For most of his life, when things went wrong, he ran.

He ran after he failed Chemistry, after his first girlfriend broke up with him, and after the accident. He ran when his mom got angry with him, when he fought with Chelsea, and when he argued with Lucas.

Some of it was being a wolf, the urge to run, to escape, to hide. Part of it is that he just can’t fucking deal and needs to escape.

And this time, he wants to.

He wants to run until the world makes sense and Chase isn’t laughing at Lucas over a fucking cilantro lime salad that still can’t drown out the taste of the boy on his lips.

He wants to run until he knows what the fuck he’s supposed to do now.

He doesn’t, though. He can feel the anxiety thrumming through Chase, under the laughter and the quiet conversation with Lucas. So he shoves it down, the unease, the desire to run, and sits at the table, quietly eating his own salad and letting conversation with his pack swirl around him.

~*~

He doesn’t run, not exactly, but—

He pulls away.

Chase knows what he’s doing, even expected it when he leaned across the small distance and kissed Tyler.

He knew it would spook him.

He changed what they knew and what they’d been for years, and now he has to deal with that.

So he waits in the same place he’s always been—next to Lucas, in the house they built, in the heart of Tyler’s Pack.

~*~

He spends a lot of time alone.

It isn’t fair, dragging Lucas away from Chase because he suddenly doesn’t know how he fits, and he would never send Chase away, push him from the house. It’s his home as much as it is Tyler’s and Lucas’s.

So he goes.

He goes into the woods and runs, sometimes shifted and sometimes human. He aches for the moon to rise, full and round and soothing to the chaos in his blood.

He wants the simplicity of the wolf pacing in his head, the simplicity of Pack and mate and mine.

Simplicity has never been Chase, never been the boy ten years younger than him and too damn smart for his own good.

So he goes.

He goes to the woods and when Chase’s heartbeat chases him there, he goes to town and broods in corners of bookstores and libraries and coffee shops, easily found if one were to look.

Aurora eyes him a few times, her gaze sharp and knowing as she texts and sips her coffee, but she doesn’t approach and Chase doesn’t appear. He doesn’t actually know what to make of that, so he does what he does best and ignores it completely.

John appears once, in the bakery. Tyler eyes the cupcake in his hand and John eyes Tyler. Then he says, “We never saw each other.”

Tyler nods sharply and the chief vanishes, a smug edge to his scent.

Chase must have restricted his diet again. It’s easy to gauge Chase’s stress level by his father’s diet and Lucas’s exercise regime.

The thought sends a pang of longing through him, and he huffs into his pie, wishing like hell he were home.

~*~

Lucas is the one who finally comes to him, his eyes snapping with anger, a hint of glow to them that sets Tyler’s own temper on edge. He doesn’t want to hear this, and he knows it. So he glares down at the dirt and Lucas stands close enough that he can feel the heat of his skin, and he checks the urge to press close.

“You’re being stupid and stubborn,” he says, predictably blunt.

“He kissed me,” Tyler says, nearly spits the words out.

Lucas sounds unimpressed. “Does that bother you because you don’t want him to, or because you do want him to?”

Tyler makes a noise, low and helpless, almost angry.

Lucas sighs. “He needs you, Tyler. Don’t do this.”

He looks away and doesn’t say what’s burning on his tongue—that he needs Chase too, that he doesn’t know how to be what he needs, what he wants. That he doesn’t know what to do.

~*~

He missed years.

It’s never more evident than when he’s standing in front of his emotionally stunted brother and trying to talk him through a love-life crisis.

Sometimes Lucas wonders how the hell he got to this point, the weakest link in an alpha-less pack, the one the others protect and care for.

He wonders occasionally what Chase would do if he knew just how strong Lucas truly was before the accident, if he lashed out with all his strength and fury.

Then again, he sees the knowledge in Chase’s eyes sometimes, when he’s sparring with Lucas, that flash of knowing, that gentle push to stretch himself further.

He missed years and sometimes he thinks the only thing that didn’t change was himself, because the boy he teased before he slipped into that damn car—he’s gone, crushed by guilt and the Drakes’ treachery, and Lucas doesn’t think he can get him back.

The Tyler he knew was shy, but he was confident. Clumsy and heavy-handed, but he was still sweet and charming and so fucking sure of himself.

The Tyler he sees now—he’s anxious, reeking of fear, and two steps away from bolting.

He sighs softly and says, “Chase isn’t Mia. And neither are you.”

~*~

As the summer stretches out, continues to be marked by Tyler’s absence, Chase looks at Lucas and asks softly, “What do we do if he doesn’t come back to us?”

Lucas is quiet for a long time because he doesn’t know.

Chase traces runes in the salt on the table and says, “Maybe it’s time to call Chelsea.”

Lucas snarls and Chase looks at him, eyes sharply assessing, and he sighs. “Ok. We’ll wait.”

~*~

He finds them curled in Lucas’s bed, Chase tucked, small and vulnerable, under his brother’s chin. It makes something in his gut churn. He wants to crawl into the bed with them, wants to slip back into his place in the pack.

“Ty?” Chase slurs, and he catches the hand the boy flaps in his direction. He squeezes softly when Chase mumbles, “Come to bed.”

He thinks it’s probably a horrible idea, but he does as he’s told.

~*~

Lucas is up and slipping out of bed when Tyler blinks awake. He registers his brother first, registers the content look on his face, the way his gaze is soft and unconflicted as he gazes down at them. “Fix this, Tyler,” he orders, then slips away.

Tyler looks down at the boy still sleeping next to him. Sometime during the night, Chase had curled into him, one leg pressed between his, an arm tossed over his chest, curling near his collar possessively. His face is pressed into Tyler’s arm and he’s soaked in their scent, so familiar and right it makes every confused piece of him relax, ease into place.

This is right—Chase in his bed, in his pack. This is right.

He presses a kiss into the boy’s hair and let himself doze back off, his wolf finally whining in contentment.

~*~

When he blinks awake blearily, the bed is empty and the house smells like bacon and coffee. He rubs his face and pushes himself out of bed, stumbling into the kitchen in low slung pants and bare feet.

It’s not unusual seeing Chase in his kitchen, cooking like he belongs here. That stopped being unusual before the kitchen he’s dirtying up was even finished.

What is unusual is the pang of want he feels, the bone-deep need to keep this.

Because he could.

He could go to him, press against Chase’s back, murmur a good morning laced with a kiss, and Chase would take it.

Chase would revel in it.

One move and he could keep Chase forever, and this would be his morning, for the rest of their lives.

It’s so tempting that he actually takes a tiny step forward.

Chase glances over his shoulder, his eyes wide and young and hopeful—and Tyler stills.

“You’re awake,” he says, grinning. “Get the coffee, dude. It’s done.”

He does, going about it mechanically, his heart pounding, then he sits across from Chase, staring at his bacon and eggs, at the oatmeal Chase made for him even though Chase loathes oatmeal, and he feels his throat tighten.

“I can’t—Chase, I can’t.”

Chase is so calm, so quiet, that it drags his gaze up, and he flinches at the shattered look on his face. “I can’t,” Tyler chokes out.

Chase nods. “I know, Ty. I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he says miserably.

Chase’s heart trips, does this spastic thing that makes him want to howl. “Don’t apologize, Tyler. Not for this. You don’t ever apologize for not wanting someone,” Chase snaps.

Tyler’s mouth shuts with a click.

“We’re going to eat breakfast,” Chase says brightly, “and I’m gonna go home. And tomorrow, when I come back—we’re never going to talk about this again. Ok?”

Tyler opens his mouth, and Chase gives him a look so desperate, he can’t help but nod. “Ok.”

~*~

He doesn’t go home.

He drives across town and Aurora takes one look at him before she says sadly, “Oh, honey.”

Chase sniffles wetly and sags into her arms as she coos, “Wanna get drunk and complain about boys?”

That earns her a laugh, and she hums to herself as she leads him into the house.

Later, when they’re both a bottle of wine and a few shots in, Chase rolls his head to peer at her, blinking against the sun shining off the pool water.

“I wish I could love you. We’d be amazing.”

She giggles and nods. “We are amazing.”

“You wouldn't make me cry,” Chase insists.

“But I couldn’t make you laugh, either,” she says, “Not like he can.”

Chase feels tears burning in his eyes again, so he closes them and throws himself into the pool, and here—here he can’t hear her stupidly wise words, or Tyler’s rejection, or the sound of his own heart breaking. Here, all there is, is nothing.

It swallows up his scream.

~*~

“You wanna talk about it?” John asks, after three days standing behind him. Chase is laying on the couch and cranes his head back to look up at him, stares at him upside down and gives him a brittle smile.

“Nothing to talk about,” Chase says.

John sighs. He nudges at his son until Chase folds his legs up, grumbling the entire time. “School, Ben or Reid?” John asks and Chase scowls, that tiny little boy expression he only ever gets around the Reids.

“Do I need to intervene?”

“You know I’m not fourteen anymore, right?” Chase asks.

John’s gaze narrows, because they still avoid The Summer We Don’t Talk About.

“Chase, lemme tell you a secret,” John says. “You are always going to be fourteen to me. You’re always going to be five and one and sixteen, and three and ten and a newborn—I see all of it when I look at you, everything I did right and everything I wrong.”

“Dad,” Chase whispers, looking struck.

“That’s what being a parent is. I know you can take care of yourself, I know you trust Tyler and Lucas—and I know you’re right. But Chase, I’m always going to want to protect you.”

Chase stares at him, and then he lunges across the couch, burrowing into his dad’s arms.

John sighs, but doesn’t press for the answers he wants—just holds his boy close, as he shakes silently.

~*~

He picks his way through the forest. He’s done this so many times, he thinks he could find his way with his eyes closed, but there’s something different this time.

From deep in the woods, he hears a howling that makes his head come up, but he doesn’t want to go to him, doesn’t want to find the wolves he runs with on the full moons.

He wanders, aimlessly circling away from the howls that call to him, running deeper into the forest until he realizes—he doesn’t know this place.

He’s never been here.

He picks his way cautiously now, and he hesitates on the edge of a clearing he’s never seen before.

Chase.

Panic, fear, panic, rage—

Chase, no.

He can feel Lucas running, the desperation driving both his wolves—

He stares at the giant stones and his skin crawls as he hunkers in place, half-hidden by the leaves and whimpers, magic crawling across his skin.

Chase, wait!

He does.

He’s too terrified to do anything else.

~*~

He wakes, sweaty and shaking, and he isn’t surprised at all when his phone buzzes.

“Lucas,” he gasps.

“Stay there. It’s ok, pup, just stay there,” Lucas soothes, “Tyler is coming. You’re ok, Chase.”

“What was it?” he demands, and Lucas sighs.

The window slides open and Tyler spills into the room, half shifted as he strides across the floor and tugs Chase into his arms.

He’s careful.

He’s always so fucking careful, his claws never grazing his skin, fangs receding as he buries his face in Chase's neck and inhales.

“He’s here,” Chase breathes.

Lucas hums. “Good. He’ll stay with you, ok?”

“Lucas, what was it?” Chase demands again, forceful this time.

“Tomorrow. I promise I’ll give you answers tomorrow.”

Chase makes a noise of displeasure but Tyler plucks his phone from his hand and disconnects before he can argue.  

Now that the dream is fading, he feels a little ridiculous, but Tyler’s got that scowly deep frown that tells Chase he won’t be leaving anytime soon.

“Wanna watch Star Wars?” Chase asks. Tyler toes off his shoes and crawls in Chase's bed, waiting until Chase settles next to him, his laptop propped on his lap, and Tyler tugs him close, pressing familiar and warm against his back as he manhandles Chase to sprawl across his chest and lap, his breath warm against the nape of Chase's neck.

Cradled in his arms, he drifts to sleep sometime before Luke Skywalker reaches Mos Eisley.  

~*~

He wakes up alone, to his dad knocking on his door and a note from Tyler.

We’re talking to Harper. Stay safe until I call.  

~*~

“Do you ever dream?”

“I don't want to hear about your sex dreams,” Ben whines.

Brielle smacks him and Chase glares up at the sun. “No. Like... It's a dream that isn't a dream. It's real. Even though you're dreaming.”

“Everyone has realistic dreams,” Brielle says soothingly.

Chase wonders how Drake managed to keep his daughter so ridiculously oblivious.

“Sometimes I do. I dream and it feels real. Like, I wake up and expect my legs to ache from running,” which makes no sense because he always feels different in his dreams.

“Once I dreamt my grandmother was dying. She was driving and went off the road in the mountains. I woke up screaming, terrified my poor mother. I could feel it, the way the car rolled and rolled and shattered around her.”

Chase looks at Aurora and asks, “What happened?”

“She died in her sleep. We found out two days later.”

Chase stares at her while Ben whispers about how creepy it is and Brielle giggles.

He wonders why he feels drenched in shadows when the sun is bright overhead.

~*~

He sits on the couch in Harper’s living room. Tyler is pacing, almost snarling, and Lucas is leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, but Chase can see the way his fingers flex, claws sinking into his skin and retracting.

“Why are we just learning about this?” Lucas asks.

Harper shifts. “The Standing Stones are tied to the Shaman. And without a Reid Pack, without a Shaman—”

“You were Mom’s shaman!” Lucas snarls, lunging at the man, and Chase shoves himself off the couch, placing himself between the furious wolf and the druid. “You were meant to keep this from happening!”

“Lucas,” Chase snaps, “Lucas, stop!”

The wolf snarls again, fangs snapping close enough to his face that Chase knows he should be jerking back, getting the fuck away from the almost feral werewolf, but he presses closer, tugging on Lucas’s hair as he rages.

“You were supposed to keep us safe!”

“Lucas!” Chase shouts, almost screams, and power explodes, the lights bursting in a wash of sparks and fury and he feels himself falling, feels a sharp searing pain, hears a distant roar shaped like his name, and then—

He blacks out.

~*~

When he wakes up, he’s laying on an unfamiliar bed, and there’s only one light on. He can hear shouting in the other room, but he can’t see—

“Lucas,” he snaps, and Harper’s head lifts. “Where’s Lucas?”

“Tyler thought it best if he were restrained.”

Chase snarls and moves to stand, then feels a pain flare up his side, burning deep and hot, and he gasps, falling back.

“I suggest you stay still, Mr. DeWitt.”

“What happened?” he demands.

Harper sighs. “When the Reids died, the pack bonds shattered and the magic in the land did as well. It withered under the broken bonds. I couldn’t hold the land, not by myself. Not without an Alpha.”

“Then why—”

“You woke it. When you bound yourself to the Pack, when you protected them and the territory—you woke the magic in the Standing Stones. And now it’s calling you.”

“I don’t—you couldn’t hold it without an alpha,” he repeats, numbly.

“But I’m not you, Chase,” Harper says quietly. “I am not a shaman who forged a pack bond to two ‘wolves who should have been omegas. I’m not a boy who drove the Drakes from his territory without the strength of an Alpha to back him. I’m not the kind of raw magic that used nothing but his will and need to rise as Shaman without an Alpha to bond to. You are strong, stronger than any mage or shaman I’ve ever heard of. And the Stone Circle recognizes it.”

Chase inhales slowly. He lets that new knowledge rattle around in him and settle before he turns his focus on the more pressing issue at hand.

“Let them out,” he says, and Harper pauses, frowning at him. Chase makes an impatient noise and scrambles to his feet, swaying just a little as he moves across the room.

Lucas is sitting with his back pressed against the wall, and Tyler leans against the door jam. He looks up when Chase approaches, his familiar gaze skating over the claw marks in his side.

“Chase, don’t,” Tyler starts, but it’s too late—Chase breaks the warded boundary with nothing but a twitch of his fingers. He steps past Tyler and slips to his knees in front of Lucas.

“Hey, big bad,” he murmurs as Lucas stares at him, shockingly blank. “I’m ok.”

“I can smell the blood on you,” Lucas says sassily, his eyes still empty.

“And I’m still ok,” he says firmly.

Lucas shudders and curls into himself, and Chase sighs. He squirms until he’s pressed against the werewolf’s side, wedged between the cold ground, a pallet of dog food, and the sulky werewolf.

“I need your help, Lucas,” Chase murmurs. “I can’t afford to have you sulking right now.”

“I hurt you.”

“You’re a werewolf with severe trauma that hasn’t been dealt with. You’re going to do that sometimes.”

Lucas stares at him, and Chase smiles, keeps his gaze steady and sure. “Come on. We need to figure out what that damn Stone Circle wants from me.”

~*~

They don’t figure it out, but he dreams of it almost constantly, and sometimes he wakes up, his Dad peering at him in worry because he’s sleepwalking and half in the road.

The night he’s found by Lucas and Tyler in the forest after a three-hour search led by his father and the police department, Chase looks at his werewolves and says, “We have to tell him. We have to tell my dad.”