# KINDOFUNEVEN ⸻ scott mccall, rescued from mtv's teen wolf & raised with love since 2012. headcanon driven, selectively canon divergent, very crossover heavy and source material critical, mostly through rewrites that address scott's constant dehumanization and parentification. 21+ only, have an alias, age, & basic info accessible ! UNAFFILIATED WITH THE TEEN WOLF FANDOM & DOES NOT ACCEPT THE 2023 FILM AS CANON. not duplicate friendly. anti - jdavis. anti - AI. read all pages before following, hydrate, take your meds, be kind to yourself and each other.
as of march 10 / 25, i will no longer follow any blogs for teen wolf canon characters ( multis are on a case - by - case basis, but exceptions are gonna be rare ) or any blogs that are heavily affiliated with / integrated into the fandom. i'm tired of the same bullshit takes, i'm tired of the misinterpretations, i'm tired of the plagiarism, i'm tired of the blatant racism that this fandom still won't take accountability for and i'm tired of being talked over, talked down to, and dismissed by white writers who want to defend their problematic white faves while doing everything possible to erase and dehumanize the latino lead of a whitewashed show crammed full of racial bias and stereotypes. it's 2026, do better. this does not apply to any current mutuals, but i reserve the right to block if i deem it necessary.
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the rain lets up as soon as he crosses industry bridge, when he can literally see his house, like this entire night's been one long cosmic joke. scott isn't laughing. stiles might, if he spins it the right way. stiles can laugh and scott can carp at him about not getting a ride home, and they can file the whole thing neatly away in a drawer labeled bad ideas. some stupid inside joke to tell at college parties, or something. hey, remember that time i left you in the woods and you got jumped by a giant wolf? what are the odds! the pickaxe headache doesn't help. neither does the adrenaline, even though it's supposed to. the adrenaline is probably what's blocking any pain.
he didn't get a good look at the bite. not in the dark, not before that car tried to turn him into roadkill, but there was blood. he can smell it. practically taste it, like it's climbing up the back of his throat. adrenaline, he thinks firmly. everything gets sharp and bright and loud when your nervous system kicks into a full factory reset. he trudges up the porch steps, trailing mud and rainwater that he does his best to wipe off on the mat before he goes inside. he could have called stiles — could have texted to ask for a ride home, but the neurons in his brain kept zapping like fireworks and they never figured out which direction the target was in.
get home, get inside, get cleaned up, go to bed. objectives like in a video game, organized in a way that he knows how to follow. get home. the porch light flickers obnoxiously down at him. he squints, shielding his eyes. it's brighter than he ever remembers it being. get inside. the front door shuts behind him and the house sounds like it's humming, noise coming from nowhere.
his mom's car wasn't outside. she's working another double, but he catches himself listening for her anyway. " mom? " tentative, just a kid breaking curfew. muddy and bleeding is a new addition. no answer. he breathes out, willing his head to shut up for a second so he can concentrate. willing his heartbeat to find a rhythm. he ditches his shoes by the door, wet socks audibly squelching up the stairs. get cleaned up. he can do that, right? it's just a little blood. just a bite. if it'd hit an artery, an organ, anything important, he would've already lost consciousness. or maybe that's the adrenaline again and he's about to fall over dead on his bathroom floor.
nausea lurches a wide sweep across his stomach. light switch on, mirror in front of him, scott digs his nails into his palms and takes a couple of slow breaths.
there's no rattle in his lungs, no thin wheeze. not that it would matter, if there was ; he never did find his inhaler after he'd dropped it.
he found a body instead. half a body. her eyes were wide open and staring, because of course they were. the rational part of him knows that he should call someone about it, but that would mean confessing to the sheriff that he was out there, and outing stiles for covering his ass, and he hasn't even finished processing the last hour yet. thinking further ahead than get cleaned up and go to bed isn't happening right now. everything else is a tomorrow problem.
but it's weird. it's weird that there's no rattle. his asthma's bad enough that walking five miles in the rain should've landed him in the emergency room. adrenaline doesn't get rid of asthma.
right?
" okay, " he exhales out loud, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. " okay, it's totally fine, it's no big deal, just ... just don't panic. just clean it, and cover it up, and you'll be fine. you're not gonna die. you're totally, completely fine. " the buzz of his phone against his thigh makes him jump. there's no way that he should be able to hear it. feel it, sure, but not hear it, like it's on a hard surface instead of in his pocket. " adrenaline, " he mutters to himself. that's normal. totally, completely ... he wets his lips, clamps his teeth over the bottom one and fishes out the phone to check it.
stiles, asking where he is.
home, scott texts back. everything's cool. i'll see you at school tomorrow.
because he doesn't want to deal with more questions, he presses the power button until the screen goes black. stares at it for a beat. half blank, half accusing, like it buzzed louder on purpose just to mess with him. focus. get cleaned up. he's prepared in a technical sense. he's not prepared for what it looks like in the light.
blood soaks into the waistband of his jeans. there's a pattern in the bite, but not a clean one. curved, jagged rows, shredding the flesh in between, ribbons of skin peeled back like overripe fruit. it makes him dizzy to look at. it's deep, needs stitches deep, and he's bowing forward to clutch the edges of the sink when that sick feeling crashes into him a second time. " you're not gonna die, " he repeats, through the grit of his teeth. it looks worse than it is. that has to be it. but he's thinking about infections and bacteria and his skin's hot, and he can't tell if that's from fear or fever. there's a thermometer in the cabinet, but he pushes it aside and reaches for bandages instead. pressure dressing. the pulse of blood is steady, not fast. not like he's bleeding out. nobody ever died from something like this.
denial is a hell of a motivator.
denial activates rote memory and lets him do what he needs to, crossing another objective off the list. all that's left is going to bed.
he starts to calm down a little once the lights are off and he's under the blanket like he's five years old and shaken by a nightmare. talking himself past it. he can talk himself past this, too. it'll be fine tomorrow, and his mom never has to know, and stiles doesn't have to get in trouble for lying. scott rolls over onto his side and pulls the blanket with him, grasping it in both fists.
pure exhaustion finally drags him under like riptide.
right before he goes, so close to sleep that he won't remember if he'd dreamed it or not, the sustaining echo of a wolf's howl carries in through his open window.
scott hasn't slept. the storm had passed before midnight, cooling the air, coils of fog clinging to the trees by dawn, but scott hasn't slept. he knows why he's here. why he's doing this, why he agreed to this when his every instinct was screaming at him not to. begging him, like stiles had on that rooftop, to find another way. that's what it came down to. there isn't another way. not fast enough, not with the time that they have and the resources that they don't have.
he needs the alphas' help. he needs to find stilinski. he needs to save his mom. jennifer's already killed nine innocent people and there's no doubt in his mind that she'll kill three more without batting an eye.
balance. revenge. it doesn't matter.
people keep dying, and scott won't let it happen again.
the itch and burn of exhaustion prickles behind his eyelids. his senses stay sharp, because his body's flooded with so much adrenaline ; that's probably why he's still upright, putting one foot in front of the other. the pin's already out of the grenade. going with deucalion felt like the fastest, most efficient way to minimize the blast radius instead of counting more casualties.
deucalion, who stands maybe five feet to his left, and there's a unique sort of irony in feeling trapped under the stare of a blind man.
" what, " he breathes out, no inflection.
' you're still wondering whether or not you made the right decision. '
" no. i know i did. "
' do you? '
" yeah. " scott turns as deucalion steps closer. noting the casual ease, the almost regal lift of his chin and the metronome tap of that cane. his scent is vicious, but it's contained. controlled. somehow that scares scott even more, even if he isn't letting it show. " she has to be stopped. you can help me stop her. that doesn't mean that i'm a part of your pack, or that you were right about me — all it means is that i'm gonna do whatever i have to do to make sure no one else gets killed. "
' whatever you have to do? ' echoed back in a way that sounds idle and isn't. there's always something else under the surface with him. something darker, more calculating. reading every angle. every move in advance. thinking ten moves ahead, with checkmate already in sight.
scott exhales again, jaw tightening briefly at the hinge. " i know what you want from me. "
' hm? '
" i'm not killing her. "
' even if that proves to be the only way to stop her? to save your mother, and the parents of your best friends? '
" i'm not killing anyone. "
the whisper of a smile curls the corners of deucalion's mouth. he's facing forward, moonlight reflected in the dark tint of his glasses. ' and therein lies your paradox. potential is a double - edged sword, is it not? '
" yeah, you keep saying that. you keep talking about my potential, about how you want to see what i'm made of, but what if you're wrong? what if all of this is for nothing? " scott's heartbeat rises a little, but deucalion simply tilts his head like an invitation to continue. " jennifer told us, last night. she told us that you're not just after an alpha pack, you want perfection. my boss, deaton — "
' the druid. '
" the emissary. "
' not just an emissary, but the former advisor of none other than talia hale herself. i remember him well. '
" he said that you weren't here for derek. you're here for me, because you think that i'm ... " it tapers off. eyes flickering red in a motel bathroom mirror. the sound of his mother's blood splattering against asphalt. and now i'm coming for you.
i'm not an alpha.
but you're well on your way, aren't you?
morrell's voice filters through the static. an obsessive, who both desires you and is threatened by you. if the obsessive can't have the object of his desire, he'll seek to destroy it instead.
again, deucalion steps closer. they're nearly shoulder to shoulder without actual contact. the hair on the back of scott's neck stands up and when he breathes in, he could swear that he smells blood. ' what i think, scott, ' low, as level as the ground beneath their feet but as electric as the currents that run even deeper, ' is that you have no idea how powerful you could become, under the right guidance. the things we could achieve, together — you would be amazed at how unstoppable we would be. '
tension ripples across the set of scott's shoulders. there's an edge of defiance in him, in the way that his head turns this time, like he recognized the speech by heart before deucalion had said a single word. " and that's why i think that you're wrong about me. "
' and why is that? '
" because i don't care about power. especially not if it gets people hurt. all i care about is protecting them, and i don't have to be a murderer to do that. i'm not like you. "
' you may find that you and i are far more alike than you're ready to accept. and when that time comes — '
" it won't, " scott tells him, sharp as a claw - stroke. " i'm here to stop jennifer before she kills anyone else. that's all that this is. "
' whatever gets you through the night. ' that same muted, private smile, like he's the only one in a crowd who gets the joke. he releases a long, slow breath, face tipped towards the sky. it's quiet. eerily still. the moon is almost full, its waxing light casting long shadows behind them. ' are you aware of what an eclipse does to one of us, scott? why jennifer would choose this lunar event as the backdrop for her final sacrifice? '
a frown flickers through, knits the space between scott's brows. " do i want to know? is it gonna help us beat her? "
' yes, and no. we become utterly human, scott. while the eclipse is in full, a werewolf loses all of their abilities. '
" so then we're running out of time. we have to make her come to us, and we have to do it before the eclipse. morrell knows something, " half accusation, half challenge, " doesn't she? that's why you've got kali and the twins chasing her down. you need her to tell you where jennifer's keeping the others. "
' an impressive deduction. '
" i don't know where they are, " scott pushes forward, that conviction back in his voice, " not yet, but i know where jennifer's going. i know how we can get her. "
deucalion lets out a low, almost appreciative hum, like all of this is just proving a point that no one asked him to make. he steps to the side, gestures with the cane for scott to go ahead of him. the air breathes and the trees move like the earth itself can tell something is shifting. ' shall we, then? '
scott gets a pace or two in front of him, and stops again. " if you really want my help, " he levels out, " then we do this my way. that means without killing people. not jennifer, not morrell, not anybody. can we agree on that? "
' no, ' deucalion tells him simply, ' but i do admire your tenacity. you'll make a fine alpha, likely much sooner than you think. '
he outpaces him after that. leisurely and calm, not saying another word, and scott has to take a few seconds to breathe. to steady his heartbeat. sickness clutches at his gut and his nerves are scraped raw. there's no such thing as fate. this isn't set in stone, any of this.
he'll get everyone through this in one piece, no matter what color his eyes are by the end.
this isn't her type of job. correction: this isn't her type of job for a reason, and no matter how far she sinks into research, it doesn't take her mind off the facts. (monsters are always monsters ... except when they're not. shedding skin and reformatting bones, behaving human 'til the eclipse spatters the sky, turning morals all shades of gray with the cross between species.) it's not as simple as black and white. the line between right and wrong becomes blurred. it's enough to make her head spin, and working alongside one of the aforementioned? shit, it's a whole work week on its own.
a page flips between her fingers, almost delicate in the turn of the paper. a flickered gaze up towards the other, lip catching in the bottom of her teeth to weather away momentarily. "how long you think this is gonna take?" blunt, to the point. a glance down at her page, werewolf lore painted across it. a hesitation, then— a lie. "got other jobs to get to."
there's no timeline that he can quantify yet. terms like risk management and damage control weave tenuously between variables, not enough to bridge any gaps. restless energy clings to her like voltage. it's harder to get a read on her beyond that, but it doesn't take a master of perception to clock that she'd rather be anywhere else. hunters make him cagey on principle. maybe that's all it is, from both sides. maybe he's reading too far into it. her tone's clipped, redirecting his focus with the mild hike of a brow.
" honestly? i think it'd go a lot faster if i could catch a scent, instead of trying to find all of the answers in here. " he folds the book shut, palm flat against the hardcover. " something's not right, about any of this. if it is a werewolf, then they're covering their tracks on purpose. they're being too careful. which means that they know what they're doing, and none of this was an accident. " it isn't like a mindless rampage, is where he's going with that. it isn't just someone who lost control and couldn't pull it back. the thought flickers by in the shape of a frown before his expression shifts again. " look. i'm not gonna pretend that i couldn't use the help, but you don't have to stay if you don't want to. seriously, it's okay. "
" he didn't even recognize us ! " it's not said with offense – well, maybe a little offense – but mostly confusion. a friend of the groom : the vincent davenport, artist manager extraordinaire might she add, looked them in the eye & asked for their names. he really meant it, too ! she could tell he wasn't trying to crack a joke – the haha, what do you guys know about being in the public eye ?? wink-wink kind. there was no wink-wink. the crinkle between her eyebrows deepens as she watches him waltz off to the dance floor, glass of champagne in hand lifted to her mouth so she can at least pretend glossed lips aren't parted in total shock. one dainty sip later, she exhales a breath & turns her gaze to scott. " it's official – we're yesterday's news. the horror movie writes itself ! " the joke would land better if there wasn't a smidge of genuine distress in her eyes at the thought.
she can think of one thing concerning them that is totally shiny & new, though. the status of their relationship comes to mind. & suddenly, she's smiling like a school girl with a crush ! nervous just because he's near. she'd act cool & overthink silently as the girl bible dictates if she knew how, but words bubble to the surface before she can stop them. " this isn't strange for you, is it ? " daphne steps in front of him, searching his eyes. " i know it wasn't when we were supposed to come here as friends, but now we're- well, we're more, & gwen is asking you all these questions & this place is... " it's like cupid threw up in here – she loves it. still, " is it... too much too soon ? did i make it weird ? "
far be it from scott to expect recognition anywhere, but he definitely wasn't expecting that. it feels like a bit, at first. the gravity pool spiraling off this dude's ego might've actually thrown him if he hadn't been so tunnel - visioned on daphne. she's downplaying her shock with a sip of champagne and he has to fight a laugh as he slips his hand over hers, lowering the glass back down. " you wanna talk about horror movies? i was buying dog food last week and this girl came right up to me in the aisle. i didn't even realize that she knew who i was until she asked me to spit in her mouth for a tiktok. she wasn't kidding. i was so freaked out that i had to act like my phone rang, and then i just — took off. that was a horror movie. " he dips close to kiss her forehead, gently bumping her hip with his. " you're today's news. and tomorrow's, and the day after. that guy looked like the only face that he remembers is his own reflection. no offense. "
his smile's tender when she steps in front of him, in full glittery view, radiating nerves that she's trying not to show. warmth swells like sunlight in the middle of his chest. he holds onto her eyes and lets her finish, all bare affection in the curve of his mouth. " hey. stop. i'm glad that we're here, and i'm really glad that we're not just here as friends. this is awesome. like, so awesome that i kind of can't believe it's happening. " the to me is silent. scott can feel himself unraveling under the hopeful pin of her gaze. to ground them both, he tucks a finger beneath her chin and tilts her face up a little further. the kiss is small, a couple of seconds at most, tasting the champagne on her lips. the warmth stays. " besides, i can handle a few questions. we've got this. i promise. "
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after experiencing a certain amount of sheer terror , there's an odd sort of clarity that settles . it's one beezy had hoped she'd never experience again , but she sees that wish now for what it was . foolish . fucking stupid , actually , acting like all the shit in her past wouldn't rear its masked head again , a hydra that emerges with more & more fearsome faces each time one is struck down . she curls up beside scott , nestles her head onto his shoulder because she needs to feel him there , know that he's okay .
it's probably the longest he's ever heard bianca be silent , except that time she tried to show him her favorite movie & instead fell asleep on him halfway through . usual verbosity has evaporated for the moment , replaced with a brand of dread she thought she left behind years ago . at his words , gaze lifts , eyes reddened from tears . ' i'm sorry , scott . ' voice is tiny , sincerely regretful . ' i'm the whole reason you're in this shit . ' she should have known better , should have warned him from the beginning , she just thought ..... nails bite into her own palm as she wills herself not to cry again . she thought it'd be different this time , that the stagehand would remain a ghost haunting her worst memories .
he really sounds like he believes it when he says they'll figure it out , & his faith makes her heart sink . he's staying . part of her reasons that there's a contract , of course he's staying ---- but scott doesn't treat her like an obligation . he never has , even when it would have been easy . his simple acceptance it makes the whole thing hurt even more . ' you should be , like , running for the hills . or getting on the next flight out of the country , ' she murmurs . ' i wouldn't blame you . i'd understand . hell , i'd pay for your ticket . '
" no, hey, don't be sorry. okay? it's not your fault. you had no way to know that this was gonna happen, and even if you did, you were the one that tried to get me out of it. you practically begged me to run, and i chose not to. this isn't your fault. " earnest conviction only carries half the weight. he can back the words with sincerity, and mean everything he says, but making her believe it is the bigger hurdle. they're climbing up a sheer cliff in the fog, and every reassurance is another notch to grab onto. you have to trust that it's there first. feel for it like a pulse, so you don't grab thin air and fall.
her eyes look bruised and her voice is thick, talking through the impulse to cry. his hold around her tightens. she's not the only one who's leaning into the contact. a soft exhale drops as he tilts his head to press a kiss to her hair. " i hate flying. and i always get lost in airports. like, completely turned around. security had to stop me once at laguardia because i kept sprinting past customs and somebody thought that i had a bomb in my suitcase. " true story, but he's just hoping to take some of the heat off. even if it's temporary. even if it doesn't work. the next part is softer. " a vacation sounds nice, though. really nice. maybe when this is over, we can go lie on a beach somewhere and drink stuff out of coconuts. tiny umbrellas and everything. "
if he lets the cortisol fade, he can almost picture it. roxy pawing at the sand and getting it all over them, the white foam of surf rolling in, the smell of salt and sunblock and board wax. bright sunshine and nobody wearing masks. nobody screaming. bianca's eyes behind sunglasses instead of puffy from tears. he swallows, something sharp hooked deep in his lungs. " i'm not leaving, " he says. gentle, but a lot more steady. " not without you. especially not on a plane. "
max can't help but laugh at scott's reaction , played up for what she's sure is that very purpose . she can appreciate the effort , the lighthearted lack of judgement . ' don't worry , i don't think we'll have to crack open our piggy banks just yet . save your twenty for something more important ..... or for lunch or something . ' lopsided grin returns , but it fades slowly , embers in a dying fire that don't quite reflect in the rest of her expression .
teeth worry against lower lip , half hearted shrug raises freckled shoulders . ' i always have a strategy . i don't do stupid shit with no way out of it . who do you think i am ? ' mock offense to hide the appreciation for scott smoothing over her clumsy transition . eyes widen & grin returns , ' no way ?! ' max is truthfully impressed . ' that sounds awesome . why a prison transport van ? were there people inside ? i have so many questions . ' a brief pause before she admits cheekily , ' once i drove billy's camaro into a pumpkin patch . '
the next laugh that busts out is basically a cackle, and he isn't trying to muffle it anymore. " hold on, were you aiming for a pumpkin patch, or did you get there by accident? " justified regardless, he figures. the point is to keep her laughing, to ease the pressure instead of applying it, and her grin already faltered once. quick recovery time, but he clocks it like he's been programmed to ever since she was barely tall enough to reach his elbow. there's a second where memory cycles him back to the first time he'd seen her do a kick flip, a tiny gladiator in knee pads, bold in the way that only kids can be. reality felt softer, back then. scott tucks the memory under his ribs where it's safe.
" there was one person inside. he wasn't in there when we stole it, but we stole it so that we could put him in there. we were actually trying to help him. which makes it sound less awesome and way more embarrassing, because the first thing that he did when he got out was run straight to the sheriff's station. he totally snitched. " not that scott really blames him, all things considered. another snort of laughter shakes loose at his own expense. " oh, and his dad was a lawyer. so we were pretty much screwed from the start. "
seat: sender sits next to receiver. / chris checking up on him after the library?
memes, always accepting / @packmenta1ity !
his mom wasn't okay to drive. she put the car in the wrong gear three times in a row before mason had to take over. mason helped her lift him off of the library floor and his blood was all over them both. after she'd brought him back, she couldn't let go of him. smoothing his hair, cupping his face, fingers tucked under the hook of his jaw to feel his pulse. and again, pressed to the inside of his wrist. like she had to be sure. like it might not be real, because he wasn't just hurt this time.
scott had nothing for her. he had nothing for anyone. the drive passed in silence and the whole car smelled like his blood.
she did her best to clean him up, once they got home. she'd started to open his jacket, reaching for the hem of his shirt to assess what was underneath, to see how bad it was, and he stopped her. caught her gently by the wrist and moved her hand away. the claws went in deep. theo's shoulder was all that he had to grab onto, theo's breath hot against the shell of his ear. he knew what was coming. he'd known before then, while he choked on blood, a wet rattle in his lungs, waiting for liam to finish it. scott wonders if mason is the only reason he hadn't, but it doesn't matter. he knew.
after his mom finally leaves the room, he gets up and moves into the bathroom like his body's taking cues from outside itself. jacket first, splattered with red that looks black against the leather. shredded t - shirt, soaked all the way through, heavy strips of torn fabric that he peels off and drops into the trash. something stirs in him like sediment at the bottom of a lake, listlessly moved by the current. the claws went in deep. gouged underneath his ribs, twisting up, puncturing his heart. it looks bad. he can see right into it, into the wound, past layers of skin and muscle and fatty tissue and things that he doesn't know the names for. there's a dull sort of irony in that ; in the difference between feeling like an open wound and actually looking like one.
something stirs, but the signals don't connect. he's somewhere else. somewhere quiet. somewhere that no light could reach, but neither could pain, or grief, or anger. if he could have stayed there, if he hadn't had that choice ripped away from him like so many others, he would have.
the patch job is quick. intentional. antiseptic, bandages, a clean shirt. the water in the sink runs red for a long time before he shuts off the faucet.
when he steps into his bedroom again, argent's standing in the doorway. scott didn't hear his car outside. the front door, the sound of soft voices like everyone's afraid to talk to him, about him, at a normal volume. his mom must have called, but he doesn't ask what she'd said. the world's moving above him, no substance, no sound, like he's underwater. like he's still in the dark, where it didn't hurt. scott drifts to the bed again and sits down like everything hurts.
argent sits down next to him. the mattress dips a little and then settles, like a hitched breath. scott's eyes are on his shoes. there's blood there too, flecks of deep red like castoff spatter, paler trails along the rubber like tears.
he'd tasted salt, right before. he can't remember crying, but at some point, before the letting go, he could taste salt.
the firm weight of a palm touches his back. this is where he's supposed to say something, to tell argent that he's okay, that he's healing, that he made a mistake and he won't do it again. the words aren't there. they don't even try to surface. the water ripples above his head and he stays below it, because he's not ready to give up the silence. the palm slides up to his shoulder and squeezes. like a parent. like someone who understands how fragile this kind of silence is and cares enough not to shatter it.
" i let go. " it's coarse and small, throat achy and sandpaper - dry. he feels argent shift to look at him. " theo came to finish what he started, and i didn't fight him. i could have. maybe i should've. i don't know. but i didn't. i don't think i wanted to. " saying it out loud is strange. there's something disconnected about it. like he's talking about someone else, except for the riptide. the pull. a visceral truth that he's holding onto, because he needs to remember.
in his peripherals, he sees argent's mouth open and then close without sound. the bandage chafes and tugs as he leans forward to wipe at a smear of blood on the toe of his shoe. his thumb lifts away red and he looks at it for a moment too long, eyes dark, unfocused, then wipes it on the leg of his jeans. " my mom doesn't know, " he says, quieter. " neither does mason. you're the only one that i've told, because i know that you won't say anything to them. " whether he's seeking confirmation or challenging the opposite, scott turns his head just far enough to make eye contact. " they don't need to hear that part. i guess i just needed to say it. " he needs to remember. he doesn't deserve to forget.
wordlessly, argent nods. the silence yawns open like a mouth and scott pretends that it doesn't mean what it means. he's somewhere else.
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[ WARN ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to warn them against doing something that they suspect the receiver is preparing to do.
memes, always accepting / @acceptedrisk !
rapid - firing synapses keep his mind from going off course. it's the opposite of a distraction. the demand to stay focused, to lock on task, because he doesn't have the time for second guesses. this has to happen now, and it has to be him. beacon hills was just a pitstop. that his mom's at work and argent's out of town and no one else knows he's here is the kind of luck that disintegrates if you look at it too closely. scott's so wrapped up in his own head that everything outside of it turns blurry. bag swung over his shoulder, he palms off the kitchen lights and makes a beeline for the side door. the second that it opens, he stops cold. he didn't hear her coming. didn't clock it, or consider it. he wasn't paying attention. the sharp cut of her features slams his resolve loose like a punch.
his pulse thuds low in his throat. fingers curl around the bag's strap, cinching it tighter in place. " you saw it, didn't you. " there's no upswing, because it isn't a question. brief, like a flashbulb, he remembers lydia standing at the end of his driveway on the night that they were supposed to leave the first time. lydia's premonitions and max's visions aren't the same, they don't present in the same way, but scott recognizes the shape of a warning like he'd identify a threat in a crowd.
something visceral crawls under his skin. max is radiating it, that same feeling, and it rocks him like the aftershocks that follow an earthquake. she's warning him not to go. telling him, not asking. " max, " he says, and it falls somewhere between wary and worried. a level of concern that he still hasn't learned to point at himself. i have to do this forms in his mouth like a habit that he can't break. a breath pulls in, steadier when he pushes it back out. " okay. okay, then talk to me. tell me what you saw, and if it's really that bad, then — " this is where he's meant to promise that he won't go. if it's too dangerous, he won't go. the promise doesn't come. he traps it under the cage of his ribs and pins it there. " what did you see? "
[ ENGINE ]: sender's car breaks down in the same street that the receiver lives on, leading the sender to knock on their door to ask for help.
memes, always accepting / @nanettewheeler !
exhaust creases under the lip of his open window, trailing the chuff of an engine that sputters and pops in a way that can't be good. it sounds enough like the jeep that scott abandons his pre - calc homework and sits up straighter to listen. there's a heave, a rattle, and then something like a sigh, like it gave up. he can smell burnt rubber and sticky - sweet coolant. his phone's on his desk, next to his notes. the screen is dark. he checks it anyway : no new texts. no missed calls from stiles. he hasn't totally dismissed the possibility yet and he's getting up from his chair to investigate, just to make sure, when somebody knocks on the front door. the sound carries upstairs, three sturdy raps in quick succession. polite, but immediate.
stiles probably wouldn't bother to knock. he probably would've yelled from outside, or scaled the house and climbed right in through scott's window. with the tiny pinch of a frown, scott takes the stairs down and hesitates in the foyer. listens, again. breathes in. one quick heartbeat and a scent that's vaguely familiar. he doesn't have time to place it before two more knocks startle him into action.
nancy's standing on his porch and the first thing that he does is scan her for injury. " hey — what's wrong? are you okay? " the visual sweep steers his focus to the street past her, towards the shape of a car maybe three houses up. his brows lift a little. " i'm guessing that's yours? here, come inside, " side - stepping out of the way to ease the door wider, like a reflex. " you can try to call for a tow, but it's pretty late. i'm not sure if they'll send someone out tonight. unless you wanna try to fix it ourselves? or i can give you a ride home, if you want. " a beat. " are you okay? "
names & faces flash in her mind's eye , a parade of the dead with their fingers pointed in bianca's direction . from her childhood best friend layla to the strangers sacrificed during kayleigh's mainstage , the weight of each life lost is placed squarely on her shoulders . the thought of tacking scott's name onto the list makes bianca's stomach churn , her heart singing a desperate rhythm of get - him - out - get - him - out .
the solution he offers is enticing , one she wishes she could take him up on . turning her back on the scattering crowd , the blood staining the pavement , the shrieks and cries of confused witnesses in favor of safety , comfort . but .... she cant . not when the end goal of it all is her and the crosshairs will always move to center . ' scott ... ' pled once more , an attempt to urge him to self - preserve . how is she supposed to explain to him that it's not that easy , it'll never be that easy ?
' that's , like , so far beyond your job description . ' even as she says it , she's clutching his hand like a lifeline , guitar - calloused fingers squeezing his desperately . ' you go , find daphne . she has , like , emergency plans and stuff . she'll help you . i .... i have to go back . i have to try to help , i have to do something . ' despite the prey - animal fear radiating from her , despite the trembling hands & tear filled eyes . she's determined .
another glance over her shoulder to where the commotion is coming from , half expecting to see the mask with the gaping grin peering back at her . every second ticking is another second scott is in growing danger , and he's looking at her expectantly , not budging . fuck , fuckfuckfuck . ' fuck ! why are you being so stubborn ! they'll kill you , scott ! ' it's closer to tears than anger , and she's quickly losing the strength to keep pushing .
" find daphne, and then what? what am i supposed to do after that? am i supposed to tell her that some psychotic nutjob in a stagehand mask crashed the premiere, and instead of staying with you, instead of — instead of making sure that you were safe, i just left you there? are you kidding? she'd kill me herself before anyone else got the chance. " it's a bad joke with even worse timing, and it overshoots the target like he hadn't once stopped to consider his aim. not that it matters. she's tailspinning. driving the same point home over and over, wanting him to relent, to back down, because most people would have. most people would hear they'll kill you and not think twice.
scott's hyperaware of that. of how much more afraid he should be for himself as he's throwing all that aside to worry about her. that's the bottom line. where the distinction between choice and responsibility disappears. if he chooses to walk, and she ends up being carried out later in a body bag, and he could have done something to stop it, that's on him. that was never a choice. she's got tears in her eyes. she hasn't let go of his hand. the chaos dims to static, the whole scope of his world narrowing like tunnel vision. he pulls the door wider with his free hand and lets it bump against his shoulder, blocking it from shutting the rest of the way.
" hey, hey. look at me. i know that you're scared. i can't pretend to understand what you're going through right now, and i don't want to fight you on this, so — so if you want to go back and try to help, then we can do that. we can do whatever you want, okay? but we're doing it together. i'm not changing my mind, i'm sorry. " at this point, he might as well be stepping in front of a bullet and apologizing for getting blood on the floor.
the thought shakes loose as soon as it forms. his throat closes around anything that he might've said next. somewhere in the stairwell, a floor or two above them, there's a creak. the echo of a creak, like hinges. like another door opening. but no rushed footsteps, no frantic voices. the absence of sound is jarring in a way that feels too deliberate. his stomach goes cold. " ... did you hear that? "
[ EN GARDE ]: sender and receiver get into some kind of fight. / from ethan but it's verbal and he said something mean xo
memes, always accepting / @packmenta1ity !
it happens quietly. the room splits, like a skull hitting pavement, and scott's expression shutters in real time. something flattens behind his eyes. for a minute, they just look at each other. ethan's mouth twists and scott can smell the regret on him, clock the tensile pull of a tripwire right before it goes slack, but he isn't speaking. neither of them are. he went too far, and he knows it.
scott doesn't bruise as easily as he used to. or maybe he does, and he's learned to take the hits better. taught himself not to snap, to think first and react later, curl the leash tight around his fist so the anger doesn't bolt away from him. he can do that, most of the time. not always. sometimes it bursts out. sometimes he raises his voice and hears his father and he hates himself for it every time.
and sometimes it's like this. quiet heat at a simmer, the boiling point contained because he's seen what happens when it spills.
his heartbeat didn't climb into his throat. it's locked behind the barrier of his sternum, hammering hard but not fast. contained. controlled. quiet. ethan starts to say his name and scott moves away from him, consciously deciding that more distance is better for them both. the top of his throat tastes like metal. there's a ringing in his ears, textured and familiar, white noise.
he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and it's amplified like someone turned up the volume there but nowhere else. a muscle tics halfway along the line of his jaw and one hand gestures for ethan to stay put. it looks like a warning. his eyes drop, scanning the banner notification, opening the text thread and thumbing out a quick reply. the phone disappears back into his pocket. " braeden, " he says, anticipating ethan's question because he isn't ready to hear him talk yet. " she's on her way. i'm gonna go and meet her. " ethan takes a step towards the table, where he'd left his motorcycle helmet, and scott steps purposefully in front of him. their eyes connect. the warning is sharper, clear as glass. scott's voice is low, almost monotone, and he isn't asking. " no. stay here. i'll go myself. "
' you'll do fine ! probably .... ' last word is said mostly under her breath before she returns to normal cadence . ' just remember , rule number one for being an accomplice is that if we get caught , don't tell anybody anything . i know a good lawyer . ' she nods determinedly , like brushes with law enforcement are the most normal thing in the world . the likelihood of them getting involved for such a small thing is basically negative , but she kinda wants to hear scott's reaction and laugh if it's as scandalized as she thinks it might be .
' i mean , yeah , i guess . believe me , i know i have limitations . a lot of them . ' spoken a bit dryly , eyelashes flutter over milky eyes as though to emphasize her point . her physical disabilities beyond the blindness impacts a lot of what she's able to do on her day - to - day life : the amount of reconstructive surgeries on her knees & elbows alone have made all manner of tasks into herculean challenges . ' i know how to ask for help .... most of the time . ' debatable . ' but this ? i really thought i'd be able to do this on my own . i used to be able to . ' she shakes her head slightly , moving on from the subject that's more vulnerable than she cares to admit .
there's a theatrical gasp, like breaking the law is a pearl - clutching offense and he can't believe that she'd go there. he has to duck his head to muffle a snort. " then i seriously hope that you can afford the bill, 'cause i only have 20 dollars. " but the moment unravels like he'd tugged at a loose thread without meaning to. her tells are small. micro - shifts in the air around her, in the way her words land, that shake of her head like she's trying to clear it. the last thing that he wants to do is make her think that he feels sorry for her. pity's not the same as empathy. pity is when somebody talks to you like you're fragile because they don't see you as a whole person anymore, and that's not what this is.
he lets the pause buffer a little. not long enough to read like she'd said the wrong thing, just enough to sit with it so he doesn't say the wrong thing. " there's always next time, right? besides, they can't actually prove that it was you. at least you had a strategy. " the segue comes naturally, following her lead to shift topics without putting her on the spot. " stiles and i once got restraining orders against us, for stealing a prison transport van, and — wait, did i ever tell you that story? "
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when rafael said ' i'm really hoping to avoid the embarrassment of dragging my own son into an interrogation room ' i think that told us everything that we needed to know about the type of person he is
" if i had, would you have believed me? " it's an earnest question, but it sounds like an excuse. his hands twist between his knees. tension rides the slope of his shoulders like he's trained himself to prepare for a harsher rebuke. it doesn't come, not right away, so he blows out a breath. low volume doesn't strip the rasp from his voice, or the apology. " i couldn't say anything. none of us could. i didn't know how, and it felt like the more that people knew, the more they got hurt. " worse than hurt. guilt needles into him like a tattoo gun and he can see the memorial around barb's locker, pictures and flowers, notes from her friends. he can see nancy standing in front of it with her head down as he walked past, hugging her books to her chest. he'd slowed, but hadn't stopped. he drew a blank. i'm really sorry left a bad taste in his mouth when he knew the headlines were lying.
sort of like he's been doing for months, and she's calling him out on it, and he can't pretend that he isn't impressed. he doesn't get to be relieved. but if there's anyone in town who could see past the smokescreens and piece this together on their own, it's nancy. " you're right, " he says, and means it. " i should've told you. after ... after what happened, i should've just told you the truth. it wasn't fair not to, i know that, but things are just — they're complicated. and dangerous. really dangerous, and with everything that's going on now, i ... " scott tapers off, thumb pressing into the middle of his palm until it starts to hurt. eye contact holds again. " okay. look. i'll tell you everything. whatever you wanna know, but you have to promise me that you won't tell anybody else. it isn't safe. not yet. "
