"It was genetic in my case, too," Dylan tells her, almost absently. "My old man was a werewolf."

And what a clusterfuck his childhood had been, as a result -- especially considering the fact that, while he wasn't exactly an orphan, his father died before he could explain things to him, and his mother had no idea what to do with him, beyond stay away on nights of the full moon. She'd known what Lionel was, yes, but she'd been human, herself. He would have killed for someone to help him through this shit when he was a kid; again, he wants to be that someone, for these kids, now.

"But yeah, my bite passes the curse along," he finishes.

A pause follows, as they reach the gym and he takes a moment to look over the kids. When his eyes fall on the one student sitting by himself, he nods to him, asks, "What's his story?"