#vulpesvoid

lara:  man he should be a siren or some shit

me:   haha that would be kinda cool

                ‘ are you FOLLOWING me?’

pause  takes  to  ivory  limbs  the  moment  she  lingers  in  that  doorway,       heart  giving  a  thunderous  hum  in  anticipation,      recognition  of  the  boy  waiting  there.        fingertips  curl  lithely  at  the  bottom  hem  of  his  shirt,      maroon  deepened  by  the  night  around  them       /      brims  fold  in  on  one  another,      bashful  decline  of  features  given,      lashes  fluttering  against  flushed  rise  of  cheeks.         

                       HE’S  ALWAYS  LOOKING  AT  HER  THAT  WAY.        he’s  gotten  inside ;        he  means  too  much.        never  again  will  she  let  him  leave.       the  moment  gaze  meets  his  own  again  she  can’t  help  the  tug  taken  to  ruby  lips,      how  teeth  ache  to  claim  their  plush,     wills  herself  to  keep  from  fidgeting––––––––              ❝      hi.      ❞

void: is actually soft and warm and cuddly

Why him? Why him over me?

Those words seem to echo through his mind as the life fades from Scott’s eyes, the warmth fades from the alpha’s body, and death begins to take over his entire form. Death for the fourth time, to be specific, and only the second time Scott can tack on the word murder to what it actually is - he’s been murdered. By one of the people he cares about most, someone he thought he could trust, someone so MANIPULATED by Void of all beings that he was gone from who he used to be. . .broken.

But is Duran broken, or is he. . .ruined? Is there anything that can ever bring Duran back from murdering the alpha that was supposed to be a friend? That was basically supposed to be pack ( as Scott considered him )? 

His bloodied, broken body, pulsing with wolfsbane, is lying limp on the floor of the McCall household for far too long before anyone finds him. Deaton finds him, to be exact -- which is probably a really good thing. How he knew to look, how he KNEW Scott was in trouble, he’ll never know -- but Deaton never explains himself, never goes into too much detail regarding his knowledge. Scott is dead to the world; dead, gone, lost to darkness as he’s ever been with each death. 

Where is his mind while he’s gone? That’s hard to say. He’s died before and experienced various hallucinations, and things Scott’s not sure were ever real. It’s longer than 15 minutes when Deaton has Scott’s shirtless back pressed to the cold metal of one of his tables -- though it’s not much longer when a large needle is being inserted right into his chest, deep into his heart, pumping him full of the antidote to the wolfsbane, hoping beyond hope that Scott’s not too far gone to take it.

That being a True Alpha is enough to keep him from death just one last time, because it’s not fair to continue to do this to Scott against his will. Deaton recognizes this, and what he’d want for himself. But Beacon Hills still needs him. They need someone who is the protector, that can find a way to destroy Void, and bring back the people he’s taken.

It takes time. It takes a lot of time. The antidote works through such a ruined body, chasing away the wolfsbane, healing over some of the wounds that had ultimately killed him. Deaton doesn’t pace -- he simply watches. Waits. Occasionally grabs some paperwork to fill out, but doesn’t do anything that requires much thought. He can’t help but glance up, every so often, to see if Scott is stirring yet. If this has worked.

Deaton can’t hear as Scott’s heart begins to pump -- very slowly, very faintly, at first -- pushing blood through his body, waking up his limbs. Bringing a warmth to an otherwise cold, lifeless body. He won’t be able to tell unless he touches him that there’s a new heat spreading from his chest down to fingertips and toes; the signs of life that hospital monitors would pick up, but not a human -- not even an emmisary. There is a moment when fingers twitch, toes shift, but for the most part Scott stays still right there on the table, not making a sound or movement.

And then there’s a breath. A deep, rumbling, almost painful sounding breath that shakes through him and Scott sits up fast, claws out, fangs bared and eyes glowing a brilliant red. Every inch of his body aches but he’s alive, alive as he can be, and the next hour is spent with Deaton performing tests to make sure that Scott’s entirely functional. The alpha doesn’t say a word, doesn’t speak, and mostly does as his boss tells him. He seems to be alright?

But how much of Scott is actually left this time?