#lostvacvnt

“Gooood morning, Stiles!” Charlie sang as she burst through the door. She was not a morning person, but it wasn’t really morning- it was almost 2pm. Their plan would be executed after nightfall, however, so she wasn’t too late.

The pink-haired girl leaned over Stiles shoulder to see what he was working on now. 

Dead beings weren’t able to carry babies inside of them. But what if it was true either way? Was it the werewolf side of her that made this possible? Could she really be a mother and take care of a child? And what about Stiles? Did he even want to be a dad? It wasn’t like she’d been with anyone else, so she knew for a fact that it was his, there was no doubt about it. While Malia didn’t want to look at the test once the results were displayed, she knew that was what she’d have to do or it would just eat away at her. Picking the test up with one hand, she stared down at what it said and according to the results, she was indeed pregnant. Okay, fine, it said that, but that didn’t mean that Malia blindly believed it. She needed Deaton or some sort of witch to figure this out for her. “How the hell am I pregnant? I don’t even breathe. Even Stiles has a better chance at nourishing a baby inside his body.” she mumbled, eyes lifting towards the veterinarian once she’d explained it all to the man. She’d asked him not to tell Scott or anyone else because it was still too confusing and she still needed to tell Stiles about it too. But having Deaton confirm her pregnancy just made it more real - and scary. What was she supposed to do now? Tell Stiles, right? They’d made plans for tonight, but Malia wasn’t sure if that’d be the right moment to tell him. Not unless she wanted him to have a heart attack and pass out. Maybe it was better to just wait until Stiles was here, maybe that would make her feel better. Finally arriving back home after what felt like the longest day ever, Malia got comfortable on the couch until Stiles arrived.

Harlow had been drawn to power and dominance ever since she could remember. The ones who were strong caught her eyes. Of course, she had never really acted out on it, but the draw was there the pull. When she had met her father, that power rolled off him in waves so thick and overwhelming; she found herself almost smothering while sitting in the same room. More than blood, she was drawn to that. The unhinged power sitting in his veins, she wanted that control, that strength. He was her blood, so she had to have that too, right? She guessed that was why when Stiles had opened up about Void, it had made so much sense why she was drawn to him more than anyone else. From the start, something about the boy called to the dark parts of her. She wanted to follow him, and she would, to the ends of the world, to whatever purpose. The Nogitsune... He was power beyond anything else. Her family, Peter, and Derek were powerful creatures. Apex predators. And yet even they were no match when it came to the spirit of chaos. Hearing the stories had sent chills down her spine, only increasing that draw she had to the Stilinski boy. When Void finally showed himself again? Well. She was drowning in the power that he held, knew from the beginning he could kill her with the effort it took her to growl.

So much had changed in the months following that fateful night. Stiles had come to her, and said he was leaving, told her they were all in danger. No more blood would be on his hands, not hers. And it had broke her. A lifetime of loneliness, she'd only just began to dip her toes into the lake of affection and happiness. Finally, grasping some sense of normality with relationships, and just like that, she would lose it all again. She would never come to terms with what she would have to give up, sacrifice, but when Stiles's face showed up at her front door the next day with that overwhelming assertion of power oozing from him, she knew it wasn't right. Something darker, the Nogitsune. At first, she just followed him because of Stiles. He was in there somewhere, he saw everything, remembered it all. She knew he was alive, and that was good enough for her. While she knew to do what the Nogitsune wanted wasn't right, she did it anyway. Because it meant she could be close to them. She would never admit it, but as time went on, she'd come to realize she craved being lead, needed someone with that much power to ground her to the world, and allow her to see her full potential.

And see her full potential she did. It took little time for The Nogitsune; whos name was later revealed to be Hibiki, to show her that unleashing that rage wasn't wrong. It was what was right by nature - why else would she have such cravings? Why else would she be that powerful? And so she accepted it, embraced it. She followed the fox to the end of the world into wars. She'd dismembered people for getting too close to him, always looking to make sure not a single bit of harm came to him. It wasn't just that she'd grown fiercely loyal to the fox that had taken her into his home, but she knew that her friend's life depended on it. She couldn't let anyone hurt Stiles. As the time ticked on, she'd become a master of torture. Or, at least, compared to how she had been when she first joined forces with Hibiki.

He had promised her a present. He told her she'd been so well behaved that she deserved this blessing, something he and Stiles had discussed and decided on. She didn't have a clue what it was, the fox never giving up his trick. The day had finally come, and now she sat on the couch with Hibiki stood in front of her, hands folded in front of him. She stared at him, the familiar soft features of her friend harshened by his attitude and overall existence. It wasn't a bad look for him, she'd grown used to the more hostile expressions rather than Stiles' awkward bubbly habits, but she missed him. Harlow always searched for any sign of the boy inside the beast, even if she didn't view Hibiki in that light anymore. He was still death incarnated, and he wasn't someone to mess with. The opposite of Stiles. Whole different sides to the spectrum. The only time she didn't search for the familiar glint in his eyes, or in the twitch of his lips, was when they were hurting people. Deep down, despite Hibiki saying that Stiles was proud of her, of what she did, she didn't want him to see that part of her. She never did -  it was ugly, scarred, broken. But Hibiki was scarred and broken too, the same side of a different coin. It was why she relished in that darkness when he was around.

The sound of a door opening had her eyes snapping to the sound, always on edge. Brown eyes morphed into blue, ready to defend her family. Prepared to kill whoever dared break into their home to threaten them; it wouldn't have been far fetched. They'd made quite a few enemies over their travels, and this town had been filled to the brim with them. But blue hues fell on familiar boyish features, softened with the kindness his heart carried. Mid snarl, her full body went deadweight. Frozen in her spot, she just stared for a moment. "Stiles?" His name was but a whisper on shaking lips, the tears swelling in her still blue gaze before they began to roll down over her cheeks. He was before her in one piece, and while she doubted he would be there long, or if it was even real, it felt real. He looked real. He looked healthy, safe. Unharmed. She blinked a few times, trying to see if he would disappear when she did.

He didn't.

Within seconds her body was scrambling over the back of the couch, leaping off the back to land in a run. She all but threw her body into his chest, arms wrapping tight around his torso. He smelled like Stiles. He had the feeling of Stiles - because no matter the fact Hibiki inhabited his body, she'd long since learned the differences between the two. Slight, but noticeable. Stiles was soft, while Hibiki was hard. Always tensed. Always ready for the next fight. Her face pushed forth into his shirt, a small sob falling off her lips. This had been their surprise? Their present? Letting her see him, touch him, exist with him? She would've continued doing exactly what she was told and then some even without the motivation, but now... Now she was convinced to keep going, with the proof the boy she loved still existed in there. Hibiki would always be enough for her, but their connection was different than the one she shared with Stiles. It didn't have as much history behind it, as much care. She knew the whole thing was one-sided, Hibiki was a demonic spirit, he didn't do gushy feelings or humane friendships. He treated her with respect, and sometimes it seemed like he genuinely did care about her. But in the end, it would never be quite the same. She had come along for Stiles, and she would've left for him too.

Or tried.

WHY did she have to open her mouth? Her fingers aren’t that interesting, but they’re all she can keep her focus on. Stress has made it so her thumbnails are chewed down as low as they can go, the skin around it red and irritated. Nowadays, her pinkie nails were at the mercy of her anxiety. Gnawing at them never stopped mentally exhausting merry-go-round spinning around in her head. The pounding in her chest is too loud, too jarring. Malia clasps her hands together and shoves them between her legs to keep Stiles from seeing them tremble. 

Ariel always felt things too strongly; her father had told her. When she was nothing but a kid, at only five years old, he'd already begun to try to tear her to shreds. She loved too profoundly, felt anger too deep in her bones, cried too loudly. He never said anything to Adam, even though they were the same in every aspect of their lives. Only her. He'd been the first domino to fall in the crashing of her sanity. Watered the seeds at a young age that she was wrong, she was too much, untameable. She'd thought him foolish, believed him overdramatic. Not now, no. Now she knew him to be true. Monsters echoed terrible things in her mind, the brother who died saving her pathetic life stalked around her each passing moment. A mess, entirely and aware. It felt easy to believe, with everything her father had hissed over the years. So it made sense to her when he didn't want to see her anymore.

Her mother was much the same.  The woman had never carried any real love for her, and Ariel had realized that even through the haze of the drugs, her doctors kept her on, keeping her barely conscious. She could feel, she could think, but she could never really communicate it. The voices were too loud, too often screaming than whispering. Adam's was the loudest, and when it got bad, he screamed that terrible scream that she heard when the devil's dog came running after them, chasing the rabbit twins to their graves. Whenever he screamed like that, she couldn't control it — screamed with him. Let her pain and agony and grief pour into the air, for Adam, for herself, for the person dying in her visions. Strangers, she often wondered if it was real. Pondered if they had families, most of them were alone, tragic things. A lot of murder happened inside the walls of Eichen, but that was only if the peeks under the curtains were real. If it were nothing, if it were just her insanity whispering terrible things into her memory, then she would only sink lower. But she knew the truth. Knew it was the list of illnesses she'd been diagnosed with the day her parents disowned her.

Life in Eichen was not necessarily hard. But that being said, she knew nothing else anymore. She'd been so young when they took her in; she barely remembered anything from the life she had before. Most of it was that fateful day. Adam. Memories of Adam all the time, playing on loop on the back of her eyelids. He played his role out perfectly in the hallucinations she had. Her mind had conjured up exactly what he would look like if he were real. At first, she had hated that he followed her everywhere. It made her hate how crazy she was, many nights at Eichen spent screaming profanities at the false figure. Now, she was thankful for him. All alone in the scary world she'd been forced into; she liked having someone to talk to. Of course, Adam wasn't real, and she realized she was talking to herself; he didn't usually talk back to her unless it was something about death or terrible impending doom. But it was something. His voice was often incoherent, but always there. It made her feel less lonely.

She'd been allowed to go into the common area of Eichen; she'd been good for a few weeks. No violent outbursts, she hadn't burst anyone's eardrums. She'd screamed, she couldn't help that, but she didn't fight them during the experiments either. It wasn't often she was allowed to go out, though; lately it became more so. It was like a breath of fresh air to be let up from the pits of hell and into the sun. It was where she'd sat herself to now, curled up in one of the chairs with a book clasped in her hands, the sun washing in on her pale skin. The warmth felt friendly, comforting. It made her miss being home, made her miss their front lawn where the sun hit just perfectly. It made her sad, made her think of Adam.

Who paced around her, riddled with angst. His long legs took slow, longer strides. His voice was a hiss of whispers bouncing off the walls of her brain, at no point could she pinpoint an actual word, nothing made sense. Hisses, mutterings, other voices joined in on the chorus as the feeling in her chest began to grow worse. The pain was almost unbearable as it spread down her arms, rendering her fingers numb. She clutched her book until her knuckles turned white. The itch rested in her throat, the urge, the want to scream. But she couldn't. She would get punished if she were to act out in front of all the other patients. It was very frowned upon. The last time she'd done it, she'd been locked in a padded cell for two weeks with no interaction. It had been hell, the nights and days spun into one mangled mess of boredom and pain, her body ached to her bones. She had felt hollow, empty when she left.

But she couldn't control it, couldn't hold back. She didn't scream, but a shallow breath fell from bit swollen lips. "He's going to die." The words are a whisper, slow at first. "He's going to die; he's going to die." She began to repeat, faster every time it came out. Better than a scream. People muttered to themselves all the time - they were all insane after all. As long as she wasn't making a scene, it would be okay.

Giselle was starting at a new school, new town, in California. When she was introduced in class, she heard a few light gasps. Great, some serial killer know it alls. She thought. Especially when those few people were staring at her. When the class finally let out, she got to lunch, sitting alone at a table outside. She was eating her sandwich when someone suddenly came up to her and she nearly tossed her sandwich in the air. “Jesus! Don’t scare me like that!”

Working with the McCall pack was the very last thing Travis Raeken had on his mind, but it had to be done because it was precisely what Theo wanted to do. And he had to protect his brother, the last living member of his family. Right now, standing next to Stiles Stilinski, flicking through pages of a book to try and find information, he wanted death.

       She may have been the SHORTER one in this dynamic of pairs, but she sure made up for it in stature and determination. There was no way Lydia Martin was letting Stiles Stilinski leave in his Jeep alone to go to the next town over.   ❝  I don’t even see the point of investigating this. The Sheriff's department clearly aren’t concerned. Plenty of people have dogs, Stiles. And plenty of people die. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence ❞ 

A silence lingered for a moment. Lydia watched him; heart caught in her throat for just a second as the reality of him being in danger kicked in. She couldn’t wouldn’t let him risk his life again.

❝ But if you’re so determined then I’m not letting you go on your own. I’m coming with you❞  it was decided (in her mind anyway) ❝  we can make it into a road trip❞