Rise

Chapter One

*I don't own Teen Wolf, it's characters, or storylines.*

~this has been heavily edited~

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         "Hey, hey Squirt!  I made breakfast!  Come on, get up!"  I felt someone firmly shaking my shoulder, but I remained bundled in my cocoon of blankets, determined not to see the light of day.  "Jesus Christ, kid, you have to eat, come on."

        "No, I don't," I croaked, curling into a tighter ball.  With a rush of cold air, my blankets were whipped away from me, leaving me defenseless against the morning sun pouring through the giant windows across my room.

        I blinked blearily at my uncle, who was standing at my bedside with two glasses full of some sort of green-brown liquid- ugh, what was that?  His hair was standing up at odd angles and his gray-blue eyes were focused on me as intently as ever, scanning my face for any signs that he was already royally screwing me up.

        He seemed to come to a conclusion, nodding decisively to himself.  "Here," he thrust one of the glasses under my nose.  Surprisingly, it smelled... good?  "Drink up, we're going for a run in an hour.  Gotta beat the heat!  Plus, you're scrawny.  Finstocks don't look like a strong breeze could bend them in half, got it?"

        I cautiously took a sip of the mystery concoction, only to find it to be fruity and mildly sweet.  I detected banana, strawberry, and a few other harder to identify flavors.

        "What is this?" I asked, taking a larger gulp.

        Bobby had turned and was already halfway out my door when he scoffed over his shoulder, "It's a smoothie, dumbass."

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        An hour and a half later found me bent at the waist, clad in the workout clothes Bobby had provided for me- that I'm pretty sure he pilfered from the school, given that both the muscle shirt and gym shorts were maroon and white and emblazoned with a cyclone logo- and gasping for my breath.  I seemed to have left it somewhere back on the path that led from our back porch into the expansive woods that seemed to circle Beacon Hills.

        "Suck it up, kiddo, we're just getting started!" shouted Bobby, who was jogging in place next to me.

        I groaned as loudly as I could with a stitch in my side, and wiped the sweat from my eyes with the bottom of my shirt before propelling myself down the bumpy trail.

        He was like a gnat, perpetually buzzing in my ear and whizzing around my peripheral vision.  He kept pace with me the whole run, slowing himself just so he could "motivate me" with his creative, vivid imagery.  His ideas of what motivated a person were very different from my own, or any one else's, for that matter.

        By the time we had circled back around and my sneakers met the unkempt grass of our back yard, I felt like every muscle and tendon in my body was screaming to be put out misery.  I collapsed face-first into a sweaty, maroon heap only to be "motivated" back to my feet.

        "What are you, seventy or seventeen?  Get your lazy ass up and into the shower!  You smell like a decomposing squirrel that's been under the porch for two months!"

        "What are you even talking about?" I whine, forcing one foot in front of the other as I climb the steps and throw open the squeaky screen door.  "You don't even make sense any more, I'm so tired."