Evolution of Derek Hale [A Teen Wolf Fic]

Chapter Three

My next memory that I want to visit is a camping trip with my Uncle, Peter. Well, technically the car ride there. Do not mistake this as being the next step after we took Laura home. I have many memories between that moment and the next one worth mentioning. There are plenty of seconds where I was running through the house with my cousins or teaching Cora how to play video games. Or, or we could talk of my personal favorite - the hours of scolding and two weeks of punishment after we returned home and my dad learn the situation. Peter had planned this trip for us for a couple of months but we had to push forward the date due to my irresponsibility.

However, it was still fun when it happened. Even if he complained about the timing being not right.

We left on Friday night.

"We're going to have to drive all night to get there." Uncle Peter says as we drive away from Beacon Hills.

"Why don't we go some place closer?" I gripe. I'm seven and I'm tired.

"Tsk. Kids these days. No patience. If you must know why we can't stop and camp some place closer, it's because I'm taking you to the spot where your mother, your Aunt Susan and I used to camp with our parents."

I lean forward, excited. "Aw, really, Uncle Peter? You mean where you guys were before you moved to Beacon Hills?"

"It's definitely closer to the town of my childhood rather than my old town." He has a twinge of irritation in his voice. I hope he doesn't regret asking me if I want to go camping. "We still went after moving. Actually, the first time we went after moving was when I was your age."

"But I thought you guys lived in that town for a really really really long time!" I question what he says because of how many stories my mom had told me of the other town.

He shakes his head at me. "Dear boy," he says with a hint of sarcasm marring his tone. "You forget I'm the youngest for my siblings. Your mother was born almost nine years before me. Of course she lived there for a really long time. We left when she was eleven and I was six."

"But I thought you said that the first time you ever came back to here was when you were my age."

"Ah, yes, you were listening. How surprising.

"Well, you see we moved to Beacon Hills a few months before my seventh birthday." He continues. "So, when I turned seven I asked if we could go back. That was my first time we went back to the camping site."

"Ohh," I say, dragging out the sound with a wide oval for a mouth.

For a few minutes, I let the silence envelop us. The trees blur past us in a collage of green and brown and I let the hum of the car engine lull me. Though the silence isn't exactly uncomfortable, it doesn't feel like it should be placed in this car filled with the smell of my Uncle's aftershave and the slight scent of leather. I struggle, even with my serene surrounding, to find another access point of conversation.

"You know, in a couple of months I'll be eight!" I say happily.

"I know," He forces a smile out at me. "That's why I had to bring you here now. Before you turned eight. It wouldn't have been the same if we had waited until after your birthday."

"Because I wouldn't be seven anymore, Uncle Peter? Am I right?"

"Yes." His voice is strained. He is the only relative of mine that doesn't have any children. Well, I mean only old relative. It explains why he's so out-of-tune with handling my seven year old ways.

"Why didn't you bring Laura and Cora?" It's not like I want them here, I just want to know why he didn't. There isn't much my family doesn't do as a family.

"Your mother wouldn't let me."

"Aww," I fake sadness. "Why not, Uncle Peter?"

"Your sisters are far too young for me to supervise, apparently."

"Cora is only two years younger than me though."

"Yeah, but she's a girl so obviously she's a lot more fragile than you were when you were five. They'd be a hassle and we'd have no real fun." The way he says fun makes me think he has something planned.

I perk up at this. "Fun?" My voice squeaks.

He notices my excitement and he gives a wry secretive smile. "You'll find out when we get to the place. But first, let us stop to eat!"

We stop at a dingy highway stop restaurant. He informs me that this is where they'd stop to eat before going camping.

"However, it was quite well-kept when we used to come." He adds at the end of his explanation.

"When did you come last?" I ask after the older waitress takes our order. The table is slightly sticky in front of me, so I place my knotted hands in my lab.

"When I was fifteen. Then, your grandfather - or my father, the damn fool, got sick and died. Mom didn't want to come back after that." He shrugs.

His use of foul language doesn't really surprise me. He does it occasionally and it doesn't matter who's around. Soon after, the food comes. Before even picking up my grilled cheese the smell of grease and salt hits me from my fries. I'm unsure if I want it now...

Still, I eat everything on my plate. By living with my cousins, Marc and Lucas, I realize that food has to be eaten right away. When we walk out, there are six bikes parked. I can't help but gasp happily as I sprint over to them.

"Uncle Peter look!" I point excitedly.

"Kid, ya betta keep ya hands off my bike." A gruff voice sounds from the dark underneath the sign for the shabby restaurant. The crunch of gravel is a give away as a few toughing looking men walk towards me. The first one, the one I think spoke to me, discards a still smoking cigarette.

"Well, technically, his hands were never on your bike." Uncle Peter is suddenly behind me, and rather terse.

"Listen punk, just take yourself and short stack there and get lost. You'll regret it if you don't." A squat man near the taller one warns with thick drawl. It almost hurts my ears.

"We were just going." Uncle Peter takes me by the shoulders to steer me away. I don't mean to, but as he turns me, my sneaker scuffs against the nearest bikes tire.

Almost immediately the largest guy is behind us. I feel his fingers graze my neck and suddenly I'm behind him and the guy is on his knees with his wrist in Uncle Peter's hand. "Nothing personal," he says conversationally, "but I promised that I wouldn't let a hair on his head be harmed." He lets go of the guy but he remains on the ground, clutching his wrist.

He turns back to me. "You shouldn't touch someone's stuff." He warns 'sternly'. "We'll be going now. And if you try to do anything while my back is turned, I'll kill you."

The last three words are what should've tipped me off that my family was different. Uncle Peter was only twelve years older than me, yet he was willing to fight six, well toned, grown men. Instead of being scared, Uncle Peter just became a lot more awesome.