SILAS MCCALL.

                                but healing has nothing to do with him. he has all the parts of you that make you WEAK. can get away with carrying a smugness that comes with having you in the palm of his hands. it works both ways, but your DONE DAYS don’t take away from the fact that he’s your brother. another part of you that you can’t live without. ( though it seems like it would be EASY for him to live without you; and he should. he deserves it. deserves staying out of a mess that you will not make his. ) even when you hate him, you don’t. you FORGIVE, because he’s one of the last remaining people that take it out of you.

                                ( he’s not the first thing on your mind. not as you’re fighting for your life. not as you’re taking into consideration the well being of others that are in the wrong place, at the wrong time. the roars take priority. as do the claws that dig their way into your chest. tear and maul to make room for fresher wounds that leave the scent of blood heavy around you. you’re prepared to do your worst. make up for the shortcomings of a no-show hellhound. there is no helping the person inside the beast— )

                                it rests in the pit of his stomach. the stronger the scent gets. the easier that it is for him to find the other teenager out in the school parking lot. hands, with blunt nails, still covered in blood. his blood. his mind makes the connection, puts two and two together, but he’s not ready to believe. doesn’t want to.

                         he is not a boy.  he is not human.  what once was him was stripped away and pumped full of mercury.  flayed back his skin and left a monster  ( not a wolf )  in sheep’s clothing instead.  left the remnants, left the scraps.  left it and wrapped it tight in hard skin and fangs that split his mouth and jaw wide open. in glowing blue eyes,  cold like murder but still burning in the shadows of night. HE IS NOT A BOY, because boy became beast,  and what shreds of purity that could be found between the hardened scars and cracked ribs of his life were ripped apart and eaten up.  NOTHING GOOD REMAINED.  nothing good at all. 

but the beast falls back into the corners of his subconscious to lurk and stay out of sight, out of mind,  and once more silas finds himself blinking out of an all too familiar  black out   and finding his brother staring back at him. 

he’s not sure why he feels like he’s been beaten up, but as if the bruises and cuts are already fading.  he’s not sure why scott’s looking at him like that either,  but all at once it twists in his stomach and he feels his teeth clench. HE HATES THAT LOOK.  he hates that tone.