girl's eyes drifted over him, surprise etched on her features. "Ollie?"

 The boy didn't know if the two were aware of his whole situation. Nevertheless, he didn't want to explain it to them, so he flashed the girl a half-hearted thumbs-up. "Erica. Boyd."

 "What are you doing here?" Erica asked, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was cold. "Everyone's acting crazy back home, and-"

 Ollie leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Did you see Stiles?"

 The girl shook her head. "No-" she pursed her lips. Turning to Derek, she swiftly changed the subject; and annoyance bloomed in Ollie's chest. He wanted to hear about his friends. If they were okay. He had to desire to listen to wereewolf-pack drama. Even if it was a pack he was apparently a part of now. 

 Derek's voice was stern. "You've made up your minds." He said, looking them both in the eye. "When?"

 Erica seemed nervous, but her voice was steady. "Tonight."

 "Everyone's gonna be at the game," Boyd added, and Ollie felt his attention catch. "We figured it was the best time."

 "Game..." he mumbled, "like, lacrosse?"

 They ignored him. "It's not like we want to." Erica said, only adding to Ollie's confusion. Derek shot her a sharp look.

 "What do you want?"

  She squared her shoulders. "Well, since I just turned sixteen a month ago, I wouldn't mind getting my license. I can't do that if I'm dead, you know."

 Ha, dead. Ollie knew a thing or two about that. He leaned back in his chair. Erica turned sixteen a month ago... when was Ollie's birthday? April. He was turning seventeen, soon. Was Erica nearly a whole year younger than him? How did he never know that? 

 Hostility laced Derek's voice, as if he felt personally offended by the insinuation. "I told you there would be a price."

 Boyd suddenly stepped forward, Ollie involuntarily flinching as he raised his voice. "You never said it would be like this!"

 "Yeah, but I taught you how to survive!" Derek yelled back, and Ollie winced, pressing a hand to his temple. He wished they would stop yelling. This was what he imagined being hungover felt like. His mouth was dry, his muscles hurt, he missed his mom. "You wanna look for another pack? How are you even gonna find one?"

 "We think we already did." Boyd said, before recounting a story of hearing wolves howl in the forest. Ollie thought that was a pretty stupid excuse for running away and starting a completely new life. Plus, weren't Boyd and Erica like... children? And not the smartest? How the hell were they gonna survive out there alone? 

 "All of a sudden, we heard all this howling." Erica said, seeming rejuvinated as she piped in. "It was unbelievable."

Boyd chipped in, his deep voice cutting into the perpetual default silence of the Hale house. "There must have been a dozen of them."

 "Maybe more!"

 Derek scoffed. "Yeah," he mused, sarcasm etching his tone. "Or maybe there were only two. You know what the Beau Geste effect is? If they modulate their howls with a rapid shift in tone, two wolves can sound like twenty."

 Ollie blanched, not expecting to get a werewolf-science lesson at Derek Hale's house. He felt very out of place in this conversation, and wished he was still in his death-coma. Erica crossed her arms, her chin jutted out indignantly. "Look, that doesn't matter, okay? There's another pack out there. There's got to be." 

 Ollie cleared his throat. "You know," he spoke up, his voice hoarse. "I mean... statistically speaking-"

 "Oh lord," Derek muttered under his breath, but Ollie ignored him. 

 "You are about ninety percent less likely to survive if you run away." He laced his hands together, leaning back in his chair like a grandpa. "I was separated from Stiles for like, three minutes and I got shot, and then died. What do you think would happen to you losers alone in the forest. You're sixteen, you've never even lived on your own before-" he shrugged. "Just sayin'. Plus, wouldn't you miss your parents? Your friends?"

 Erica laughed ruefully. "I wasn't exactly first place in the friends department."

 Boyd's eyebrows pulled together. "Did you just say that you got shot, and then died?"

 "Unimportant." Derek stepped in. "Sanchez has a point. You're running. You'll be alone. And it will never end once it starts. You'll always be running."

 The silence that ensued dragged on long enough to make Ollie uncomfortable. He stared at Erica and Boyd; these two people he had somehow known and not known at all. He never even thought about what it would be like to be alone in this new life. To not have people to hold you together. Throughout everything Ollie had Scott and Stiles - he always did. What would have happened to him if he didn't?

 Erica walked forward and rested a hand on Ollie's arm. "I'm sorry." She said, her tone despondant. "We lost. There's nothing here for me anymore."

 Her words made Ollie's chest twist. "Erica-"

 "Thank you for being nice to me." She said, straightening up and turning away. "For what it's worth, I really did like you."

 And then she was gone. She walked out, her footsteps becoming silent as soon as they were rid of the hard wooden floors. Boyd didn't say anything else, just giving the two a lingering stare before turning and disappearing into the unknown. 

 Ollie felt frozen; and figured Derek felt the same. The man stood completely still, staring vacantly at the place his pack vanished. Then, before Ollie could so much as open his mouth, the man swiped something from the table next to him - and with a shout of anger, hurled it toward the staircase. 

 Ollie felt his heart lurch. He leapt up from his seat, his hands grappling for something that wasn't there as a new body seemed to materialize from mid air. The glass shard held tightly in his hand, inches from his throat. Peter Hale smiled.

 "I expected a slightly warmer welcome, but point taken."

 ***

 OLLIE LEANED OVER and whispered to Derek, "I thought we killed this guy."

 The man muttered back, "apparently we aren't so lucky."

 "I can hear you, you know." The older man remarked, sauntering around in front of the two as if it was completely normal and not at all creepy that he was there. Ollie was standing next to Derek, holding onto the edge of the small cabinet that held a whole lot of weird Hale-stuff. The two had barely spoken since Peter's appearance, and the ex-Alpha seemed to be having an awfully good time scrutinizing his own house. "Oliver, it's been awhile. Good to see you're still alive."

 The boy frowned, "go fuck yourself."

 Peter chuckled. "You know, we're not all that different." He said, gesturing to the boy. "I too, am familiar with resurrection."

"Don't make us have dying in common, you're disgusting."

Peter ignored the quip, turning to his nephew. "And Derek! It's quite the situation you've got yourself in..." he snapped his fingers, pointing to Ollie. "You managed to snag a seer, props to that. But on the other hand, I'm out of commission for a few weeks, and suddenly there's lizard-people, geriatric psychopaths, and you're cooking up Werewolves from every self-esteem-deprived adolescent in town."

 Derek bared his teeth like he was about to grow claws and rip his uncle's head off. "What do you want?"

 "Well, I want to help." The man approached them, Ollie tensing as he raked his eyes over the room. He couldn't beat Peter in a fight - not when he was fully healed, and not when he was half-dead and could barely stand upright. He could give him at least a bit of a beating. Poke his eyes, or kick him in the balls or something. At least so he could keep his pride. But Peter's tone was surprisingly soft as he regarded Derek. "You're my only nephew - the only relative I have left. You know, there's still a lot I can teach you." He rested a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Can we talk?"

 Derel twisted his head, shooting Ollie a look. The boy held his hands up, turning to hobble over to his chair, sighing deeply.

 Derek smiled, "sure... let's talk."

 The crash that came when he threw his uncle into the staircase was loud enough for Ollie to grimace, closing his eyes as Derek grunted; throwing punches and foreign objects at the man. "Can you keep it down a bit!" He yelled over the commotion. "I'm still hungover!"

 As Derek continued to physically abuse his uncle, Ollie reclined in his seat and stared at his hands. He tried his hardest to telepathically communicate with his friends that he was okay, but found it fruitless. His life may be crazy, but not that crazy. 

 His heart ached. He was dead - at least to the world. To his mother, to Katrin, to Scott, to Stiles... he didn't know how to take it. Or how to fix it. Just appear back in everyday life? Maybe go to class tomorrow? That was ridiculous. He needed to see them, as soon as possible. Before anyone else got hurt. 

  He rose to his feet, watching as Derek smacked Peter's face against the staircase. The older man stumbled up the stairs, obviously wanting a break from the beating, but Derek pursued him angrily. Ollie exhaled, contemplating a sarcastic comment at the two, but deciding against it. Instead, he wordlessly slipped out the door. 

 The sun had set sometime when Ollie was passing out on Derek's musty chair; and the breeze that flitted through the trees was cold, and brought some life back to Ollie's nervous system. He took some deep breaths as he walked; wishing that he could run without the certainty of passing out. It only occurred to him after Derek's house was out of sight that those wolves that Erica and Boyd heard could still be out there with him. He pushed the thought aside.

 There was a lacrosse game. That was what was keeping him going. A lacrosse game. Stiles, Scott, Jackson. All in one place. And maybe, if he was lucky, Katrin. But he wasn't used to being lucky. 

 A scream pierced the air. 

 Ollie nearly rolled his eyes. Seriously? Now? The urge to keep walking and ignore it was overbearing; but then it happened again. The scream that he was certain he had never heard before; but was still all-too familiar to his ears.

 A girl. A girl he knew. He did some mental calculations, and deduced that pretty much any girl he had ever interacted with could be the cause. Beacon Hills made nothing certain. But then, another voice cut through his conscious; and it made his hair stand on edge. "Stop!" Yelled from afar, followed by a cry of pain that Ollie felt down to his bones. He had heard that voice less than an hour ago. 

 Boyd. And Erica.

 The wind seemed to cut into his skin. "Shit," he muttered, his head overflowing with pain and concern. And then, without thinking too hard about the consequences, he turned and walked further into the darkness. 

a/n:

was gonna write like 1000 more words for this but got lazy and wanted to post it sooooo-

i've been on a pjo kick lately, and was thinking ab who the godly parents of my oc's would be. i have an idea for ollie and katrin, but wanna hear your guys's thoughts hehe. who do you think they would be, and why? 

also you guys probably know by now that i have mild adhd, don't plan anything, and make shit up as i go and then don't remember my own lore. so yeah, ollie feeling that pain in his stomach the chap they kidnapped jackson is now pain in his leg lol. uhhhh yeah, whatever. also i started this fic when i was like 13 so lord only knows why it said he was puerto-rican when he was so obviously just spanish. his original fc was half-mexican but he was problematic so i changed it. idk, just enjoy my funny words and sexy characters, don't mind me.

i hope you liked this chapter!! yeah duh obviously ollie's alive who tf do you think i am bro. dw, he also has more trauma now. which means more comedic coping mechanisms <33 lmk your thoughts / your predictions for the future... what do you think the bite will do??

i love you guys!!