#shackledtodeath

College is refreshing, Scott decides two weeks in. It’s nothing like Beacon Hills, with it’s anonymity and self-chosen schedules. Everyone minds their own business in this giant behemoth of a city and, not for the first time, he realizes what a good idea this was.

New York is always moving, the concrete jungle that it is, and while Scott had thought he’d feel the distinct lack of forest, he finds the drastic change lifted him out of the pit that was slowly swallowing him whole. 

He’d been drowning in Beacon Hills, they all had. He misses his mom, he misses the packmates that stayed behind, but he’d known, the second it’d been suggested, that this was a good idea. 

It never would have worked without the two that had come with him, though. 

Scott pockets his phone and slides on a pair of headphones, the walk to Central Park routine by now. He’s still on edge, he always is; Deaton had told him he’d never truly wear out of it, now. Said his behavior can psychologically be linked to that of a soldier come back from war. He knows Stiles and Lydia feel the same. 

Not all of it is unfounded. There are rival packs here, alphas sniffing at their heels, wondering what this new pack is, what they’re doing here. They’ll deal with it as it comes, like they always do. Difference is, there’s no Nemeton itching at the base of their skull, no legacy choking the life out of them. 

The park is alive with bikers and joggers, loungers and workers, and Scott finds the thick-trunked tree they’ve managed to sit under the numerous times they’d been since they moved here. 

Scott isn’t quite sure why he thought a walk would do them both good. Open air often does, especially now that the thick beat of anxiety doesn’t throb in his veins, anxiety for the girl at his side, looking and smelling as lovely as ever. 

They’d been too close. For weeks, they’d been too close to losing her. And right as they’d gotten her back, she was almost gone again. This world wasn’t fair to them, but it was by far worst for her, this strong girl who took the voices in stride and used it to her advantage. She was always a weapon, and now she has another one at her disposal. 

Beacon Hills is nothing like what Midtown was, but it’s school, and restoring some normalcy feels like the right thing to do. Especially when her spider sense is kind of going insane. 

The library is quiet, and since she’s not even been here a week, she figures it might be a good place to both get away from the masses and maybe meet someone new, someone that could both help her get a grasp on this place and to figure out just why this place itches at the base of her skull. 

There’s a redhead reading an alarmingly large book, looking far older than most of the books housed in this very high school library, and Gwen sits down diagonal across the table from her. Enough space to not be awkwardly close, but close enough to strike up conversation. 

Gwen pulls an earbud out, turns down the volume, and gives the girl a smile. “Sorry, kinda new here. Are you in Mrs. Finch’s class?”

Fingers fiddle with the thin blanket draped over her bed, back hunched and brows pulled together in worry. He already feels like an intruder, being in her room, and now he’s about to ask invasive questions to boot. 

He walks in a library that isn’t his, and no one notices him. It’s been that long, another lifetime. Back then, he would have cared, not being seen, not being acknowledged. Now it’s a relief. 

Spotting her has always been the easiest thing, that red hair, those clever eyes. He approaches with his hands in his pockets, intentionally casual. She’s gonna see right through it, because she’s Lydia Martin and nothing gets past her.