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I keep thinking about the fact that Eridians seem so much stronger and sturdier than humans, so what humans-are-space-orcs thing could Grace even do that would freak Rocky out... and then I remembered humans are persistence predators.
So picture some years in the future when the xenonite suits are so safe that Grace's class can now take field trips into his biodome. Rocky's there because this is a big moment for everyone involved and also he just loves listening to Grace in his element. One of the more mischievous kids tries to sneak off from the group and there are plenty of chaperones but Grace is the first to notice.
His posture changes, goes focused but loose in a way Rocky's never seen before as he peels of from the crowd. Rocky just stands there, stunned, as he watches his sweet, gangly, goofy, clumsy blob of a friend turn into a hunter. Grace circles around the pebble, slightly crouched, head turned and honed in, arms loose to the sides, and maybe the little one notices and does that nervously excited giggle-squeal thing kids do when they're being chased and tries to get away, but Grace expertly corrals them. He doesn't even have to run for it, he just pens the kid in, lunges-
And takes the little pebble by the claw to lead them safely back to their peers. And just like that he's Grace again, smiling and joking and tripping over his improvised shoelaces. Rocky hasn't been scared of Grace since first contact. Have you seen the guy? ... but for a second there his instincts were telling him to run.
The thing is, for now, theyâve always mentioned that Ryland is seen as soft and "leaky/wet" by Rocky whenever other Eridians ask about him.
Plus, Ryland is openly clumsy, emotional, and seems to adore teaching and being gentle with children. Sure, they know heâs brave and terrifyingly intelligentâhe didnât achieve what he achieved for nothing.
But itâs when other Eridians ask about human evolution that they start to get a bit scared.
The fact that the human species developed ocular vision just to be able to navigate is quite something. Because, even if it's deficient by Eridian standards, apparently the environment and the human race needed something more than just sound and touch stimuli.
Whenever small rocks or pebbles found their way into the human habitat, Ryland seemed capable of "herding" them so they wouldn't wander too far. Also, on the rare occasions Ryland left his habitat in his suit to walk around Erid (a custom suit with special light generators so he could move and withstand the pressure), he seemed to move with a caution similar to that of a predator.
And another thing? His voice. Ugh.
His vocal cords were mediocre at best. But they could easily recognise the inflections of his emotions.
Ryland was incapable of speaking Eridian properly. He was highly limited. He always used his translator to avoid misunderstandings.
But bloody hell, they once saw him arguing with Rocky.
Rocky was practically cornered by the soft human. Rylandâs shouting and his sharp, biting tone only became more terrifying when they noticed how he was leaning over the other Eridian. And it was only because heâd been interrupted by the scientist that he noticed Ryland was practically in attack-and-hunt mode.
As if his body was instinctively ready to strike at the slightest right stimulus.
Only for him to completely relax and snap right back into that friendly tone the moment he noticed someone elseâs presence.
And his reflexes? Terrifying. If his cup was about to fall? Or if one of his children had rushed too quickly up a mound?
Ryland would sprint at a terrifying speed to catch the object
I'd add throwing. Like one of the main human hunting techniques and something that we know (from the Earth ball, and from the basketball he uses on the ship) that Grace is good at.
Like properly throwing something so that it hits an intended target (as opposed to just lobbing it into the air and hoping it lands) is something that even other great apes can't do.
Grace playfully chucking stuff at Rocky when he annoys him, or playing 'the Earth is lava' with his Eridian class once xenonite suits get to the stage where they can actually catch things he throws at them.
Grace later mentioning during one of his human culture discussions that most traditional human hunting techniques involve the launch of projectiles in some way.
âWait. Humans throw things to hunt, question?â
âYeah. I mean, we also set traps and stuff, and most of us use machines to do the actual throwing nowadays, but yeah.â
âBall is Lava game is simulating Grace hunting the students question??â
Okay, but what about adrenaline? Or fight-or-flight? Say there's a situation where there's a rockslide in his biodome during a field trip, and one of the pebbles is unharmed but trapped under some rocks. The other adult Eridians immediately start thrusting among themselves on hor to get the pebble safely without risking damage when Grace, after hearing the pebbles distressed cries (it sounds too much like the one time he witnessed an accident right after the Petrova Line announcement) and he just brute force lifts the rock (that is so much bigger than he is holy fuck how is he doing that-?) and kinda has to nudge/kick the pebble put from under it because it was paralyzed in fear and everyone around him is shocked and terrified of him in equal measures
ââ âBeacon Hills, California. February 6th, 2012.ââ â
ââ â04x03: mutedââ â
ââ â
TW: MENTIONS OF BLOOD, GORE, MURDER, EMOTIONAL INVALIDITY, NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCES, MIGRAINES, VOMITING, MENTIONS OF PAST KIDNAPPING, TALKS OF TORTURE, TEARS, AND ATHEISM.
IMPORTANT A/N BEFORE READING:
I would like to make it known that the actor Todd Williams (who played the original Doctor Geyer in Teen Wolf) will be playing Doctor Hewitt in this fanfiction. I made this change due to the fact that I want to have Mason's parents be more involved with the supernatural, especially with what happens in season 5, but also due to the fact that when I first started this fanfiction, I hadn't seen season four of Teen Wolf, I had just finished season 3. I won't be erasing my mistake because (besides the other reason listed above.) mistakes are where people have the opportunity to grow and learn, and I don't want you all to get the impression that I am running from my mistakes. I am owning up to it and I am going to be honest about it. Enjoy the chapter!
ââ â
The tension in the car had been so palpable that Lia wondered how no one had suffocated from it.
Stiles spent the entire ride smelling annoyed, grumbling nonsensically about 'not being Scott's freaking taxi' in the beginning, before catching a glimpse of Lia's livid glare in the rearview mirror. She wasn't going to say anything about his mumbling, not at the risk of distracting the driver and getting all four of them into a wreck, but, as it would turn out, the pale brunette was capable of sensing her silent animosity toward his grumbling.
Scott was silent the whole way there, alternating between staring at his hands and looking back at them to check and see if they were okay. The thick, pungent smell of guilt and shame wafted off his skin in waves, clinging to his clothes like a bad body spray and sending a flash of regret through her every time the scent drifted past her nose.
Liam didn't say a word the entire trip, bouncing between looking miserable and letting out small cries of pain every time Stiles stopped jerkily or hit every pothole that existed on their route to the hospital. Lia's hand was latched firmly onto his forearm, fingers slipping beneath his sleeve as she discreetly drew as much pain from him as she could without arousing suspicion.Â
Thankfully, Liam didn't question her suddenly sweaty grip or her pale, shaky pallor; just held on as tightly as she was holding him.
The tension broke into barely restrained chaos when they pulled into the hospital. Between Stiles' questionable parking skills and Lia becoming more irritable whenever Liam winced in pain from his leg being jostled (which was every few seconds), it was a miracle that no one else had gotten injured on their way into the hospital from the parking lot.Â
That being said, Lia was ready to murder Stiles, regardless of the witnesses.
"Be careful," Lia hissed heatedly as the aforementioned boy shuffled again, causing Liam to wince as his hurt leg touched Stiles' fidgety body, "God, do you not know how to stand still?"
"Hospitals make me nervous!"
"Me too! But you don't see me shuffling around like I have ants in my pants!"
"Can I please sit down," Liam said miserably over their hissed argument.
Scott, ever the responsible one, dutifully ignored them while speaking to the receptionist, though he had the decency to smile sheepishly when the lady stared at the group behind him with a raised brow, "Could you page my mom for me, please? It's really-"
"Scott? Stiles? What are you boys doing here?"
Lia tensed at the familiar voice, her head snapping in its direction almost against her will. The Ms. McCall before her mirrored the Ms. McCall in her vision to a tee, save for the fact that the scrubs were a light blue instead of lavender, her undershirt white instead of gray. Her shoulders would have dropped in relief if she wasn't supporting Liam's weight.
Maybe it wasn't real, she thought to herself in slight desperation, maybe it was all just in my head.
"Heh," Scott lightly slapped the counter with his hand, having the decency to look sheepish, "Hi, Mom."
Her gaze shifted to the two blonde kids standing next to Stiles, her stare a mixture of surprise and ...recognition? "Lia? Liam?"
"Hey, Ms. McCall," Lia said awkwardly, using the hand holding Liam's arm to give her a little wave. Liam grimaced before bobbing his head in acknowledgment.
"Just... stay here. I'll be right back." The nurse said, closing her eyes and giving her head an exasperated shake as she walked back down the hall she came from.
Scott barely waited until she was out of sight before looking at the blonde girl, "You know my mom?"
"I've been to the hospital a lot over the years," she said with a half-shrug, voice slight strained in anxious nerves as she temporarily forgot that she was angry with him, "That and my mom's current boyfriend works here, so I see her from time to time."
"Oh, he does?"
"Mm mhm," she hummed.
"Where does he work here?"
"He's a neurosurgeon."
"Oh... Lia?"
"Yeah?"
"Does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?"
She scoffed, readjusting Liam's arm, "In your dreams McCall."
Scott's shoulders slumped notiably, and Stiles was staring at his best friend like he couldn't believe that he was dumb enough to ask that question.
It was at this time that Ms. McCall came back with a wheelchair in tow, only she wasn't by herself.
A tall man in a doctor's coat walked beside her, his skin a warm brown with only slightly darker eyes. His head was shaven clean of hair, but his slim mustache and small, chin goatee were the same color as his eyes. The metal name tag of Dr. Travis Hewitt sat on his right breast pocket, the tiny scrawl of Physician below his name gleaming in the white fluorescent lights.
Her shoulders drastically dropped at the sight of someone familiar in her own personal hell. She gave him a look of relief, "Hey, Doctor Hewitt."
"Hey, you two," he said, and she could smell the worry that slipped from beneath his calm facade as he knelt in front of her brother. "When you both said you would make up for missing movie night, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
Liam's lips twitched upwards in a pain-filled grimace as the older man raised his ankle up to examine it. Ms. McCall quickly snuck around them, holding the wheelchair steady behind Liam as she and Stiles helped him to sit down. Stiles quickly let go of the boy as soon as he was seated, Lia kept her hand firmly on the back of his neck, fingers dipping below his sweaty collar as she did her best to take his pain as discreetly as possible.
Despite his slightly downturned gaze and hunched posture, she already knew from experience that her brother was blinking rapidly, his suddenly sorrowful, wet blue eyes meeting the gaze of Doctor Hewitt and Ms. McCall, who was now standing behind the older man with an attentive gaze.Â
"I'm really sorry," he whispered miserably, blinking a few times to dispel the wetness in his eyes, "I'm... I'm really not trying to be a bother. I didn't mean for this to happen, it just... happened."
His gaze became locked onto his hands when he finished speaking, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.
She could see the exact moment that the present members of the hospital staff gave in to their paternal and maternal instincts; their eyes softened as they looked at him, bodies bowing forward slightly as their urge to comfort the sad, tearful, young boy in front of them. She could smell the concern and their longing to help and soothe emitting from their skin in waves.
It was almost comical to her how Liam unknowingly seemed to wrap every paternal and maternal person in a five-mile radius around his finger with just a single, dewy-eyed look.
"Liam, I promise you, you are not a bother, and this is not your fault," Travis stated fiercely, giving him a hard stare while gesturing to his ankle. It was the same look he gave Mason when he confessed about his nerves before his first junior decathlon meet when he was nine.Â
It was that same stare and a few words of reassurance that were all it seemed to take to settle Mason, and he emitted pure confidence as he strode onto the stage and mercilessly wiped out the competition, earning his team first place. She and Liam had placed him on their shoulders and paraded him around the first chance they got, much to the Hewitt family's chagrin and amusement, though, the embarrassment was more Mason's than anyone else's.
She couldn't help but let her lips twitch up a little at the fond memory, that and the celebration afterward were dear memories to her.
Liam, however, was unmoved by the older man's convicted expression, and he only held the man's gaze for a moment before looking back down at his hands, playing with his fingers again.
Doctor Hewitt sighed, standing from his crouch position and addressing Ms. McCall, "Melissa, could you take Liam to one of the rooms, please? I'll stay up here with Lia to help her sort out the paperwork."
The nurse nodded and moved to grab the handlebars of the wheelchair. "Don't worry, Liam." She soothed in the way only a mother could, "We'll take good care of you."
He spun around to look at Lia before he was wheeled away, eyes wide in panic. She could smell his fear clinging to him like a bad odor. Her hackles drew up, her panicked-fueled irritation prickling at the smell. "You'll be back there when you're done, right?"
She forced herself to relax and did her best to give him a reassuring smile, just as unnerved by the place as he was. "Of course, prietene. Just give me a few minutes to fill out the paperwork, alright?"
Stiles jerked beside her, pulling Scott's attention to him but she ignored them both; watching Liam give her a dejected nod before Ms. McCall began pushing him away, pinching the bridge of her nose with a slightly bowed head, doing her best to ignore the pain that was beginning to settle in her body.
What a mess, she thought.
The sound of a pen scratching against paper drew her head up; Travis was leaning against the receptionist's desk as he filled out what she assumed was the paperwork, the plastic, purple clipboard barely illuminating the arm of his white coat as he flipped through the forms. She sighed, feeling more world-weary than she had in months and let her hand drop, staring at the doctor tiredly.
"You don't have to-"
"It's alright," he looked up, smiling reassuringly, "I practically have his medical information memorized anyway."
It was true, she mused with a hint of humor. Liam spent more time over at the Hewitt's than was probably normal, discluding the time when he lived with them for a few months when he was a kid, but no one seemed to mind the arrangement.Â
It ensured that Liam and Mason's friendship stayed strong, especially after the move, and Mr. and Mrs. Hewitt always enjoyed a quieter night with the boys, or, at least as quiet as it could get with two teenage boys with an obsession with being excessively loud during their ritualistic video game playing session.
"Besides," he said, turning his attention back to the papers in hand, "This is really just a chance to let you decompress before you go back to Liam."
She gave a humorless huff, lacing her fingers behind her head as her back rested against the wall. She looked at him tiredly. "Am I that transparent?"
"Only a little," The Doctor said with a grin.
She let loose a low laugh that was strangled into a muted whimper. Her face, which was earlier contorted with frustration, was now lined with small grimaces; her eyes were tightly shut.Â
The silence that followed the pen stopping echoed in her ears, and she didn't need to open her eyes to know that Doctor Hewitt was staring at her in barely muted concern. "Are the aches starting again?"
She nodded, still grimacing. It seemed to be her body's go-to response whenever she was in certain types of stressful situations, though she had yet to discern any actual pattern. As soon as she was out of fight-or-flight mode and was given a chance to relax, she would be filled with a deep, inflexible ache that could -and would- settle anywhere on her body.
In better cases, it could be just a singular ache that would target anywhere from her head, front and back of her neck, her torso, stomach, and, on more intense occasions, even the bottom of her feet.
During the more extreme episodes, it would be a tremendous, more profound sense of pain that would borderline agony as it targeted her entire body.
Vainly attempting to smooth out her expression, she pushed herself off the wall, her body already aching in protest as she forced herself to stand on her own. She waved away the concerned look that Doctor Hewitt threw her way and rolled her shoulders. She could feel someone else's gaze locked on the side of her head and she turned to find Scott already staring at her, brows drawn together and lips turned into a gentle, prominent frown, ignoring Stiles, who was hissing something into the boy's ear.
Her pulse skyrocketed when their gazes locked together, her heart doing a weird flip in her chest. It was accompanied by a pulse of pain that drove itself into her brain and she groaned, eyes squeezing shut as she dropped her head into her hand.
A hand grabbed her shoulder to steady her, the soft and calloused skin of someone's palm landing on the bare skin of her shoulder where she had covered her worn flannel with a deep red jacket with white strings coming out of the hood that she had stored in her locker in an attempt to hide it. She found it was easier to hide her clothes there than to shove them in random spots around the house to keep Liam from stealing them.
It didn't work, but it was a valiant effort.
Fingers spread across the muscle of her shoulder, the olive complexion of the hand a perfect contrast to her pale skin. She couldn't see much else with her blurring eyes.
A delicious warmth spread from the point of contact and she found herself leaning into the touch as the pain wracking her body dropped into a peaceful, sudden lull.
She nearly jerked in surprise when she opened her eyes and saw Scott McCall standing next to her, hand on her shoulder and his eyes bleeding with emotions. The guilt from earlier was still there, along with the regret and pain, but the concern outshone all of them by a long shot as he stared at her, like nothing else in the world mattered to him in this very moment except her.
Her heart gave a particularly harsh beat in her chest.
"Are you okay," he said gently, as if the volume of his voice would send a wave of pain crashing through her head.
"Yeah," she croaked, her mouth bone dry, before clearing her throat, forcing herself to take a step away from him. His hand slipped from her shoulder and something in her wept at the loss of contact and warmth. She pushed it down instantly, taking deep breaths through her mouth to try and reign in her panic. "Yeah, McCall, I'm okay."
"Are you sure," he asked, looking a little dejected when she stepped away from him, but the hand that fell off her shoulder was still held out for her like he was ready to reach out for her at the first sign of trouble.
The smell of the hospital itched under her nose, fanning her panicked-fueled irritation.
"Yes, McCall. Like I just told you, I'm - I -Â shit."
Her eyes caught a figure entering the hospital from over Scott's shoulder, and she instantly tucked her gaze away, eyes landing on the digital clock that was sitting on the receptionist's desk. The numbers 8:00 glared at her mockingly in bright, red letters. She silently begged him not to notice her, that he would just slip by and go to work, but it was too late. He had already seen her.
Geyer's stare was instantly lasered upon her, marching toward her as he barely dodged the other patients that were leaving the hospital, along with the doctors and nurses that were walking past him. The moment he was close enough, his fingers dug into her arm as the fabric of the jacket did nothing to protect her skin from his bruising grip. While his hands were completely devoid of calluses, his grip was strong, most likely from gripping the scalpel too tight during surgeries.Â
She didn't know if it was for sure, but she would rather die than ask to confirm it.
"What are you doing here," he seethed, his grip becoming even tighter when she didn't answer. It was all she could do to keep the grimace off her face, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch as panic continued to brew in her chest.
She vaguely wondered if anyone could see the way that he was gripping her arm to the point of pain. She wondered if anyone cared.
(What she didn't know was that, while Geyer had tucked his hand and her arm out of view, Scott could see the barely there wince on her face.)
"You were supposed to take your brother straight home after school today." He scolded, voice still low as it raised in intensity instead of volume. "So why. Are. You. Here?"Â
Despite the usually unshakable control she had over her emotions, her breathing began to speed up in a way that was making her head spin. The smell of the hospital combined with his grip on her arm was sending her over the edge, pushing her into a complete, emotional catastrophe. She pulled at his hand with the same vigor that her emotions held her.
"Let go of me," she growled, voice steadily raising in panic-fueled anger, "Get off of me, get oFF-!"
Her control over her breathing was completely gone by the time someone ripped Geyer's hand off of her. Through spotty vision, she could see Scott holding him by the wrist, something that looked close to a snarl on his face.
"Keep your hands offof her," he snarled, his words rumbling in the air and the rage in his eyes was almost animalistic.
What surprised her more was that instead of feeling fearful of his wrath, his rage made her feel safe, settling her nerves and soothing her ailments in a way nothing else had done before.
Geyer looked astounded by Scott's actions, like he didn't believe that someone had the nerve to stand up to him. His eyes burned into Scott's, "Who the hell are you to-?!"
"His name is Scott, and he's a friend of Lia's," Dr. Hewitt called out, arms crossed over his chest as his voice rang with authority. He was wearing what the Dunbar and Hewitt children dubbed his 'No-bullshit' expression, much to their humor and the Doctor's chagrin. "And she came to visit me and give me an unneeded apology on account of missing movie night. And Scott's mother is a member of hospital staff, and even if she wasn't, he would still be allowed to be here."
Geyer froze for a moment before scowling, tearing his arm away from Scott's unyielding grip.
Ignoring the bickering adults with practised ease, she reacted instinctively, reaching forward and grabbing Scott's hand to pull his attention to her, unaware of the fact that she was discreetly taking away the last of his pain. She was also unaware of the fact that the angered gaze she regarded him with earlier was replaced by a look of concern, "Are you okay?"
He blinked, taken aback as he floundered for an answer, "Uh-yeah, I mean, I'm okay."
"She was told to take her brother home straight after school," Geyer spat the words out like poison, face flushing an unattractive red, "It doesn't matter if she thinks she owes you an apology or not, she is to listen to me!"
The tender expression that was on Lia's face vanished in an instant and she turned to face him with a scowl, "You're not my fucking dad, Geyer, stop trying to act like it!"
His fellow co-worker quickly forgotten, Geyer spun and pointed a finger in the girl's face, "Father or not, you will show me some respect-!"
"I'll show you respect the day you go to hell-!"
Lia's hands were clenched at her sides as the Geyer edged closer to her, spit landing on her cheeks as he continued to shout in her face. Scott and Stiles stared at each other with wide eyes as the two continued to bicker and glower intensely at each other. The tension in the atmosphere between the blonde and the brunet was so thick that the boys were starting to wonder who would take the first swing.
"Enough, both of you!" Doctor Hewitt bellowed angrily, a hand pressing against Geyer's chest to force him back a couple of steps. Lia leveled him with a hard, unflinching stare, only moving to bring her hand up to wipe the spit off of her cheeks.
Hand still on Geyer's chest, the physician placed himself partially in front of Lia. "Doctor Geyer," he said coldly, and the other man stiffened at the sound of his voice. "You will do well to remember that this is a hospital and that it is our job to act professionally, regardless of where we are."
The man glanced meaningly around them, and it was only then that Lia became aware of the audience that they had accumulated. Outside of Scott and Stiles, at least ten other people were watching their interaction, both hospital staff and patients alike, and most were watching in fascination, while bypassers were giving Geyer condescending looks.
"On the topic of professionalism," Doctor Hewitt continued, voice projecting over the lobby. "I think it is very obvious to see that the way that you are acting is anything but. If I had to label how you were acting, I would say you were acting impulsive, hysterical, and erratic; and I, nor anyone else in this hospital, will tolerate this kind of behavior, whether to a patient or to a patient's family."
"I-"
"Furthermore," he plowed along like Geyer hadn't even spoken, "If you would like Lia to respect you as a fatherly figure, maybe you should consider acting like one, instead of an overgrown child."
Geyer's cheeks flushed red, "See here, Travis-"
"Doctor Geyer, you are already late for your shift," he spoke in a pitying tone, shaking his head, "Unless you feel that there is something else that we need to discuss, you really should be on your way."
The man before them gaped like a fish out of water before scowling, sending Lia one last glare before he brushed past them to walk further into the hospital. She resisted the urge to shudder as he brushed past her, opting to rub her arms instead.
She looked up at Travis, who had closed his eyes and was focusing on taking deep breaths to calm himself. "Thank you, Doctor Hewitt."
"Don't thank me yet," he said almost cheerfully, eyes now open and looking straight ahead, "I haven't started in on you, yet."
"What-?!"
"Doctor Hewitt?" A voice called from behind them, and they both turned to see Ms. McCall walking toward them, a look of confusion on her face, "Did something happen? I just saw Doctor Geyer walk by and he seemed pretty upset...?"
"He was just expressing his concerns on why Lia is here at the hospital," he smiled soothingly, "He wasn't really satisfied with any of my answers. How is the patient?"
The nurse blinked at the sudden change in subject, but answered regardless, "I've got him set up in a room the floor above Seanâ"
Lia froze. The name ran through her head on a torturous, winding loop.
(Sean Sean Sean-)
She couldn't believe what she had just heard. She didn't want to believe it.
Sean Sean Sean-
But Ms. McCall had no reason to lie about it, right? As far as Lia was aware, Ms. McCall was obviously, and relievingly, very human. She had no way of knowing that Lia had seen that boy's entire family be murdered by the hands of another, and had no way of knowing that she was the person who alerted the police to what had happened.
SeanSeanSean-
...Which meant she also had no way of knowing that Lia had seen and heard her conversation with the Sheriff in the morgue, had no way of knowing that Lia knew he was here before she even said anything...
...didn't know that Lia had no business knowing everything she did, but she did anyway...
SeanSeANSEAN-!
"âtried to get him changed into a hospital gown, given he probably is going to need an x-ray done on his leg, but he said he wanted to wait on you and Lia."
"Is he alright," she asked, voice breaking in a way that made her Romanian accent all the more noticeable. She cringed inwardly at the sound of it and hoped that Ms. McCall wouldn't remember that little piece of information from her earlier talk with the Sheriff.
The nurse smiled at her sympathetically, "You're brother is going to be just fine, we just need to take an x-ray to see if anything is broken or not."
"Okay," she hesitated, before taking the plunge, "Is Sean gonna be okay?"
An indecipherable expression instantly passed over the older woman's face, and it left her looking at Lia blankly, as if she found something within the blonde's eyes and didn't like it one bit. The woman gave a small nod, her voice as hard and cold as steel, "He will be."
She knows, was all Lia could think, terror forming a knot in her throat. Her hands developed the slightest tremble and she had to fight the instincts to cross them over her chest, instead forcing herself to calmly and casually put them in her pockets.Â
"Okay," she said softly, plainly, in response to the nurse and, ignoring the burning suspicious stares she was getting from both Stiles and Ms. McCall, she turned back to Dr. Hewitt. "Can I go see Liam, now?"
He frowned, clearly noticing the odd behavior but choosing not to comment on it, "Of course," he said, "Right this way."
She could feel the gazes of the people behind her, burning into her back as she walked away from them. She felt stupid, turning her back on them like this, even if it was to go see Liam. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for one of them to come up behind her and club her over the head with something sturdy and hard, to slam her against the wall and accuse her of being there, of being an accomplice, a monster, of murdering someone else-! Â
"This isn't going to be like the last time you had to bring him to the hospital for a hurt leg, is it?"
Dr. Hewitt's soft voice pulled her out of her spiraling panic as he hummed thoughtfully, looking down at her coyly and almost teasingly.
The nerve of this man.
She chuckled tensely, her shoulders ramrod straight with the amount of nerve coursing through her. To the untrained eye, her tension was barely noticeable, but to her, it felt like she had a flashing, neon sign over her head that said 'Over here! I'm acting suspicious!' It didn't help that the panic and fear from the past few hours-the past week-was finally catching up to her. Liam being sent to the hospital was just her breaking point. "He got hurt during lacrosse practice. I had nothing to do with it."
"Uh huh," he said unbelievingly, "So if I were to call Mason right now, he would confirm your story?"
"Mason wasn't even there!" She protested, her anxieties beginning to fade as her attention was successfully being shifted toward something else. "This time or last time."
"And yet he still seemed to know what I was talking about when I asked him how Liam got hurt."
"I have no idea what you're implying, we were absolute angels-"
The Doctor sighed, "Your brother jumped off the roof of my wife's shed, Lia."
She balked, fumbling for words that would continue their playful banter, "Which...must have been a momentary lapse of...judgment..."
"Oh, quite the contrary," he said seamlessly over her stumble, "I think it was quite premeditated, given that he was wearing a Batman costume and thought that he could fly."
"He was seven," she protested, "Lots of seven years olds think they can fly, it's a more common fantasy than you think-"
"I actually think that he jumped because you jumped first."
"I was Supergirl," she said with a grin, hands still shoved in her pockets as the smallest bounce emerged in her step, "Everybody knows that Supergirl can fly."
"Yes, well, someone should have told Batman before he ended up with a radial fracture and a green cast for six weeks."
She threw her head back and cackled, heart lighter than it had been in weeks and feeling more than she had in years; her mind successfully pulled away from the three people that she just left behind.
ââ â
The hospital room was the same as it always was every time Lia had gone to the hospital as a child. The walls were divided into horizontal thirds, the top portion was a light, mint green, almost white with a green tint, while the bottom third was a combination of parakeet and sage green; the middle portion was apple green. The floor tiles were white with flecks of blue covering them, and the smell of antiseptic, medicine, and blood burned her nose hairs.
She knew this place well enough that she could draw it in her sleep. Its scent clogged up her throat, demanding her attention.
She spared them none, instead wincing at her brother's pained noises and eyeing the knot the size of a large golf ball on the top of his extremely bruised foot in sympathy.
After doing her sisterly duties of making sure Liam was comfortable (ie:Â plopping her feet onto his hospital bed and asking him 'if any of the hot nurses swung by to give him the five-star treatment like they do in the movies,' (which resulted in her having a pillow beamed at her face with her brother' grumbled 'shut up,' his shoulders dropping considerably since she entered the room.) Dr. Hewitt quickly made work of stripping Liam of his shoes and one of his socks to examine his injured foot. The sights and smells of the environment around her continued attempting to pull at her consciousness, but none of them mattered in the face of what she was looking at.
The knot in question sat just below the ankle on the top of his foot, the area around it was inflamed to the point that it was double the size of his other foot. Purple and deep red was the immediate color of the knot and its surrounding area, and the bruising spread across the top of his foot and even went as far as halfway up his shin.
It hurt her just looking at it, though she could easily imagine how it made her brother feel.
"Damn, dude," she hissed in sympathy. Her brother's entire being seemed to shrivel at her words, trying to curl inward and make himself look as small as possible; his shoulders were hunched over and his head was turned down, the scent of shame hung like a heavy blanket around his being, clogging the air like thick smoke from a wildfire.
She looked at him despairingly before forcing her voice to sound lighter, like how it usually did when she was poking fun at Liam for doing something stupid. She nodded to his injured leg, "Your leg hair is long enough for me to braid, though. Want me to give it a try."
"Lia," Dr. Hewitt chided exasperatedly, and she could see her brother's lips twitching upward in a slight smile. Success.
It only lasted for a moment before the same turbulent whirlwind of emotions that she noticed earlier covered his face again; self-depreciation and anger coating his face like a grimy oil and they stood out to her as such. Her chest constricted at the sight, her earlier elation vanishing.
"It's broken, isn't it," he said more than asked, all of the emotions in his voice projecting as a sulk.
"It's definitely going to need an x-ray," Dr. Hewitt admitted reluctantly.
Liam huffed, "It's broken, and it's my fault..."
Dr. Hewitt turned his head ever so slightly to the side, trying to catch the boy's eye. His scent was as relaxed and nonjudgmental as his voice was. "You wanna tell me what happened?"
All of the anger seemed to vanish from Liam's posture, like water fleeing the open floodgates, and when he turned to look up at Dr. Hewitt, he looked all of ten years old again, eyes wide with poorly concealed guilt and shame and the question of why does our mom treat us differently than other moms dancing in his eyes. Lia's heart clenched painfully in her chest.
"Went up against two juniors," he murmured, his voice impossibly small once again. "One of them is captain of the team."
The Doctor hummed, glancing down at her brother's foot with a pensive expression. Liam shook his head in disappointment, fuel suddenly being added to his fire of self-deprecating emotions. It was a scent she was becoming uncomfortably familiar with these past couple of months, ever since her brother got his diagnosis in the wake of his humiliated, ignominy.
It had been a horrific, traumatic night for both of them, but she could only assume that it was the distinct lack of memories that made it even worse for him than it was for her.Â
They both looked away from each other at the same time; Doctor Hewitt moved to place his hand closest to Liam on his shoulder just as the dark blonde pushed himself to sit up higher on the bed.
"Liam, do you remember what I told you when you first started playing across?" Mason's father looked at the boy imploringly, "Play smart. Not hard."
Liam nodded, dewy eyes falling back on his hands splayed across his lap. "Yeahâyeah, okay."
Dr. Hewitt's face fell at Liam's lack of conviction, his gaze shifting to Lia sadly.
I'll talk to him, she mouthed and he nodded in confirmation. "Wait for the x-ray," he stated again before slipping out of the room. Liam kept his head down, refusingâor unableâacknowledge the statement.
An uneasy silence fell over the room. She drummed her fingers against her thigh unconsciously, feeling safe enough to showcase her anxiety and discomfort at being in a hospital. She sighed, rolling her head back as a pain began to throb at the base of her skull.
"O sÄ fie bine, Ilee," she mumbled in her native tongue, and she didn't have to open her eyes to imagine her brother nodding at her statement, not in agreement so much as acknowledgment.
We're gonna be okay, she repeated to herself, we're gonna be okay.
"Are you mad at me?"
"Ce?" She gasped, so taken aback by her brother's question that she didn't notice it was said in Romanian instead of English. "Ilee," she asked, her accent covering her words like a thick layer of molasses, "Why the hell would I be mad at you?"
He shrugged, eyes planted firmly at the hands in his lap. She could smell salt from were she was sitting.
"Ilee-"
"Because I got hurt!" He bursted, watery eyes snapping up to met her's, the anger in his tone masked his anxiety and fear. "We're already struggling enough as it is to get by and I went and got hurt and now we're gonna have to deal with all of the medical expenses from the x-ray and just getting a de pulÄrie room here and you'll start overworking yourself again and if you don't, we'll either end up behind on the other bills or the medical bills or-or those de pulÄriel car payments you have to make and we could end up back on the streets and it's going to be all my fault again!!"
Liam's chest heaved for breath after his long-winded rant before his posture completely caved again, looking painfully small on the hospital bed. She stared at him with wide eyes, completely floored by his outburst. Carefully, as to not jostle Liam's leg, she sat the bed, a hand reaching out to gently grip the nape of his neck.
"Listen to me," she said lowly, fighting to keep her composure, "You getting hurt, was not your fault, you understand me? It was an accident, an unfortunate accident, but an accident all the same, and I'm not going to blame you for something that wasn't your fault. Okay?"
He nodded, still not meeting her eyes. She forced herself to take another deep breath, her brother mirroring her actions unknowingly. "And it doesn't matter to me, about the hospital bills or the x-rays or any of it. What matters to me is that you have the tools and the care you need to be healthy, happy, and successful in life. That is where my priorities lie, Ilee, I promise."
Shame curled thickly around him, "You shouldn't." He whispered and she visibly pulled back at his words. He didn't stop to pull any punches either, "I'm draining you. Mentally. Financially. All I've ever done for you is cause you problems!"
"You are my greatest source of happiness and motivation," she snapped, her brother's poor opinion of himself rubbing her in all the wrong ways. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have done half the things I needed to do in order to survive. All I have ever done, and all I will ever do, I do it with your betterment and wellbeing in my mind; and no matter how much you think you drain me mentally or financially, I will never stop putting you first in everything I do," she leaned forward, her forehead an inch away from brushing against his, "Do you understand?"
His blue eyes were wide and wet in disbelief, as well as vulnerability, and she knew if what she said now didn't get through to her brother, little else would. He sniffled a little, eyes miserably boring into hers, "But I'm still sick... no matter what you do, I'll still be sick."
And there it was, the crux of the matter. His tank in self-worth began the day that he completely trashed his coach's car, and she had wrongly believed that the mandated therapy sessions from the school would have begun the process of convincing him to be kinder to himself in regards of his disorder, a process that she hoped to be able to help him along with. But one look at her brother's miserable face and she was back in the Devenford Prep parking lot, gently trying to break the news to her brother about why he was cuffed to a gurney in the back of an ambulance with busted knuckles and a trashed car visible from out of the rectangular window.
"You have a disorder," she said slowly, putting stress on her words, "And that's nothing to be ashamed of Ileeâdon't give me that look, it isn't." She sighed, pulling back enough to run her fingers through her hair, "Look, I get that this is your way of holding yourself accountable for your actions, and I'm proud of you for doing that without my prompting, but holding yourself accountable does not mean torturing yourself over what you've done, okay?"
She wrapped his hands with hers, "You're a kid, Ilee. Kids are allowed to make stupid mistakes as they grow, it's the only way that you learn."
"It doesn't excuse what happened, or what I did," Liam whispered.
She resisted the impulse to snap how it wasn't his fault, that he didn't know the whole truth about what happened to him. Instead, she squeezed his shoulder, "No, it doesn't, but torturing yourself over it won't change it either." She sighed, "I know it hurt you Ilee, to learn what happened and what you did. I was there the night it happened, and I know it hurt you, but the only way we can ensure it doesn't happen again is if we learn and grow from it. Okay?"
His eyes scanned her face, and she knew that he was looking for any signs of deception, for a sign that she was lying to him and that he deserve the condemnation that he was feeling.
Like he would ever find that, she thought bitterly.
His expression softened, and though she knew that this would probably be an issue that they would visit a few times more in the future, she knew for now, that her brother believed her.
"Okay," he whispered back in affirmation, and she nearly wept with relief. His lips twitched up in the barest smile, his eyes twinkling with the smallest light of mischief. "You still haven't told me about how Scott kissed you, yet."
She instantly turned firetruck red, all the way up to her scalp. "You little-"
A knock cut through the momentary peace that they found for themselves, revealing Scott McCall standing in the doorway. She could see the moment her little brother's shields went up, and she wanted nothing more than to throttle the taller boy.
"McCall," she said in a sickeningly sweet voice, rounding the bed before sitting on the edge that was closest to the door, shielding the older boy from her brother and ready to act on a moment's notice. "What can I do for you?"
"Hiâumm," Scott said, trailing off a little before finally settling on, "Can I talk to you? Alone, please."
There was an unreadable expression on his face. A solid rock of dread settled in her stomach.
"Sure," she said with an easy-going smile, "Wait for me in the hall, would you?"
He wordlessly nodded, an indecipherable expression passing over his face as he moved out of eyesight. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before rising to her feet. She turned to Liam, who look resigned to the speech he knew she was going to give him.
"I'm going to go talk to McCall for a bit, and you and I,â" she said, leveling him with a serious look, "âare going to talk when I get back. About everything else you said in your word vomit earlier, about the homelessness, your raging guilt-complex, about... me overworking myself, all of it."
"Really," he asked, and he looked so damn hopeful that it made Lia's chest ache.
"Yes, really. Justâ" She stopped as she grimaced slightly, hand raising up to massage the space between her brows. "Just stay here and don't get out of bed, okay? I'll be back soon."
"Okay," he affirmed with a frowned, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah... just getting a headache again..."
ââ â
"You better have a damn good reason for pulling me out of my brother's room while he's injured, McCall," she snapped, "An injury you caused, by the way."
They moved a bit of ways down the hall, still within earshot of Liam's room, but far away enough that he couldn't hear what they were talking about. The halls of the hospital had the same decorating as the rooms did; horizontal panels, all the same shades of green, white floor tiles with flecks of blue. The smell of antiseptic, medicine, and blood wasn't as notable as it was before, but it was definitely still there.
Scott had been silent since they reached their section of the hallway, though he had consistently opened his mouth like he was going to say something before closing it just as quick. He did it a few more times before Lia's frustration reached its peak. She put her hands on her hips, her pinkies brushing the red jacket she had taken off and tied there and she snapped, "McCall!"
He flinched back at her tone, and it was like watching air rush out of a balloon; his shoulders dropped notably and his chest deflated as well. His eyes, which were overtly wide and filled with nerves, were now shrunk down to their normal size, brimming with sadness. His scent was the same, sadness with the undercurrents of despair and defeat.
She gave an expectant huff when he said nothing, "Well," she prompted, "What is so important that it couldn't wait until my brother was getting an x-ray to ask me-"
"Nine hours."
She stopped mid-rant, "...What?"
He cringed. "Sean," he clarified. "He-uh... he was in psychological shock for nine hours. When he came out of it, he was forced to talk to the psychologist. It took him an hour and a half to tell him the entirety of what happened, and they had to give him a muscle relaxant afterward because it sent him straight into a panic attack. All of the Doctors are surprised that he's even remotely coherent. He only came to an hour ago, and I know you wouldn't have left Liam since you were shown his room."
His tone was soft and pitying, and it grinded her gears as much as it was launching her into a panic attack of her own. "The Walcott's homeschooled all of their kids," he continued, either ignoring her nevers or oblivious of them. "They were known throughout their community for their volunteer work with people who lost their family members in tragic accidents. You both would've had no way to contact each other since the accident occurred. By all logical reasoning, you shouldn't of had any idea about the Walcott family or what happened to them..."
His pitying eyes met hers. She felt numb.
"Unless you somehow saw it happen..."
The statement was spoken quietly, but it made the rest of the world go silent, the quiet reaching so low that it left a low ringing in her ears.
"I didn't do it," she whispered, the idea of denying the accusation stupidly never occurring to her, and she wasn't sure he would believe her if she did; he was too sure in what he was saying, too confident in his accurate-yet-inaccurate assumption.
"I know," he soothed, and the way his words settled over her skin like a warm blanket, soothing her nerves, sent alarm bells ringing. "I believe you. I would be able to tell if you had."
No you wouldn't, she thought half hysterically.
"You..." she started, her words tampered off before she began again, swallowing around the lump in her throat. "You said 'by all logical reasoning'..."
His scent was filled with confusion now, "I did."
"Yet you believed me when I said I didn't do it..."
"Yeah, Iâ" He tensed, seeing the carefully laid trap that he walked into far to late. He reached a hand out. "Liaâ"
She stepped back, shying away from his hand. They both froze at the movement, and it was like a chasm had opened up between them; dark, deep, and daunting. Scott's eyes welled with tears before he dropped his hand back down. Where Lia once saw Scott as a friendly companion whose company made her feel safe and relaxed, she cold now only see a stranger in his place, and, potentially, a dangerous one.
Her eyes were wide and wet, and they shone with betrayal and despair, "What... what are you... Scott, what are you?"
Scott looked at her in despair, and a single tear slipped out of his eyes, bypassing his check and landing on the edge of his chin, "I'm sorry... Lia, I'm so sorry..."
Pain and guilt crashed through her at the sight of making him cry, but the pain of betrayal ran stronger. Her voice came out harsher than intended, but she was too hurt to apologize for it, "What are you?!"
Her demand echoed through the empty hallway, and the idea that Liam might have heard her distraught voice forced her to compose herself. She pressed the base of her thumbs to her bottom lids and willed her tears away. She couldn't bring herself to look at the boy in front of her, so she just stared at the wall opposite of them, focusing on her breath. Breathe in. Breathe Out.
Out of her peripherals, she saw Scott take a deep breath, and reach his hand forward again, "Liaâ"
A distorted ringing interrupted him, causing her to jump. The shock must have been evident on her face, because Scott didn't cringe back in pain this time, only looked at her in confusion where her gaze was locked fixatedly on his front jean pocket. The ear-grinding ring came again and she cringed, Yeah, that is definitely his phone.
"You can answer it if you need to," she said, eyes darting toward the green wall panels, "I won't eavesdrop."
He frown in confusion, "What do you mean?"Â
She mirrored his expression, "Your phone? It's ringing."
"My phone's notâ" the ringing came again, but it was louder now, clearer. Scott could only seem to stare at his pocket, "âringing..."
His questioning gaze drifted up to hers, and she gave him an expectant look. He sighed, reaching into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He glanced at the screen before answering, "Hey, Lydiaâ"
"Where are you," her panicked voice came from the speaker. Lia shuffled closer, her promise to not eavesdrop be damned, and Scott either forgot about it as well, or was too preoccupied to call her out on it.
"I couldn't call," she said, before sounding exasperated, "I couldn't get away from the deputy."
"Okay, slow downâ"
"You need to get to the hospital." The panic was creeping back into her voice, "You need to get there right now! The son, the only one who survived?...He's there."
A solid mass of dread formed in Lia's stomach and without looking at Scott, she walked a ways down the hall and ripped the fire extinguisher off the wall, pulling its pin aggressively. She could feel Scott's eyes tracking her movements.
"So are we," he said, "We're at the hospital, too. We'll find him Lydia... we'll find Sean..."
"Wait Scott, who's there with youâ!"
He hung up abruptly, shoving his phone back into his pocket, his gaze never straying from the petite blonde, who was carrying a forty pound fire extinguisher that was half her size. "What the hell are you doing," he demanded.
She scowled, and their interactions were practically mirroring their past selves from earlier that afternoon that it left him with dĂŠjĂ vu. "I'm going with you, what the fuck does it look like to you, McCall?"
"It's going to be dangerous," he protested, "You need to stay here, where it's safeâ"
The image of a brunette ghost flashed in his mind, rising from the chasm that had split open between them of unspoken past traumas; and even though she might see him as a monster, all he wanted to do was wrap her up in a blanket and lock her in her brother's room, where she would be out of the way and safeâ
She hefted the extinguisher over her shoulder like a baseball bat and raised a brow at him. "I still have half a mind to hit you over the head with this, McCall; and believe me, I've been in way worse situations with a lot less than a fire extinguisher, so I think I'll be fine."
She rested the extinguisher on her shoulder, holding it steady with one hand while the other rested on her hip. "And besides," she continued, "Someone's gotta stop you from breaking some other poor kid's legs."
ââ â
Lia would never admit it, not until the day she died, but she as glad as she was guilty that she didn't remember anything that happened to her when she was kidnapped at the age of nine.
It was the oddest thing to come to mind as she and Scott were running through the hospital in an attempt to find Sean Walcott, but that secret (not so) little guilt of hers had a habit of popping up behind her when she least expected it and refused to go away until she tumbled it around in her head enough to leave her drowning in self-loathing, guilt and pain from the migraine that always occurred when she tried to fill the gaps in her memory.
She could recall what happened earlier that night with a crystal clear; a six-year-old Liam had gone to bed early that night out of guilt for yelling that she was a 'stinky jerk' (vulgar words for a six-year-old) so she was sharing a room with her's surrogate aunt's sonâher best friend in the whole world, at the time. The clarity of her memories began to blur when her best friend's older sisterâor Lia's big sister, as her aunt and grandmother joking said when they were still aliveâcame into her room and began trying to coax them out of bed.
The only way that she could describe her memories of that day were as slowly walking into a black fog, the world around becoming distorted and clouded until there was nothing left for her to see or hear, but it was like she wasn't aware of how skewed her perception of the world was until she woke up in the hospital ten years old instead of nine and missing two of the most important people in her world.
The difference was startling, like going from a room that was pitch dark and quiet to a brightly lit room with loud, buzzing lights and far, far too many sounds.
While she might not have the memories that told her what happened to her, she learned that if she focused hard enough (typically triggering a migraine) she learned a few repeating sensations could be felt across her body: an burning pain in the form of an inverted T going down the middle of her chest and across her abdomen, just below her bellybutton, liquid fire pooling in her stomach, right were her liver was suppose to be, and the familiar sensation of her vocal cords rupturing with pleads for mercy sitting on her tongue were the few that came to mind.
There were a few minor ones that followed as well; the feeling of blood being caked beneath her fingernails, a heart beating beneath her hands, and, the most peculiar one by far, the sound of rusty gears grinding together from within the depths of a machine.
For some reason, a deep, buried part of her recognized the sound of somemonsterone laughing.
The sound echoed around her head as Scott threw open a air of double doors, and they both made a mad dash to the elevator, their sneakers squeaking against the clean, white-and-blue tile.
"Wait! Hold the doors!" Scott shouted desperately to the nurses who crowded the elevator, sliding to a squeaky stop and banging against the doors with his braced hands as they inevitably closed.
It was a good thing we hadn't made it to the elevator, Lia thought, eyes landing on the stairwell, she really didn't know how she was going to be able to explain the fire extinguisher in her hands with its pin pulled.
"This way! Come on!" She shouted, jabbing her head toward the marked doorway. The olive-complected boy nodded, taking the point and charging up the stairs, Lia following close behind him. A pain bloomed in the center of her forehead, accompanied by the familiar tale-tell gruesome imagery that came with the visionary abilities.
Ms. McCall standing stock still, her eyes wide in fear.
A boyâSean Walcottâstanding from his crouched position on the floor.
A bloody, mutilated corpse of a deputy laid on the floor, a great pool of blood growing around his body, his intestines falling out of the hole in his torso.
Sean's white clothes stained a deep dark crimson, the color traveling all the way up to his mouth.
His lips parted to reveal rows of fangs.
A chunk of bloodied flesh was stuck between two of his bottom teeth.
"I think I'm ready to talk now."
His voice was low, demonic, and distorted, as if he was speaking from within a TV that was only playing white noise at full volume. The images were flashing in her mind with a rapid succession of Ms. McCall running out of the hospital room with Sean hot on her heels. The vision cut off with the final image of Sean tackling Ms. McCall into the wall, head crashing into the sage green portion of the wall, her mouth opened in the beginnings of a horrified scream.
Her vision cleared as they entered the stairwell, and Scott turned his head, as if he sensed her distress.
"Hurry," she stressed, fear and worry thick in her voice. Scott didn't need to be told twice, going to the stairs two at a time, Lia quickly following his example. They made it to the landing between floors when they began to hear Ms. McCall's screams from through the walls.
"No!! Leave me alone! NOOO!!!!"
Her voice became far more clear after Scott threw open the stairwell door. He froze just outside the entrance, forcing Lia to shove past him in order to see what was happening. She took the scene in quickly, and found that it was exactly like the last portion of her vision: Ms. McCall being tackled into the sage green wall by Sean, mouth opened mid-scream thirty feet away. The blood that was previously on Sean's hands now stained her once white, long-sleeved, undershirt. The hallway reeked of sour-fear, rich blood, and, she shivered, her heart dropping to her stomach as she picked up the scent, an overwhelming amount of desolated hunger.
Scott froze, no doubt reeling from the horror of seeing his mother in such a precarious position, which gave her enough time to charge forward, cutting the distance in half with the nozzle of the fire extinguisher extended forward.
"Hey, FUCK FACE!!" She snapped, and Sean Walcott's grotesque body turned to her with a demonic snarl. The moment his eyes landed on herâwhich were now more gray than they were blue, unlike her visionâshe squeezed the discharge lever on the fire extinguisher until it was pressed against the carrying handle, spraying freezing, burning, white smog directly into his eyes.
 The scent of confused disorientation settled lightly over the smell of his desolated hunger, and she took that as her sign to release the discharge lever, moving her hands to overlap around the pressure gauge and squeezing, using her entire weight as she swung it like a baseball bat; a metallic sound ringing through the hall that followed by a sickening crunch as the extinguisher hit the assaulter's nose full force.
The smog cleared enough for Lia to see the dark blond boy crawling away on his hands and knees, the red blood dripping out of his nose contrasting boldly again the partially dried blood that stained the white-and-blue tiles a reddish-brown.
She turned to Ms. McCall, how was looking at her with a wide-eyed expression, like she couldn't understand that the same blonde girl from earlier was the very same person that was saving her.
"Are you alright?" Lia question, holding out a hand to the older woman while eyeing the drying blood on her wrist and smelling the fresh blood beneath it, the fire extinguisher swinging loosely in her free hand.
The older woman wordlessly nodded, clutching her wrist towards her chest. The nurse's sleeve moved up slightly as she held her hand out to Lia's outstretched one, allowing the blonde to see the pen-prickle looking claw marks and the beginnings of a hand shaped bruise that marred the older woman's wrist. They both appeared to be superficial, Lia noted, they would heal quickly once they were cleaned out and bandaged.
As Ms. McCall's hand slide into her's, something in Lia's chest flare to life at the contact, leaving the edges of her vision foggy, and her head feeling fuzzy for a moment, as if her brain was buffering.
Another low, demonic growl emitted from Sean's fallen form as he scrambled back to his feet. Small, quarter-inch claws emerged from his fingertips, the very tips of them red from blood, and his eyes clouding over, turning a glowing white color. His blood coated fangs twisted with a snarl.
She twisted back to him, hands wrapping back around the pressure gauge and preparing to swing at him again if needed. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him and her heart was pumping wildly in her ears.
A sudden, deafening ROAR traveled through the hall like a gunshot; the paintings on the wall rattling with an intensity that left Lia shocked that they didn't fall off. The air in her lungs seemed to rattle noise, leaving her feeling winded and both she and Sean jerked at the sound, heads snapping to the other end of the hall where the sound emitted from.
She froze, heart stopping in her chest, gazing upon the scene before her with horrified eyes.
Scott was standing at the end of the hallway, except, it didn't look like Scott. His cheekbones were sharper, more angular than they were before, and there was a greater amount of muscle tissue between his brows, making his look far angrier than his chemosignals told her he was (which, was still very angry). His ears were pointed too, like a demented elf.
And, she saw, with a horrific sense of dread, his eyes were a deep, blood red.
Memories of the past year began flashing in her mind with a rapid succession, all memories that she would rather forget.
Another sharp pain began to form between her brows again.
Sean snarled again, his gaze now locked firmly onto Scott as the white receded from his eyes, leaving the same bluish gray she had noted earlier. Scott returned the gesture, fangs snapping against each other as he growled so deeply that it made her knees feel a little weak. Her eyes bounced between the two boys, feeling the mounting tension in the air, and she turned from where she unknowingly stepped in front of Ms. McCall to pushed back and away from the oncoming fight.
"Move," she hissed, and when the woman only stared at her with wide eyes, and snapped, stating louder, "C'mon, move!"
The noise from her seemed to jar the boys into action, charging at each other in sync. For all the furocity that Sean seemed to possess, he didn't move very quickly. He only took a few steps before Scott finished sprinting across the thirty feet that separated them, tackling him with such a force that they slid back an extra six feet upon contact with the ground. With the sound of their bones smacking against the ground echoing in her ears, Lia pressed herself between Ms. McCall and the fight, acting as a shield, but ready to throw herself into battle if necessary.
His actions were almost manic as he gripped the other boy's shoulders roughly, staying in the half crouched position as he threw Sean at the wall, keeping his hands on his shoulders as he pulled him away from the wall before forcibly bashing him against it.
"Don't you touch them, you hear me?!"Â He yelledâgrowledâanimalistically, "DON'TÂ FUCKINGÂ TOUCH THEM!"
He never paused in his assault, continuing to bash the other boy's head against the wall before Ms. McCall started to squirm nervously behind her, trying to move past the blonde's arm that was shielding her.
"Scott!" The older woman called out desperately, "Scott!!"
Scott didn't hear her, continuing to lash out at the Sean, the wall becoming smeared with bright crimson blood from some unforeseen head wound.
"Scott..." Lia whispered in horror, barely audible to herself, but Scott froze instantly, twisting his body to stare at the two women with bright, worried, red eyes as he scanned them to see what was the cause of their distress.
That was the only distraction that Sean needed, wedging his leg between his and Scott's chest before pushing as hard as he could, launching Scott into the opposite wall, a few paces away from where Lia and Ms. McCall were standing, before scrambling to his feet and limping down the hall.
Scott didn't bat an eye to the boy fleeing down the hall, his attention firmly planted on the two women next to him.
"Are you alright," he asked, reaching a faintly bloodied hand out to Lia, and that was all it seemed to take for the mounting pain in her head to explode, causing her to double over with a shout. Her vision blurred, leaving her with only the sensation of touch. She felt hands grabbing her shoulders in time for her knees to buckle. Her muscles began to lock up, her body trembling under the hands that were holding her up. What was happening?
White firecracker imagery shot off behind her eyelids, the sensation of sound and smell lingering behind moments after the vision had passed.
Her brother; her kind-hearted, overly boisterous, protective, empathetic, impulsive, history loving, moronic, incredibly stupid brother was standing outside of his hospital room, eyes scanning up and down the hall and brows scrunched as he saw no one there. He limped forward a pace, favoring his injured leg.
"Hey!" He called, his voice surprisingly clear compared to what she heard earlier. "Anyone hear that?"
The hallway was unbearably quite, no patients or hospital staff in sight. The stupid hospital smell of antiseptic-medicine-and-blood stung her nose, even in these good awful visions.
His brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought I heard something..." He muttered, before shaking his head turning back to his room. "I better not be hearing things again..."
He froze, shoulders tensing and eyes going wide with alarm and awareness. She felt herself mirror his posture, suddenly feeling the exact same way that he did. They both seemed to feel the shift in the air, one that was as loud as a gunshot, yet as subtle as a whispered breath. It happened a multitude of times during the course of their lives, and it always seemed to alert them seconds before disaster struck.
The feeling shifted again, suddenly screeching violently in their ears and their bodies jerked in the direction of the sound, beyond their control, when their eyes landed on the disheveled form of Sean Walcott, who was swiping the blood off his nose as he stalked forward.
Lia's heart feel to her stomach in fear. Liam gasped, shuffling backward a pace, but it was useless, he wouldn't be able to escape this beast with an injured leg. Sean curled his lips back, the chunk of flesh that was stuck in his teeth falling out of his mouth, bouncing off his lower lip and falling to the floor. He snarled, with all of his rows of pointy teeth and and throaty, demonic growl. He lunged, andâshe slammed painfully back into the present, both of the McCalls, staring at her in caution and concern (Ms. McCall and Scott, respectively).
The scent of her own fear stunk up the air around her like a sour stench. Cold, nervous sweat stuck to hear palms and around her hairline, heart heart relocating from her stomach to her throat, its beat ringing in her ears.
Scott looked down at her, taking in the scent of fear and nervous sweat, as well as the sight of her dilated pupils and her labored, heaving chest. His heart sunk in his chest.
"Liaâ"
"Sean..." She gasped, her limbs shaking with adrenaline, a pen-prickling sensation filling her nails as she gripped Scott's biceps. He grabbed her by the elbows gently, yet firmly, his eyes wide and attentive. "SeanâheâLiam, Scott. He's going after Liamâ!"
Saying it outloud jolted her into action; she threw off the arms that were holding her, scrambling to her feet as she ignored the voice behind her that said her name, that screamed come back. The only thing she could think about getting to Liam, Liam Liamâ
Despite all of the faults that some (Lia) may find in the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital (overworking, underpaying, being too expensive, ect.) one thing she couldn't discredit them for was the precautions they took for potential fires.
Their were two stairwells in the hospital, dividing it into even thirds, though, if the elevator shafter was included, then the hospital was technically divided into even fourths. The stairs in question were widen enough for three people to walk side by side with enough space to be comfortable. She had dully noted the fire exit when she had first been taken to Liam's room, and while she had been grateful for it then, she wished more than anything that they had been placed in any other room than the one by the fire escape.
"Liam!" The blonde shouted as she threw open the door to the stairs, and immediately stopped.
The hallway was different from before: the apple green paint of the wall's middle sector was smear with drying blood. A full, bloody handprint was in the same place that her brother had been standing in her vision, place right at his shoulder level. The smell of her brother's fear and desperation clogged her nose and stuck to the back of her throat. And, beneath it all, the same smell of desolated hunger hung through the air like a heavy smog.
The door behind her was thrown open, and Scott stumbled in, taking the scene in with shifted features and bright, wide, red eyes. "Lia..."
A loud, bone chilling, terrified scream echoed from the stairwell behind Scott, causing them both to jolt, their fight or flight instincts screaming at them to move, to run, to do something, anything except stand there.
The scream sounded again, along with the slamming of a door, and it took Lia exactly half a second to place the scream.
"LIAM!" Lia shouted in horror, and that was all it took for Scott to run at full speed after the sound, Lia following close behind. The gray of the stone stairwell blurred together as the teens ran up the steps. A smear of red flashed in Lia's peripherals and she forced herself to keep running instead of gawking at the blood on the wall. The tens of seconds that it took for them to follow the scent of blood, fear, and hunger to the roof exit seemed to drag on for eternity. Fear clogged up her throat, all she could think was Liam, Liam, Liamâ!
The door to the roof was thrown open with a loud BANG! The harsh night wind cracked against her face like an unexpected backhand. Her eyes watered at the feeling. Clouds covered the waning gibbous moon, though the cracking wind was quickly moving the clouds. The service lights did little to light the cluttered roof.
Scott ran forward out the door at full speed before he grinded to a sudden halt, eyes locked on something that was on the other side of electrical boxes and AC units that had taken residence on the roof. Lia's legs burned from the constant running and fighting, but the ache was the last thing on her mind as her eyes adjusted to the lack of suitable light and she saw what had caught Scott's attention.
Sean was on the edge of the roof, holding Liam hostage in his arms. The bloodied boy wrapped his right arm around her brother's neck while his left arm was pressed against her brother's left shoulder blade, ready to push him at a moment's notice.
"Get back!" Sean shouted, a faint growl slipping out with his words.
Liam turned as much as he could, blue eyes wide, wet, and terrified. "Lia, help me!!"
The terror in her brother's voice was like acid to her very being, blind rage burning through her blood at the boy who was holding her brother hostage. Her gaze zeroed in on the arm wrapped around her brother's neck, the blood rubbing off of Sean's skin onto her brother's. She locked her eyes with Liam, silently telling him to stay calm, to hold on, and that she was going to get him out of this mess.
"Don't!" Scott had to shout to be heard over the howling winds. "You don't need to do this. Whatever it is--whatever you are--we can help you."
The thought of helping this thingâthe very thing that as threatening her brother's life, made the beast in her chest snarl in outrage, the snarl sipping past her sneering lips as they revealed the teeth that were steadily shifting into fangs. Scott jerked at the sound, his shifted feature twisted into shock at the sight of her.
She could smell the change her brother's scent took, the relief in her brother's scent shifting to confusion, and the fear that was previously directed at Sean was now directed at her.
(Something in her chest withered and died at the idea that her brother was scared of her, but she couldn't blame him for being scared.)
(Not when she was scared of herself.)
"You can't." Sean said, his voice wavering, sounding less like some demonic creature and more like a scared sixteen year old; one who watched his entire family die in a night, whose world fell apart in a matter of moments, and knew he was being hunted at this very moment.
She falter, rage drifting back, and she could feel both Scott and Liam falter at the sound of his voice.
"Sean," Scott tried again, taking a step forward, "Let me help you." His voice firm in his offer, but she knew, by the look on Sean's face and the way that he was holding Liam, that he wasn't going to take it.
She couldn't help but pity Scott, because, as much as she admired him for wanting to save people, she learned the hard way that you can only save the ones that want to be saved; otherwise, you're only holding a hand out to a walking corpse.
"Wendigos don't need help," the boyâthe Wendigoâsnarled, and gone was the sixteen year old boy; a monstrous beast standing in his place. "We need food!"
In an instant, everything around her seemed to speed up. Sean twisted Liam's arm, turning his body so that her brother was facing him, lips pulled back and ready to bite. At the same time, Liam was pulling away from Sean as hard as he could, trying to get away from the boy's gnashing teeth, unknowingly putting himself in greater danger by pushing himself closer to the edge of the roof.
She and Scott both immediately jumped into action; literally, in Scott's case, who gave himself a running start of four paces before leaping, clearing multiple mechanical units before touching down on the raised section of the roof, landing beside the struggling bodies of Liam and Sean.
Lia ran for the stairs, knowing that the odds of both her and Scott jumping and landing on the roof without accidentally pushing one or both of the other boys off were slim to none. The stairs in question sat perpendicular to the platform ledge where Scott had landed, and they gave her a near perfect view of the fight.
(It was also the safest and quickest way for her to reach the raised section of the roof that Liam was on without unintentionally endangering herself or anyone else, but that was neither here nor there to her.)
She was a few paces away from the stairs when she heard her brother's blood-chilling scream; her head jerking up in time for her to see Sean push Liam over the side of the roof.
Oh my god, she thought, my brother is hanging over the side of the roof.
His terrified scream came from a few feet below the edge, raising the hairs on her arms and sending a rock of stone-cold into her stomach. "LIA, HELP!"
"HANG ON!" She screamed desperately, all thoughts of composure forgotten, "ILEEÂ HANGÂ ON!"
Scott was closer, and acted quicker than she could given their positions. The red-eyed boy looked at the side of the roof and, seeing Liam's fingers gripping the edge as tightly as the freshman could, shoved Sean away mid-brawl and dove toward the edge. The sound of the rough cement scratching against the threads of his clothes was grating in her ears, cutting at her eardrums like knives. With Scott's chest pressed against the roof's edge and arms stretched down to grab her brother, she quickly shifted gears.
She trusted Scott to pull her brother up; her job now was to deal with Sean.
The boy on question was crumbled against a structure that was built around a ventilation fan, acting as a shield to prevent birds and other creatures from building their nests inside them. Bright, red blood was smear against the metal from where Scott had injured him earlier. The clouds shifted, a bit of moonlight gracing the top of the roof. The wind was whipping her hair in every direction, and it was a miracle that she could see Sean at all.
She grabbed the railing to the stairs and pulled, propelling herself up the steps and tensed her legs, preparing to charge at Sean when a hand roughly grabbed her shoulder and yanked, sending her body flying back and she slammed hard against the roof, the coarse cement slicing at her skin, the cuts healing in a matter of seconds.
She scrambled into a crouched position, fangs and claws bared and ready to rip whoever touched her apart. The snarl fell from her lips and her face went blank in terror. Her heart was lodged in her throat, and a pit opened up in her stomach. No...
The man from her visions stood before her, a little over six feet tall and a cleanly shaven scalp. His complexion was paler than hers, and his black, military-like clothes made his skin look like it was washed out to a concerning degree. Black combat boot adorned his feet and he wore black leather gloves over his hands.
But the only thing she could focus on... was the fact that he had no mouth.
Her last weeks worth of nightmares began flashing behind her eyes, her body shaking with the amount of adrenaline that was pouring through her. The faintest echo of a rustic, mechanical grinding sound drifted through her ears, the near inaudible sound of laughter caused her to flinch, nearly causing her fall flat on her ass.
"No," she whispered in terror, her voice appalling small, "You can't be... no... you were just in my dream..."
The man's face was completely devoid of any expression, his dark eyes betraying no amount of thoughts or feelings to her prying eyes. His impassive face didn't change as he raised his left hand to his opposing arm that was at half-mast, fingers pressing something that she couldn't see.
"LIA DUNBAR," a distorted voiceâhis distorted voice said, and ice flooded through her veins. It was the same voice as the one in her dreams, the one that was too automated to be anything but fake. "THERE IS A HEAVY PRICE FOR YOUR HEAD."
Her breath was shuddering in her lungs, her hands prickling with pins and needles as they began to fall numb. For all the self-defence training she received from Rabbi Yoda in the past five years, she always seems to forget that training is a far cry different than the real life scenarios where she had to apply the skills she pushed herself into learning.
But, she thought as she shuffled backward from the man in front of her, bar fights and fending off perverts is a far cry different from being attacked by a fucking assassin.
"YOUR DEATH WILL RESULT IN A HEAVY SUM DEPOSITED IN MY BANK ACCOUNT," the assassin continued his monologue, dark eyes boring into hers dauntingly. "ANDÂ YOUR BROTHER'S DEMISE CAN SECURE MY FORTUNE FOR LIFE, AS WELL AS THE ADDED BONUS I WILL GAIN FROM THE WENDIGO'S AND THE ALPHA'S DEATH."
If the man continued dragged out his monologue, she couldn't hear it over the roar of blood in her ears; because there was something about his voice, and the repetitive mechanical laugh in her ear that set every single one of her nerves on edge, so much so that the threat he madeâagainst both Scott and her brotherâforced her past her breaking point and caused something inside of her snap.
The fear that had overwhelmed her earlier seemed to evaporate at the statement, leaving her feeling numb in its stead. Adrenaline was still coursing through her body, but the shakiness of her hands had reduced itself to the smallest tremble. Her muscles were tensed up in anticipation, waiting for the ball to drop and for the fight to begin.
Unknown to her, the terror that had marred her expression and scent only moments prior, evaporate at the man's declaration. The assassin trailed off mid statement, eyeing the girl below him in confusion.
"Oh, yeah," she snarked, looking up at the man through her lashes, a smarmy, arrogant smirk pulling at her lips. Her wild blonde hair amplified the way her eyes were completely cold and apathetic, devoid of any sense of emotion or humanity. If Scott or Liam had seen her in that moment, they wouldn't have been able to recognize her.
It was like she was a completely different person.
"You know, when people are talking about my head," she drawled, still smirking, "They're usually talking about it in a more... erotic variety, if you know what I mean."
The confused expression on his face shifted to a disgruntled look, and he pressed another button on his keypad. Instead of the same, male automated voice from earlier, a softer, more gender neutral, computerized voice spoke instead. "RECORDING IN PROGRESS."
The smarmy look vanished from her face, replaced by a hardened look that can only be compared to a battle-worn soldier who knew that a fight was coming. Her muscles almost seemed to tingle in anticipation, falling in sync with the air around her body as it shifted once more, suddenly screaming at her to move-move-MOVE!
She listened, moving on instinct as she dove to the man's left as he reached toward his one of the belt loops on the side of his pant leg, swinging it down with a startling accuracy, his arm moving faster than the eye could see, burying the tomahawk in the concrete roof right where she had been crouching only moments previously.
She forced herself not to falter, instead swinging her leg as hard as she could, her foot colliding hard with the man's nose with a sickening CRUNCH! The force from her swing knocked the assassin flat on his back, holding his nose as he grunted in pain. If the man had a mouth, she had no doubt that he would be swearing her up and down in pain.
A chiling, hair-raising scream froze the blood in her veins, her heart ceasing to beat for a moment. "LIA!! I CAN'T HOLDÂ ON!" her brother's scream cut through the air like a bullet and spurred her back into movement.
She could hear the harsh sounds of the murderâthe assassinâscrambling to his feet and yanking the tomahawk out of the cement roof hard as she ran. She kept her ears strained to listen to any sounds coming from behind her, but she didn't dare look back, far too worried that looking behind her would only lead to her demise. Her fingers brushed the railing when another sharp yank was felt on the back of her shirt, pulling her away from the railingâfrom her brotherâand back against her assassin's body.
He pinned her arms against her body before she could drive an elbow into his gut, hitting her in the back of the legs and forcing her to her knees. She could see the edge of the hospital roof, could see Sean twisting Scott's arms behind his back, could see Scott's arms flexing as he tried to pull his arms loose, could see her brother's fingers slipping off the side of the roofâ
A flash of silver metal caught in her peripheral and she was only able to spot a familiar crest branded just below the shoulder of the tomahawk before the assassin buried the blade inside her neck and ripped it across her throat.
The cut was as deep as the blade was large, drops of bloodânot the crimson color of a vein being sliced, but the bright red color of an artery being struckâspraying from her wound while the rest began gushing out of her neck in weak spurts, traveling down the rest of her unmarred skin and staining her shirt.
Her muscles cut, her head hung against the wound and restricted the amount of blood that flowed from her neck. Seeing this, the assassin grabbed her hair roughly, pulling her head back and allowing the blood to gush out of the gaping wound in her neck. A sharp gust of wind chilled the inner muscles of her neck as the assassin held her by her hair; an awful, wet, choking sound was dragged out of her mouth at the harsh movement, and she could feel drops of blood flecking onto her lips, a small stream of blood flowing out of the corner of her mouth as she forced herself to breath through her severed windpipe.
Wide, terrified eyes stared into apathetic brown and, at that moment, they were both staring into the face of death.
The amount of blood pouring from her next left half of her arms and legs feeling numb in a matter of moments, and she had no doubt that her already pale complexion left her looking like a wanna-be ghost. She could feel the assassin's hands twisting her body, letting her head fall down as he laid her down on the roof; the new position restricting some of the blood flow out of her neck, but not by much, as small trickles of blood began leaking out of the edges of the wound.
Her vision was blurred from the blood loss, only allowing her to see the faint image of the man standing above her, fading into a singular silhouette that doubled, then tripledâ
Lightning arced through her body, her muscles spasming against the cement as she seized, small spurts of blood escaping her slowly healing wound. Pain danced across her nerves and the barely there sound of blood in her ears and her head bouncing against the ground took the entirety of her focus as her awareness faded.
Along with it, rustic grinding of mechanical gears echoed in her ears, laughing away in enjoyment at her apparent suffering.
The convulsion continued for a few more minutes before they began letting up, fire lighting up in her body in waves before the pain slowly receding back up her spine and into her brain, like a snake drawing back after striking. Her vision was blurred and distorted when her eyes opened again, the clouds having shifted back over the moon.Â
She winced as she forced her shaky arms to support her, bracing most of her weight against her forearm when her strength failed her. She cringed in pain as she tried to turn her head, the movement pulled at the at the fresh-barely-healed-definitely-should-have-been-fatal-wound. She twisted her body instead, keeping her weight resting on her forearm as she shifted her weight from her tailbone to her hip.
Her gaze instantly landed on the deceased body of Sean Walcott; his dull, bluish gray eyes glazed over with the look of death, the same look that had settled over the face of every person she ever loves, blood leaking out from beneath his freshly killed corps. A splash of blood on the roof was the only indication that his body had been moved from where it had originally fallen.
Her gaze instantly landed on the deceased body of Sean Walcott; his dull, bluish gray eyes glazed over with the look of death, the same look that had settled over the face of every person she ever loves, blood leaking out from beneath his freshly killed corps. A splash of blood on the roof was the only indication that his body had been moved from where it had originally fallen. The dying blood on his clothes was now a horrifying mixture the the dead deputy's and his own. The smell of desolated hunger and the beginning smell of death emitted from his body.
Her mind barely formed the mental question of what happened here? when she felt a the sensation of a gentle nudge beneath her hand as images begin to settle in front of her mind, like leaves dancing softly in the breeze. Where as the images from her visions were as jarring as strobe lights to an epileptic, the images settled in her mind just as gently as Scott's touch had been earlier, and faded away to the back of her mind like fog vanishing in the daylight.
She saw Sean's attention ripped away from Scott at the scent of her blood, his eye fogging over as his instincts took over at the smell of her dying body. She saw him charging at her seizing frame, staggering over his own two feet and allowing the assassin to bury the tomahawk (stolen tomahawk, she now realized in mounting anger) into the boys back, before ripping it out fiercely, rearranging his body so that it was parallel to hers before flipping him over. He took a few steps back before looking up, raising a singular finger to where his mouth should be in a shushing motion.
The images drifted away as gently as they came, her eye refocusing on the not-yet-cold body in front of her, blood still slucing out of his mouth. Her muscles aches as she forced herself to her knees, hands pressed against them as she looked down at Sean's body regretfully, the not-yet-decaying-but-definitely-dead smell pressing against her nose.
A gutted, almost lupine whine came from the area of the platform and she turned her head, wincing as the skin on her neck was pulled uncomfortably. Scott McCall met her gaze instantly, all of his features still shifted expect for his eyes, a brown that promised safety instead of the red that set her nerves on edge.
"Scott, wha-" she began before she caught sight of the blood that was smeared on his lips and teeth, the crimson red mixing with his saliva as it leaked out of the corner of his mouth, like he was doing his damned best to keep from tasting or swallowing the red liquid. The sight of the blood triggered another violent vision to the front of her mind: the sound of her brother's scream echoing through the air, raising the hair on her arms and freezing the blood in her veins, as a sharp pair of teethâno, fangsâburied themselves into his wrist.
Scott watched as her eyes came back into focus, her mind no doubt filling in the blanks. Her eyes were wide, and, whereas they shone with betrayal and despair earlier, her face was now blank, and her eyes were filling up with so much horror that it made Scott want to vomit all over the place, more than the blood in his mouth did. "What... what did you do..." She whispered, before screaming like a banshee, "Scott, what did you do!!?"
Where Scott looked at her in despair and wept earlier, he could now only look upon her in teary eyed despair and horror at her appearance. She looked a downright mess, her once purple-blue flannel and gray t-shirt were covered in her own blood, some of it splattered onto the thighs of her blue jeans. Her hair was wild in the wind, her earlier fight no doubt contributing to its tangled appearance. The blood (brightredbloodtoobrighttoomuchshewon'tmakeititstoomuchâ) that was staining the front of her shirts traveled all the way up to her neck, where a distinct line was made, where the blood had cut off, a very particular line with shiny, freshly healed skin, where itâwhere the manâwhere he hadâ
Scott couldn't even make himself finish the thought before he was staggering off to the side of the platform to puke, stomach acid burning his throat. Tears stained his eyes and he couldn't force the word out of his mouth, past all the bile and blood and regret. Because he knew the type of life he had just damned her brother to, and he would never forgive himself for it. I'm sorry... Lia, I'm so sorry...
Lia stared at McCall's vomitting form with wide eye, before the sound of her brother crying out in pain and the smell of her brother's blood in the air jolted her into action. She sprinted past the doubled over body of the brown-eyed boy, eyes landed on her brother, his body leaning against the structure protecting the ventilation fan, his face contorting in pain as his right hand was clasped firmly around his left wrist, where the scent of blood was originating from.
No no no no nonono, she thought, sliding on her knees to his side once she was close enough. She place her fingers tenderly on the tense muscles of his wrist and forearm, eliciting another cry of pain from her brother's mouth that hurt worse than a gunshot wound.
"La sÄ vÄd," she whispered desperately, gently trying to pull Liam's hand back, "Ilee, staĹŁi sÄ vÄd."
Let me see, she though just as desperately, let the vision have been a lie.
With a whimpering cry, he pulled his fingers away from his arm, the congealed blood causing his fingers to stick to his skin. She winced as she gently cradled his arms as best as she could, the salty smell of her brother's tears mixing with his blood making her nauseas.
Another gale of wind cut across the night sky, pushing the clouds away from the moon and allowing light to shine down upon the hospital roof; and, it was at this moments, that Lia's eyes found, beneath the blood that seemed to coat her brother's wrist, a set of teeth marks oozing blood was buried into his wrist.
"O doamne,"Â she whispered in horror, dread cementing itself into her bones.
"MÄ doare." He whimpered, blue eyes wide, wet, and fearful as they look up at her, "Ollie, mÄ doare."
Ollie. What was once a forgotten, beloved nickname from her young, now seemed tainted with the horrific reality of this situation, of what was in store for her brother, of what could happen to himâ!
Lia grabbed her brother and pulled him close, their foreheads crashing together painfully at the sudden movement, resulting in her shushing him gently as he cried out again and whispered 'MÄ doare' again as the shock began to set it. Tired, battered, bruises, and traumatized, Liam couldn't muster up the energy to be angry, but that didn't stop his body from giving into fear as his body began to shake against hers, right hand once again clasped firmly around his left wrist.
She held him as close as she could, completely oblivious to Scott's attempts to move, only for his gaze to land on the spot next to Sean's body before he began to dry heave, whispering the same phrase over and over as if it as the only thing keeping the three roof-top occupants from sucomming to the same fate that had befallen Sean.
O sÄ fie bine, Ilee, she whispered over and over again, O sÄ fie bine.
It will be fine, Ilee; and somehow, as the three of them were stuck in stalemate, the light from the waning gibbous illuminated the grim scene, as a sharp wind smacked Lia in the face, causing the smell of salty tears, sweat, bile, and metallic blood to hang in her nose as the rustic grinding of mechanical gears echoed in her ears, laughing and laughing and laughingâ!
Those words never felt more like a lie.
ââ â
Miles away, a banshee pressed her hands to the sides of her head and choked on her own screams, the sounds of teeth tearing flesh, young, male screams, wet chokes, and rustic grinding echoing in her ears.
ââ âBeacon Hills, California. February 6th, 2012.ââ â
ââ â04x03: mutedââ â
ââ â
TW: MENTIONS OF SHOW DEPICTED VIOLENCE AND LACROSSE INJURIES.
The sun was already beating down on the lacrosse field by the time she forced herself to walk outside.
Despite the sun's ever demanding presence, it wasn't as overbearingly hot as it could have been. The constant, gentle breeze was enough to cool down any athletes before they began to overheat, but it didn't stop them from sweating. She could smell the boys from where she had tucked herself behind the bleacher, peering at them as they ran their laps. A few people had already made their way and sat on the bleachers, claiming their spots for what she assumed would be a good show. She had yet to see any of Scott's friends, but she had no doubt that they would be there soon.
Some of the boys ran past the bleachers during their lap and she cringed. The breeze was not doing enough to keep them from sweating.
"You're Lia Dunbar, right?"
She flinched at the sudden voice, rapidly turning on her heel to stare at the person who snuck up behind her. She blinked in surprise, finding not one, but two people behind her. Twins, as a matter of fact, identical twin girls. They both had matching blueish gray eyes, and dirty blonde hair, though the bottom layer appeared to be more of a light brown. Their faces held sharp cheekbones, making the cheeks almost appear sunken, but that seemed to be where the physical similarities ended.
The twin on the left had their hair pulled back in a high ponytail, her bangs came to rest just above her eyes brows. The twin on the right had their hair pulled back in a low ponytail, and unlike the eighty's bangs that her sister had, she had curtain bangs that nicely framed the side of her face. The left twin wore warmer colors; a bright yellow shirt with deep, wine red jeans with brand new white vans. The twin on the right was wearing a deep blue, thin long sleeved shirt with black jeans and dirty, black converse. The left twin wore a beaming smile, the right twin stared at Lia with a look of contempt. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a small difference in their facial physique: the twin on the left had a perfectly straight nose, whereas the twin on the right's nose was a little crooked, like it wasn't set properly after being broken.
Lia nodded, albeit hesitantly, "Yeah, that's me. Can I help you?"
The twin on the left's smile grew even wider, while her twin's expression grew darker. Something twisted in Lia's stomach, her mind suddenly flashing to the twin from The Shining.
God, please don't ask me to come play with you, Lia prayed, despite the fact that she wasn't religious.
The happier twin responded first, "We just wanted to say hello. I'm Skylar Dowd-"
"And I'm Ryleigh Dowd-" The gloomy twin said.
"We just want to get to know you some-"
"Our brother is on the lacrosse-"
"Just like yours. He was talking to him earlier-"
"This morning on the field, after you had fainted-"
"Garrett's your brother?" Lia asked, unable to refrain from asking. The happier twinâSkylarâlooked put out by the interruption. Ryleigh smirked at her sister's expression. Now that they had mentioned it, she could see how they had the same blueish gray eyes and how Ryleigh's smirk seemed to match her brother's.
"Yeah, he is," Skylar said, trying to get back her rhythm, "And we know your brother is Liam-"
That's really creepy, Lia thought.
"And we figured-"
"Since both of our brothers are on the lacrosse team-"
"That it would be cool if-"
"We hung out!" Skylar finished with a grin, "Since we'll be spending so much time together because of our brothers, we might as well be friends. What do you say? Wanna come sit by us?"
Alarm bells were going off in Lia's brain as she stared the twin down. Skylar looked crazed, ever-so-slightly, and Ryleigh looked like she would kill her on the spot if she said no. But Lia, daughter of the one and only Jenna Dunbar, was good at nothing else if not one thing: keeping people who wanted to kill her from actually killing her.
She gave them her best smile, edging her way subtly from behind the bleachers to the gravel path that led back toward the school. "Thanks guys, that really means a lot to me that you would offer but..." Movement caught her attention in her peripherals, and she turned her head ever-so-slightly to see two of Scott's friendsâMalia and Kiraâwalking up the path from the school. She grabbed them as soon as they were within arms reach, Kira giving a startled yelp and Malia glaring at her like she would rip her arms off if she didn't stop touching her.
Lia didn't let go, if anything, she squeezed their arms, desperately trying to relay a silent message to them, "But my friends, Kira and Malia, already asked me to sit by them, and I already said yes."
"We did?" Malia asked bluntly.
"You did," Lia confirmed, looping her arm with Kira and Malia at the elbows. The Shining twins didn't falter, but their expressions were dropping slowly into something that made Lia's stomach twist unsettlingly. "Buh-bye now!" Lia called over her shoulder, practically dragging the two girls toward a spot on the first row of bleachers.
"Sorry about that," Lia said, placing herself in between the two girls. Kira still looked a little frazzled, but smiled nonetheless. Malia still looked as serious as ever, but now she was...sniffing the air? Lia wasn't one to call out odd habits (what right did she have, with turning into a monster once a month) but even she couldn't help but find it a bit...odd.
"It's alright," Kira said sweetly, placing her bag next to her as she fiddled with her... lacrosse stick?
"I didn't know you played," Lia said curiously, her gaze shifting up toward Kira.
"Oh, I don't," she said with a nervous laugh, twirling the lacrosse stick in her hand.
"But you want to?"
"...A little," the dark-haired girl confessed, looking a little uncomfortable at the notion, "But I can't."
"Why not?"
Lia wasn't entirely sure what caused her to press the issue, but she felt strangely bold around the two girls. It reminded her of how she felt around Liam and Mason, feeling secure enough to poke fun at them, along with pressing them if she felt that something was wrong. She didn't completely understand why she felt like this, but she couldn't deny it somehow managed to put her at ease.
Kira's gaze turned toward the ground, looking completely depressed. "My parents want to move back to New York," she mumbled, and even if Lia hadn't been able to see her face, she would have been able to tell how she felt just by the sound of her voice. "But I just got used to living here! I don't want to go back and lose all of the friends that I've made here! I justâI can'tâ"
The wind seemed to fall out of her sails as she lost the words to explain her turmoil. "I just don't want to leave." She finished meekly, rolling the lacrosse stick softly back and forth in her hands, gaze still turned to the ground.
Lia waited a moment to see if she had anything else to add, before hesitantly placing her hand on the girl's shoulder. "I know this is probably going to come off as a little bit awkward, given that this is the most we've spoken to each other outside of class, but even if you are going to move away, that shouldn't stop you from taking advantage of the opportunities that you have now."
Kira looked up at her in confusion. Lia went on to elaborate, "I'm just saying, if you really are going to move away sometime soon, then I think you should start making the choices you'll regret the least. Like making fun memories with your friends on the lacrosse team."
The other girl stared at her blankly, as if it was an idea she had never considered before. Out of the corner of her eyes, Lia saw her brother crossing the finish line, a few other boys following in behind him. While they all sank to the ground, panting and heaving from enervation, Liam went to the ground gracefully and purposefully, quickly beginning to do push-ups, his right leg crossed over the back of his left.
She frowned softly, she didn't want him to unintentionally make enemies because he was unknowingly flaunting his extreme endurance. Praise will earn you friends, she had learned from her Bunica (but also from one of her favorite book series), but gloating, intentional or not, will only make you enemies.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a Gatorade, the main reason for her tardiness, before turning back to Kira, "Save my seat for me?"
"Sure thing."
She stealthily made her way over to Liam, Coach's commentary as the last few boys crossed over the finish line. A few of the boys glanced up at her as they panted for breath, but she was mostly ignored. As she stood behind Liam, who was oblivious to her presence, she waited until he was halfway through a push up before planting her foot square between his shoulder blades, "Hey, look! A new step-stool!"
The sudden pressure on his back caused Liam's arms to buckle, sending him sprawling onto the grass. One or two of the boys chuckled at the sight, though most just wheezed for air as they watched in mild amusement. He glared at her as he rolled over, leaning back on his elbows, "Really?"
She shrugged, "Not my fault you make the perfect step stool."
"Since you need one because you're so short?"
Her teasing look turned mocking, "Haha, very funny," she held up the drink so that he could see it, "Just for that, I'm taking back your Gatorade."
"Hey, wait, wait, wait!" He exclaimed, shifting to sit on his knees as she turned, hand stretched out to stop her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. You're the best big sister in the history of existence for buying me an energy drink that you despiseâaaaand I forgot to bring water to practice... so I kind of need it please..."
She frowned in faux displeasure before sighing, figuring that he had done enough groveling, "Call me an enabler, I guess." She tossed that bottle into his lap, "Here's your Lemon-Lime Gatorade, you freak."
He scoffed, twisting off the cap with a satisfying crack! "Says the person who drinks Orange Gatorade, which is the worst flavor."
"No it isn't!"
"Oh yeah? Name me one Gatorade flavor that is worse than Orange."
"Grape."
He hesitated, not expecting the answer, before conceding with a half-shrug, "Yeah, that's fair."
"Yeah, I know," she sighed, shaking off her brief spell of annoyance, "Anyway, I was just going to let you know that Geyer is working a night shift tonight, but he will only get off for about six or so hours to sleep before he had to head back in."
His brows were raised in disbelief, "Wait, really?"
"Yeah. Apparently, the hospital staff is stretched so thin that they're calling people back in, even if it gives them overtime."
"That explains why Mr. Hewitt has been looking so tired lately." He then frowned, looking somewhere behind her, "Hey, Lia?"
"Mhmm?"
"Why's your boyfriend staring at you?"
She quickly glanced over her shoulder to see that her brother was right; both Scott and Stiles were looking directly at them, their gazes wracking over them in observation, but while Stiles' shifting gaze remained firmly on Liam, Scott's had yet to move from her, his eyes filled with countless conflicting emotion, from hope to dejected to regret to longing. She quickly turned away, her own cheeks burning with the memory of their earlier encounter. Her skin tingled as they remembered the feeling of his lips on her.
"I'llâummâI'll tell you later," she mumbled, failing to ignore the heat on her cheeks.
Liam sent her a teasing look, "What? Did he kiss you or something?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her face rapidly turning red.
The teasing look fell at her silence, "Wait, did he actually kiss you?"
"No...shut up."
"wHAT-!"
His perpetual rant was (thankfully) interrupted by Coach blowing his whistle, allowing her to quickly slip away, consciously ignoring Liam's inscrutable noises of disbelief and Scott's unwavering gaze. The air between Malia and Kira was tense when she returned to the bleachers, as if she just walked in on something important. It was only Kira's smile, however strained it was, that swayed her hesitation enough to coax her to sit down.
As the tryouts began, she watched in stifled humor as the other players attempted to get their shots past the goalie. Most were duly worth noting, she realized after a few minutes of watching, only a handful of them were successful at scores; while the vast majority missed, whether they completely overshot, or just missed it by a hair's breadth. She shook her bowed head as the goalie caught another ball; it was safe to say that she did not have high hopes for the lacrosse team this season.
"Stiles is next," Kira said, causing her head to pop up from where it had been resting on her fist. As the aforementioned brunette stepped forward, causing Malia to raise her head from her Trig book and, much to Lia's confusion, tentatively sniffed the air before shaking her head, looking back down at her textbook, "He's gonna miss."
"Wha-" Lia's mouth was agape, "How can you even guess that? We've barely seen him in action."
Malia glanced up enough to nod in the direction of the field, "Because of that."
She turned in time to see Stiles struggling to scoop the ball into his net, trying a few more times before he aggressively picked it up and forced it into the stick's net. He licked his lip exaggeratedly, squinting at the goal as he lunged forward, flinging the ball forward with all of his might, watching it land... right into the goalie's crosse.
She stared at the scene before her, completely gobsmacked by what had just transpired. She didn't even have to turn her head to know that Malia was giving her an 'I told you so,' look. The silence seemed to stretch on between the three girls before it was interrupted by Kira's loud and abrupt snort.
The other two girls stared at her with bewildered looks, causing her to start laughing even harder. "I'm-I'm sorry," she wheezed out, tears of laughter clinging to the mascara on her lashes. "B-But your face after seeing Stiles' shot-!"
Her sentence broke off into another spiel of laughter, doubling over at the waist to hold her stomach. It wasn't long before Lia couldn't help but join in with some snickers and chuckles of her own, Kira's laughter seemed to be infectious that way. Malia looked at them blankly, as if she couldn't possibly understand what they were laughing at, before looking back at her book, leaving the two girls to get lost in their mirth.
Their sniggers and giggles began to taper off when Liam stepped up to shoot, scooping a ball into his net more effortlessly than Stiles had. He took a deep breath, eyeing the goal with a calculating look, oblivious to everyone else's eyes on him. Another breath, and he shuffled forward, swinging his stick with sharp precision, the ball flying through the air before sinking into the upper right corner of the goal; the goalie was too slow to stop it.
"Yes!!" The coach shouted, only a moment ahead of Lia's own cheer; their voices were quickly lost in the rest of the crowd's applause. Her brother twirled the lacrosse stick in his hand, grinning wildly and confidently as his gaze accidentally locked onto hers. The look was eerily similar to when he first started playing lacrosse, how he had looked to her every time he made a goal, silently asking her how he did.
She responded the same way she had back then; humoring him with a small, but genuine, smile, giving him four slow claps, to show that Yes, Ilee, I did see. You did good.
His smile turned bashful as we walked back into the crowd, another boy stepping up to shoot in his place. Her gaze landed on Scott and Stiles, who were talking fervently to each other, their gazes occasionally shifting towards Liam. She frowned, vaguely wondered if this had anything to do with what her brother was trying to tell her earlier as she kept her gaze moving back and forth between them before inevitably landing back on Stiles and Scott, their words drifting into her ears.
"âperfect at everything. IÂ hatethis kid."
"You don't have to hate him. The team needs more players."
"Uh-huh, and what about a new team captain?"
Scott turned, staring at his friend with wide eyes before looking back at the goal, eyeing it with a scrutinizing gaze as he moved forward, determination set on his features. He scooped the ball easily into the netted stick, flicking his wrist to and fro as his eyes remained trained on the goal. He could feel Lia's gaze on him, see her staring at him out of his peripherals. She had taken to lightly biting on her thumb nail, gaze trained fixedly on the scene playing out before her.
When later asked, he wouldn't be able to say what made him act the way he did, but when their eyes locked on each other, he gave her a slight smirk and winked.
She stared at him stunned, her eyes blinking almost owlishly before snorting softly, the sound drifting into his ears as she held up a hand to give him a thumbs up.
She's so cute, he thought tenderly.
The thought continued to circle through his head as he eyed the goal, experimentally flicking his stick in his hand before he lunged forward, throwing the ball with all of his might. To him, the whole lacrosse field seemed to fall silent and hold their breath, himself included. The only things he was perfectly aware of, was the ball soaring through the air and the sound of Lia's heart fluttering in her chest as she watched on.
The ball hit the side of the goal with a sharp, metallic ding, pulling Scott from his reverie. The team behind him immediately broke into laughter.
"Nice, McCall!" Garrett said.
"Hey, Garrett," Stiles called, his smile all teeth, "Shut up."
The blonde merely smirked in response.
The tryouts progressed in the same fashion; the freshman making every shot without fail while Scott's shots were either completely off target or were stopped by the goalie. Stiles wasn't faring any better. By the time the free shooting part of tryouts was over, Scott felt fairly confident that he wasn't getting his old spot back on the team.
"Isn't the captain supposed to be one of the best players on the team," he heard Malia ask, most likely to Kira, "Or at least good?"
"He might be distracted over the fact that he kissed Lia earlier," Kira teased, and he could hear Lia sputtering at the playful jibe.
He couldn't even look at them. Embarrassed didn't even begin to cover what he was feeling.
He tore his gloves off vehemently, frustration radiating from his very being as he flung them to the ground. He made his way to Stiles, who threw his arms out in incredulous exasperation. He jerked his head as Scott walked past. "Dude," he hissed, "What is going on with you?"
"I don't know," Scott panted breathlessly, "I'm having a really off day."
"Off day? You were dying out there!" Stiles gave him a scrutinizing look, "I felt actual physical pain watching you."
"I didn't see you make any shots," Scott said affronted.
"Yes, that is because I am terrible, though, Scott. You... You are the Alpha."
The human stated it as if it was obvious, to which his friend had to remind him of another obvious fact. "Not on the field," Scott gestured around them, "I'm a human on the field."
"Well human you is kinda sucking right now, so do you think there is any way you can use just a tiny bit of wolf power?"
The werewolf considered it for a moment before sighing, "It's cheating..."
"I know it is!" Stiles seethed, "It's just, I hate seeing this littleâfreshmanâcome in and steal all your glory after you worked your tushie off! I hate it!
"He's not gonna steal all the glory..."
Scott's adamant statement was interrupted by the sound of a lacrosse ball hitting the back of the goal net. The team was cheering behind them, egging Liam on as he scored yet another goal. The players crowded around the freshman as he joined them, slapping him on the back or giving him half hugs, giving him high-fives and congratulating him as he went.
Despite the team surrounding him, the freshman's eyes seemed to be drawn to the bleachers; the two juniors following his gaze to Lia, who was clapping in the stands, smiling at the beaming freshman.
Stiles huffed in resignation, shaking his head slightly at the unwanted, yet expected prediction coming true. Scott didn't acknowledge him, feeling jealousy rise in his chest as he watched the two blondes interact from afar. His eyes burned red without his permission, giving Stiles the answer to his earlier question.
The game was on.
ââ â
A pressure was beginning to form between Lia's eyes.
"Are you okay," Kira asked after she caught the girl wincing for the fifth time.
She forced herself to nod, her eyes narrowed into slits from the light. The pain from her earlier migraine was coming back, the painless lull she was in earlier was becoming a distant memory, an unfortunately familiar ache taking its place. It didn't help that Coach was prominently known for blowing his whistle for as long and as hard as he could when the opportunity presented itself.
The sharp sound of the whistle made her grimace. Case in point.
"Hustle! Hustle!" Coach scream after dropping his whistle. The team gathered around him, and he continued shouting undeterred. "McCall and Stilinski. Grab the long sticks. You're covering the goal for two-on-ones. Let's go! Line it up!"
The team quickly dispersed after clear dismissal. Lia bowed her head in pain, pinching the bridge of her nose.
A hand was placed on her shoulder, and Kira's scent drifted through her nose: fire lilies, ozone, and, this made Lia's nose turn up in confusion, sparks. As odd as the combination was, the smell was as soothing as her brother's scent. Some of the tension left her shoulders as the raven haired girl softly dragged her hand back and forth across her shoulder blades. Lia could faintly feel the callouses on the other girl's palms.
"You can head to the nurse if you need to," Kira tried to coax her, still rubbing her back gently. "They always keep her at school during lacrosse practice. I'm sure Scott won't be upset."
"He's not the person I'm worried about upsetting," she mumbled, the faintest traces of nausea stirring in the bottom of her stomach. "I promised my brother that I'd be here."
The hand on her shoulder stopped, "Your brother?"
"Mmmm, the kid I was talking to earlier, Liam, he's my brother."
Oh," Kira said before her hand resumed its soothing ministrations, "...I didn't know he was your brother."
Lia's lips twitched into a smile despite the pain, tilting her head so she could see Kira out of the corner of her squinted eyes. "Yeah, he's pretty great, both at being a brother and at lacrosse. Don't tell him I said that though. I don't want him to get an ego."
Kira gave a small chortle at Lia's playful, rebuking tone. "Don't worry," she said with a pat on the blonde's back, "You're secret's safe with me."
The crowd around them broke out into cheers and their head turned immediately turned back to the fields. Garrett was sprawled out on the field, his stick grasped loosely in his hands as the ball rolled away from the netted end. Scott stared down at him, twirling his stick expertly in his hands. Stiles stared at his teammate in awe.
The team let out a collective 'ooooooh' while Coach whooped in joy.
"That's my boys!" He shouted, turning to the extra lacrosse players next to him, "Those two are like sons to me."
"Yes," Kira cheered quietly, before leaning toward Lia, "They're doing much better than before."
"Maybe they found a pretty face in the crowd," she quipped back playfully. Kra broke out into snickers.
Another player stepped up, this one wearing a green shirt and shuffling anxiously from foot to foot. Her brother slapped him on the shoulder in a wordless good luck before Coach blew his whistle and the player took off. He shuffled side to side before ultimately lunging forward. Lia winced in sympathy as he got shoulder checked by Scott, who knocked his head against Stiles in a form of masculine celebration.
The team's 'ooooooh' was the same as before, just as Kira's hushed cheer was.
Lia winced as the whistle was blown, the next player taking off before she could note anything about them. They fell the same way as the player before them, except this time Stiles shoulder checked him along with Scott.
"That's how you do it!" Coach shouted, and Lia winced in pain, "That's! How! It's done!"
The pain in her pain had slowed to a near stop by the time her brother stepped up to score. He swung his stick in a wide arc in front of him, scuffing up the loose grass and dirt where his stick dragged the ground. Lia couldn't help but snort, remembering the countless hours Liam had spent perfecting that trick, and the amount of times he had let go of the stick, sending it sailing into the side of the house, or, less humorously, soaring into her person.
The amount of black eyes she has gotten from her brother's failed stunt is unbelievable.
He scooped the ball into his net as soon as the whistle blew, stalking forward with a vehement precision that would have set her on edge if it was anyone else. Stiles lunged first, taking a stab at the netted end of the stick that Liam smoothly evaded, letting go of the bottom end of the stick and swinging over Stiles' tumbling body. He grabbed it as quickly as he had let it go and, having learned from watching Garrett, tucked his stick into his chest as he turned away from Scott's attempt to knock it out of his hands. For what she can only assume was for added dramatics, he twirled the stick behind his back, somehow managing to keep the ball in the net before, spinning in place, launching the ball as hard as he could toward the goal. It sank in the upper right corner seamlessly.
"Woohoo! Go Ilee!" Her cheer drowned out Kira's groan and was quickly accompanied by the rest of the crowd. The pain in her head was the last thing on her mind as her brother met her gaze, pumping the hand holding his stick into the air in victory as he jogged back.
"That was luck!" Malia shouted from her feet. Lia gave a start, she hadn't even heard her stand up.
"Do over!" Malia continued shouting.
"Sweetheart," Coach patronized, "There are no do oversâthis is a practice."
"Ten bucks on Scott and Stiles!"
"I'll take that action," he said, pointing at her in all seriousness. Oblivious to Malia's smile, he turned back to the field and shouted, "Hey! Get back in there, Liam!"
The pain in her head returned with a roaring vengeance as Malia sat down. The light burned her eyes, and the pressure in her skull made her feel like her eyes were going to fall out. A hand was placed on her shoulder, grasping it carefully. "Maybe we should get her to the nurse."
She wasn't entirely sure who spoke, or who they were talking to, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. She could feel her face rapidly turning pale, "If you move me, I'm gonna get sick."
The nausea was rolling in her stomach with a ferocity that left her surprised that she hadn't gotten sick yet. She groaned, doubling over at the waist from the intensity, her head spinning at the sudden bout of vertigo. Her body would have pitched off the bleachers if it weren't for the hand on her shoulder. A sharp gasp was pulled from her lips, in sync with the one that came from behind her. She knew what was going to happen.
Nononononoâ
"Malia," she barely heard Kira plead, "Come help me!"
"Why? She could get sick on me. I don't want vomit on my clothes."
The words between the two girls were lost by the persistent ringing in her ears, growing higher in pitch with every passing second. Her chest grew tight in panic, fear choking her off at the throat, her breaths were short and quick. A pair of hands were grabbing her, anchoring her, and she knew they were talking to her, telling her to calm down and breathe, but she couldn't, why why why why can't she breathe, what was wrong with her what was happening why couldn't she breathe-!
A sudden breeze rushed past her face, the ringing in her ears suddenly stopping as a sound came from the lacrosse field that brought her hyperventilating to a stop, unease replacing the panic in her chest. She tilted her head to listen again, her eyes still closed as she ignored Kira and Malia trying to coax her to stand and try and make it to the bathroom before she got sick. Surely she hadn't been imagining it...
Another gust of wind and the sound came to her again, a sound that sent her back to that god awful night in the woods where her life was permanently changed for the worst and the many months after, the sound that haunted her nightmares and was her only company when she was poisoned and locked away during the nights with a full moon.
A growl.
The sound of the whistle pulled her from her painful flashback. The girls beside her flinched as her body snapped upward as if struck by an electric current, the blonde's heart beating erratically in her chest. She was used to the feeling of falling before witnessing horrific phantasms, but now it was like firecrackers going off behind her eyes, each flash burning a new picture into her mind. Horror churned deep in her stomach. Before, the visions were horrific due to what she was seeing.
Now they were horrific because of who she was seeing.
"Wait," she barely managed to whisper, before standing, shouting as loud as she could, "Liam WAIT-!!"
Her brother had just dodged Stiles when Lia screamed, and he turned to see what made his sister sound so terrified.
Liam stopped. Scott did not.
The junior ducked, catching the distracted freshman at the hips before standing swiftly, flipping the boy over his shoulder. The whole field seemed to fall silent as they watched Liam fall through the air and land on the ground with a loud and painful thud. No one needed super hearing to hear the loud CRACK! that came from Liam's leg as he fell.
A short, horrified scream slipped out of Lia's mouth before she could stop it, her hands coming up to cover her mouth and nose.
Scott's head snapped toward the bleachers, his blood running cold at the scream. He could see Lia from where he was, standing and her hands covering the lower half of her face. A film of wetness covered her eyes, and they were wide with fear and pain as if she was the one that Scott had just hurt and not the freshman. His heart twisted painfully in his chest at the notion.
"Don't move!" Coach shouted at Liam as he marched onto the field, before swiveling his glare to the two juniors, "Don't touch him!"
They both held their hands up and stepped away, a silent indicative that they weren't going to touch him. Coach glared at them before crouching down next to the writhing boy, "Liam-"
"Get off of me," the freshman shouted, flinging the arm holding the stick out. The ball, which had miraculously stayed in the net, flew out as soon as he swung the stick, hitting a boyâGreenburgâsquare in the jewels. The boy doubled over, keening loudly as he sunk to the ground in pain. The team let out a collective hiss of pain, the attention being temporarily pulled off of the injured freshman. Lia was moving before she even knew it.
He was slowly pushing himself away from the coach and the team, favoring his injured leg as he fervently tugged at his helmet with his gloved hands. His breathing was ragged, from pain and panic. She quickly aided him, pulling it up and over his head, and she only caught a glimpse of his blown pupils before he grimaced in pain, squinting his eyes. It only made sense that he hit his head when he fell, and her hands instinctively reached for his head, and he flinched back slightly as her hands touched his scalp.
"Easy, Ilee, it's just me," she said, grimacing at the feeling of his sweat soaked hair sliding between her fingers as she searched for some form of knot. She could hear the coach behind her, yelling at the team to start doing laps. Oddly enough, when the whole team left, Greenburg staggering off with them, Stiles, Scott, and Garrett stayed behind. All of their eyes held concern, but Scott's held a distinct tone of regret.
Good, she thought.
Coach crouched down next to her holding out a hand, "Let me take a look at him."
She barely resisted the urge to growl, "I got it."
"Um, sweetheart, leave this to the professionals, okay-"
"No." She snapped angrily, sending Coach the deadliest glare she could muster. In the heat of the moment, she had forgotten the well crafted lie she and Liam had come up with in order to bypass the adults who got too close when they didn't want them to. Her only concern was helping her brother. Even now, the muscles of her arms were burning beneath her long sleeve, where black veins were no doubt covering her skin, as she took as much pain as she could.
He balked at her forceful tone, looking like he was ready to fight her about it before Liam groaned. She froze, thinking she caused him some sort of pain. Then his eyes squinted open, glaring at her with the annoyance only worthy of a little brother who was tired of his big sister's antics.Â
"You... couldn't have waited until... I was of-off the field before starting the sister-henning... routine?"
She chuckled almost madly, the panic and fear from earlier still in her system, her fingers still searching. "Yeah, well, when I hear a loud crack after you get flipped over someone's shoulder like a sack of flour, I'd rather not wait to see if you're dead or not."
"I-I think it was just something in my leg, I-" he cut himself off with a wince as her fingers brushed over a spot on the back of his head. She pursed her lips in an attempt to hide her worry. "I don't feel any knot."
"The helmet took the brunt of it," Liam said, opening his eyes a bit more normally than they had before. As she watched, she could see his pupils react more appropriately than before. The blown pupils must have been from the initial shock from his fall. But still...
"Better safe than sorry. Gotta make sure the helmet somehow managed to protect that big, fat head of yours." She flashed him a shit-eating grin as she said it, and, albeit weak, the punch she got in retaliation was a welcome reprieve from her worry. It was her brother's way of saying lighten up and I'm fine all rolled into one.
She hadn't been lying when she told Kira earlier that she had the best brother.
"Fine," Liam whined with an exaggerated eye roll, answering the questions she didn't even have a chance to ask. "Liam Dunbar, Beacon Hills High School, and the date is February sixth."
She blinked, almost surprised, before she huffed jokingly, "You forgot to tell me who your favorite person is."
"Mason, obviously."
"CÄĹŁea," she said without any heat, moving downward to examine his leg.
"SmuciturÄ-hphm!," her brother replied, before letting out an affronted noise as she ripped off his lacrosse glove and shoved it into his mouth. She sent him a sorry grin as he gave her an appalled look, "You're gonna want that for the next part."
She didn't wait for his reply before rolling up his pant leg and pulling down his crew sock, her heart clenching painfully as his pained cries slipped out from behind the glove. She winced at the sight before her. In the short time since he had been injured, his shin had swollen up twice the size of his other. His ankle was in the same condition.
He looked at her with pain filled eyes, "Is it bad?"
"Could be," she said honestly, reaching to pull him up. "Could have strained it, could have sprained it, or you could have broken it. We won't know until we get to the hospital-"
"B-But we can't afford it-ARRGG!" he cut himself off with a cry of pain as his foot hit the ground. She sent Garrett a desperate look "Can you help me with him?"
He gave her a sympathetic nod before moving to help her.
"I can-"
"You've done enough," she snapped, swinging her livid glare to the guilty lacrosse captain. McCall flinched, drawing his hand back to his side as his shoulders hung with guilt. Despite what he did to her brother, she couldn't beat down the tendril of guilt that wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed.
ââ â
"He seems nice."
"Yeah, he and his girlfriend are friends with Mason. His older sisters are in your grade."
"You mean the Shining twins?"
"You've met them?"
She shrugged, glancing down at her phone screen before looking up, "Briefly. They don't really seem like the type of company I'd want to keep."
"You literally just said that Garrett was nice."
"For you. Not for me."
He started to laugh before he winced in pain. Lia readjusted his ice unthinkingly, gaze looking back down to her phone once she finished.
After quickly helping them to the nurse's office and helping Liam get settled on the school's blue, cushioned cot, Garrett offered to stay with them until their ride got there, to which Lia kindly thanked him for the offer before insisting he go back to the lacrosse tryouts. He had hesitated before wishing them both the best of luck and running back out to the field.
Once he was gone, Lia instantly set to work, pulling things out of different cabinets and the fridge and following the R.I.C.E. when it came to dealing with sprains: Raise, Ice, Compression, and Evaluate (or Rest and Elevation if you were to ask Liam. The only thing they could agree on was Ice and Compress). The nurse was nowhere to be seen, which served as a blessing in disguise as the sibling duo began to try and solve their current predicament: getting Liam out of the school and to the hospital. Without calling an ambulance.
"I'm gonna try calling mom again," she said, standing as gently as she could so as not to jostle his leg. The phone was ringing in her hand as she walked out, sending Liam a reassuring look before closing the door softly behind her. The image of her brother's pain filled expression lingered in her mind as she anxiously gnawed on her lip, pressing the phone to her ear. The ringing was steadily grinding on her nerves.
"The number you are trying to reach is not available. At the to-"
She hung up with a frustrated sigh, bowing her head and pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. Her other hand hung at her side, and it took all of her limited control to not crush her phone in her enhanced grip.
A familiar scent drifted through her nose, apple cinnamon and brown sugar, and it quickly fanned the flames of anger that were simmering in her stomach, causing it to roar with the veracity of a bonfire. She swung her irate gaze to Scott, who was a few feet away to her left, standing beneath the exit sign with a guilt-ridden posture. "You've got some fucking nerve-"
"I'm sorry," Scott blurted out instantly, freezing her in her tracks as regret and sincerity dripped off of his every word. He was wringing his hands out in front of him, his entire body was posed to show just how nervous he was. His sad, brown eyes were wide and almost wet looking, his shoulders bowed with his grief. She didn't think it was even possible for anyone to outdo Liam in the teary-puppy-eyes department.
She also didn't think that McCall would be capable of hurting anyone, but he seemed dead set on proving her wrong today.
"You broke my brother's ankle and you're apologizing to me? " She seethed, "Seriously, McCall!?"
"I know, I just, I thought-" he stopped, his mind lagging over her words, "it's broken?"
The fiery rage in her eyes vanished, washed away by her sadness and concern for her brother, "It looks like it... it's either that or a really bad sprain." She sighed heavily, her hands raising up to press the muscles of her thumbs into her eyes, phone still clenched in a shaky hand. "The only way for us to be certain is to take him to the hospital, but Geyers working and my mom won't pick up her fucking phone-"
"I can take you," he blurted out, then cringed, "Well, I mean, Stiles can take us, because he has the jeep and my mom took the car to work, but since she's working, she'll be able to get us-I mean, you back there as quickly as possible. But... only if you're comfortable..." He said, eyes hesitantly trailing over her trembling figure.
The puzzling mixture of confusion, fear, mistrust, and anger were rolling off of her in waves. He resisted the urge to scrunch up his nose as she threw her hands down, sending him a fuming stare.
"Fine," she said forcefully, "Fine. You can take us to the hospital. But I swear McCall... you ever hurt my brother again-"
"I won't," he rushed, relief pouring through him, visible in the way that his shoulders dropped, "I promise."
"You better." She said with a note of finality, before walking back into the nurse's office, and, in perfect contrast to her anger, the door closed behind her with the softest click, leaving Scott all alone in the hallway.
ââ âBeacon Hills, California. February 6th, 2012.ââ â
ââ â04x03: mutedââ â
ââ â
TW: MENTIONS OF SHOW DEPICTED VIOLENCE, LIAM BEING A LITTLE SHIT, TALK AND SHOW OF THE WALCOTT FAMILY MASSACRE.
"Of course you're still team captain," Stiles said in an obvious tone of voice, like it should have been a given, "You got your grades up just like Coach told you to, right?"
The crunch of gravel beneath their feet was nothing but background noise compared to Scott's rampant thoughts. A few boys were already on the lacrosse field, tryingâand failingâto get anything past the goalie. He was good, Scott could admit, really good. Good to the point that Scott had completely strayed from the conversation, his focus completely enraptured by the mysterious person in the goal.
"Scott!"
His attention was jerked back to the human net to him, who was staring at him in exasperation, "Seriously, man? Really?"
"Sorry," Scott said, "What were you saying?"
"Your grades. Did you get them up like Coach asked you to?"
"Yeah, but he never told me I was back on the team." Scott said as he walked, head shaking in discouragement, "He just told me to show up at tryouts today."
Stiles waved away his comment, arms up in the air as he reshouldered his bag. "We got bigger things to deal with anyway. Did you tell Argent yet?"
"Ah, I texted him, but he didn't get back to me."
Stiles turned slowly, sending his friend an incredulous look, "You told him his sister Kate came back from the dead over text?"
"I didn't have the money to call France," Scott said patently with a shrug.
"Alright," Stiles conceded, "What about Isaac? Have you tried talking to him?"
"He didn't give me his number when he left," Scott said quietly. The air between the two werewolves was tense after Allison's passing, words left unsaid as wounds too fresh to talk about drove them apart. The only comfort the young alpha had received was Isaac's parting words, "If you need me... I'll be here."
He hadn't left a number for Scott to contact him with, but he had appreciated the sentiment all the same.
Stiles huffed, anxiously licking his lips, "Yeah, you think you got money problems? Try paying for an MRI and a visit to Eichen House."
Scott winced sympathetically, "Another notice?"
"Yeah, and this one said, "Final"," Stiles sighed, before snapping back to attention, "Now, what the hell are we even doing here anyway? We got, like, a hundred and seventeen million problems, and worrying about our status on the lacrosse team is not one of them."
Scott, whose attention drifted back towards the field midconversation, stared over his friend's shoulder with wide, worried eyes, "It is now."
Stiles stared at him with a puzzled expression before he whipped his head around, his jaw dropping in disbelief as he watched the field.Â
Two boys, one which they knew as a sophomore and the other they had never seen before, were both taking rapid shots at the goal. The goalie, whose helmet didn't permit them to see his face, never once faltered. Swinging his arms in small, but precise acres, he never failed to catch the ball, and with a downward stroke and a small flick of his wrist, the ball would roll onto the small group of them in the grass before bringing his stick back up, catching the next ball in the nick of time.
The time between the balls being fired became shorter with every passing moment, but the goalie never stopped, only spreading up accordingly and still never missing a shot. The rapidly fired lacrosse balls joined the ever growing pile at the goalie's feet and he bounced skillfully from foot to foot, shuffling smoothly from one side of the goalpost to the other, appearing as the epitome of balance and grace. As if challenging his skill, the two attackers collectively shot three balls in rapid succession; one aimed for the upper right corner, one for the lower left, and the other for the upper left.Â
With swift, calculated movements, the masked goalie caught them all with ease.
"Who the hell is that," Stiles demanded.
"Holy shit," Scott mumbled.
"He's good, isn't he?"
The previously unnerved boys startled in sync, almost falling over one another at the sudden accented words. It was quite a show to watch them try and maintain their balance, eliciting a chuckle from the disembodied voice. Under the bleachers, peering at them from behind her cheap, two dollar pair of orange-yellow sunglasses, sat Lia Dunbar.Â
Her feet were propped on one of the lower supporting beams and the chair she sat in looked heavily like the chairs that they all had used in elementary school, where the girls with longer hair would always complain about their hair getting caught in the metal rings on the backs of their seats. A purple-blue flannel covered what seemed to be a gray t-shirt, which matched her blue jeans nicely. The school library's hardback copy of Divergent sat in her hands.
"I'll take your reaction as you didn't know I was here," she gave them a small smile at their evident lack of grace. Stiles went on to sputter excuses, while Scott just gave her a stunned look. He wondered briefly if she had heard any of the boys' previous conversation, but as her gaze flickered between them and the field, he figured that she was just as enraptured by the game as they were.
"I didn't know you watched lacrosse," he said, face melting into a grin.
"I usually don't," she closed her book with a dull snap! as she rose, "But given I was so kindly invited to come watch the early morning practice under the guise of 'watching him kick the other teammates' asses'."
By this time she had reached the end of the bleachers, where she wordlessly stuck out her hand. Scott took it instinctively, a wave of something flooding through his being, filling him with an almost renewed found of energy. It reminded him of when he was first bitten, all of his senses magically able to perceive things that they had never been able to before.
Now, all his senses could focus on was her. The feeling of warmth emanating from her palms, the feelings of her fingers laced between his, her small hand being covered and protected by his, and the way her already attractive scent had the sweet smell of adoration sprinkled across it. She pulled her hand back without warning, leaving Scott feeling suddenly cold and almost off kilter. His eyes lifted to meet her, but she had pushed her sunglasses to rest on her head and the first thing Scott took notice of were the bag hanging under her eyes.
"Did you get any sleep last night?" He asked, tone covered in concern.
She tensed briefly before shaking it off, giving him what would have been a reassuring look if she hadn't appeared so exhausted. "It's been a rough couple of days. I'm sure I'll be able to sleep better tonight."
Suddenly, for a dreaded moment, Scott wondered if she had heard any of the boys' previous conversation, and was just waiting for the opportunity to ask him what exactly he had been talking about, but as her gaze flickered between them and the field, he figured that she was just as enraptured by the game as they were.Â
Or, more specifically, was as enthralled by the goalie as they were.
Oh, Scott thought, disappointment slowly dawning on him.
The goalie was young, a freshman at the very least. With his dark blond hair and blue eyes, Scott recognized him as the kid who he had seen at the gas station with Lia when they first met. Originally, he thought that it was her brother, but after their many conversations and a brother never being mentioned, Scott began to doubt himself.
"So who is he," Scott asked as politely as he could manage, "The guy who invited you."
"Oh, the goalie's the one who invited me. He's my..." she smiled, and Scott was struck by a sudden pang of jealousy over the guy who made her smile like, "He's my best friend."
"...Oh."
Doubt began to bubble in Scott's chest.
"C'mon Stiles," Scott said with a sudden vehemence, "We need to go practice."
"Wa-Scott wait!"
Lia gave the smallest chuckle at the sight of Scott dragging his best friend onto the field, the brief moment of mirth dispelling the pounding in her head as she climbed to sit on the third row of bleachers. The same thing had happened a few minutes earlier, when she had impulsively stuck out her hand and McCall had taken it without a second thought. Sparks had seemed to fly up her arm, and her senses were tossed into overdrive, her body becoming overly aware of his touch and scent, which were a touch away from being overwhelmingly compelling, as if silently coaxing her into enjoying the sensation for a little while longer.
She had pulled her hand away as casually as possible, trying to ignore the way that something in her chest seemed to howl in disappointment, followed by the pounding of her head steadily returning.
The feeling wasn't too dissimilar to what she was feeling at the moment. The ache in her skull was thumping with the beat of her heart, the sharp pain growing with every beat. It was making it hard to focus on the morning practice, or how Liam was talking to the other two players about an unknown subject, or how Stiles was ranting to Scott about something while the boy was clearly not paying attention, clearly listening to something else, but she did notice how his head snapped up, staring at her in almost horror as he opened his mouth to say somethingâ
âbut then something seemed to snap in the back of her mind, the pain suddenly stopping as darkness began to cross over her vision. She could see enough to know her body was pitching forward even though she could feel herself tipping back and now she was falling falling fallingâ!
The world was spinning around her, the wind howling in her ears nearly as overwhelming as the rapidly revolving darkness. Her body was still falling backwards, the thick, impending darkness caging her in until her body slammed to a stop, pain flaring through her being, even though she never felt her body slam into anything.
The first thing she noticed when the world slowly came to a stop was the distant feeling of frigidness. The world around her had yet to come back into focus, instead just leaving the details vague, as if she was looking through a thick fog. Simple details began to emerge slowly, three metal tables placed methodically in the center of the room, a single overhead light shining down on one of the tables, and three body bags placed on each aforementioned surfaces; though, one was opened halfway while the other two were closed.
She could feel the phantom chill dancing across her skin and she shivered involuntarily. She knew from experience how cold morgues were.
She could see the body in greater detail than she cared to admit. The deep lacerations marred the John Doe's chest, a pair of marks forming an X over the man's heart; no double cracking the person's ribs, and potentially piercing their lungs. Blood was smeared all across the chest cavity along with the blood that had leaked past its mouth after its lungs were punctured, unknown to Lia. The morticians had obviously not been given the time to clean up the bodies properly, only enough time for the cops to have a better view of the bodies to see the cause of death. She was surprised to see bruises all across its chest, she didn't think the body had enough blood in it to leave bruises.
The other two bags were closed, but she could imagine that they were in a similar condition. On the left side of the body, looking down over the body, two people stood. Their faces were somewhat concealed by the slowly thinning fog, but she could make out the barest details. The one that was shorter was a woman, olive toned skin, dark hair, lavender scrubs, and her scent was a mixture of medical supplies, fabric softener, and the barest hints of rose perfume.
The man was slightly taller than she was, with light blonde hair, equally as light skin that was slightly pink from the cold, a dark, olive green coat and a beige button up underneath, and his scent was an odd combination of cheap coffee, paperwork, and the lingering scent of fast food.
They shared a meaningful look as the nurse released her grip on the bag, the man letting out a deep exhale.
"Now I know why he hasn't spoken a word to the psychologist yet," the woman murmured, and Lia could help but jolt in surprise. Memories of all of her times in the hospital flashed before her eyes, from the day her dad and grandmother died, to all of her best friend's asthma attacks that would result in a hospital trip, and the time she woke in the hospital after she had been found after being missing for three months. Whatever it may be, she always seemed to run into Ms. McCall during her stay there. From what she could remember, she was always nice to her, reminding her of her father in a way.
"He's going be in shock for a while, isn't he?" Said the man, who she now realized was Sheriff Stilinski, a man she has seen only slightly less in her life than her own mother.
Ms. McCall conceded with a nod before looking back out over the body bags, "This was his whole family?"
"Mother, Father, and older brother. Christina, Micheal, and David," he signed, shaking his head at the sight before him, "Sean was the youngest, and the only one who got away. The question is from what?"
The nurse stared at him unblinking, "By who. These wounds weren't caused by claws and fangsâ"
Lia's stomach dropped.
"âThese are deep cuts, a combination of sharp and blunt force trauma."
"That's what the M.E. said. Some kind of ax. I just need to make sure that we didn't have to, uh..."
"Involve the boys?"
The Sheriff didn't seem too surprised at the nurse's guess. He also didn't seem to be happy with the notion, "Yeah. If this is an everyday homicide instead of the... other kind... then maybe we can give them a day off from the world of murder and massacres."
"When do we get a day off," she asked seriously, giving him a straight face before her lips perk up into the smallest smile. Her hands moved to zip up the bag, but she stopped, turning to look at him with a curious expression, "How did you guys get the bodies so quick anyways? I had only just made the call to you about Sean when they rolled the bodies in. Did someone report it?"
"Yeah, um..." the Sheriff glanced around, almost as if he was making sure no one was listening before turning back to Ms. McCall, "We got a call a little past four in the morning, from someone requesting a welfare check on them."
"Someone?"
"A girl with an accent, they said. The operator was going to push it off for the morning shift to deal with until the girl on the phone said she could hear them screaming."
He shook his head, shifting his weight as the palm of his hands pressed against the steel table, "She hung up before the operator could ask her any more questions. We had two squad cars over there before four-thirty, but the attacker was gone, and only three out of the four family members were there. We were about to call in an APB out for him when we got the call that he was in the hospital."
Ms. McCall nodded, taking in the information, "Did one of the neighbors call it in? They lived in a fairly populated neighborhood, didn't they?"
The Sheriff nodded, "They did, but most of their neighbors had been asleep the entire time, they didn't know anything was wrong until we got there. One of their next door neighbors is in Wisconsin visiting sick family and the other is a deaf, eighty year old woman. No one there claims to have reported it."
Ms. McCall opened her move, paused, then plowed through with her question with the grace of someone who had experience asking odd questions that sounded normal to just the right people, "Do you think someone like Lydia reported it?"
"Maybe," the Sheriff said with a shrug, "But if that's the case, then this is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better."
"Figures," the nurse said, fingers reclaiming the zipper. The edges of Lia's vision were turning black. "Things were finally starting to become peaceful around here."
The last thing she could hear was the sound of the zipper closing before her senses left her.
It wasn't so much drifting back to awareness as it was her consciousness being slammed back into her body. Her head throbbed in multiple places like someone had taken a hammer to it, the gravel beneath her hands felt like glass pricking her skin. She vaguely noted that someone was supporting her, keeping her in an upright position, but the detail was quickly disregarded when she realized how freaking bright it was.
"Oh god," she groaned, slowly becoming aware of the chaos around her, "It's too fucking bright, someone turn it off."
Someone sighed in front of her, who she quickly realized was her brother, "That's the sun, Lia."
Her groan became louder, and just a touch of dramatic, though she would claim she was entitled. "God, even worse. Someone give me my sunglasses before I vomit everywhere."
"Charming," she heard another boyâStilesâsay somewhere off to her left, and if she wasn't in so much pain, she would have flipped him off. She felt her brother gently slip the cheap sunglasses over her face and waited a few moments for the pain to abate before she even dared open her eyes.
The first thought she had was ow. The feeling wasn't much different from this time last year when she had taken a bottle of Geyer's whiskey and chugged it, learning a trick from someone that if she put a little wolfsbane in the liquor, it would affect her like it would normal people. Except drinking a bottle of whiskey didn't hurt this bad, and drinking didn't force her to listen to people's private conversations.
The second thing she noticed was how everyone was staring at her, expressions ranging from curious to concerned to smug. The last expression came from the boy in the red and black, under armour workout shirt. His dirty blond hair was windswept, and she could see the beginning signs of grease building at the roots
"You look like shit," he said after noticing her staring.
She scowled, ready to snap at him and tell him to go wash his fucking hair when Liam did it for her, turning with a scowl that was ready and nearly rivaled her own.
"What the fuck, Garrett," Liam said, words brash with anger, "You can't just talk to people like that. Didn't your mom teach you better manners than that?"
Garrett's smug expression dropped at the words before shifting into a steely stare.
Another pulse of pain ricocheted throughout her skull causing her to groan.
Worst. Hangover. Ever.
"Lia," her brother called, the anger now gone from his voice and was steadily sounding more concerned, "Are you okay? Is this a blood pressure thing? Raynaud's thing? What do you need?"
One question at a time, Ilee, she swallowed thickly, her throat suddenly becoming dry. Despite the pain-induced nausea rolling through her at the moment, she knew water was her best bet right now.
"Water," she croaked with a wince, her voice sounded bad in her own ears, she didn't want to know what it sounded like to them.
"Yeah!" he exclaimed, causing her to wince, to which he drastically lowered his volume, "Yeah, no problem, I'll be right back, just, uh, don't go anywhere."
Under different circumstances, she would have laughed at his completely awkward departure, but it was currently taking all of her energy to keep her morning coffee from making a disturbing reappearance.
"Are you okay," she heard Scott whisper from behind her, who she now realized was propping her up against his chest, one arm wrapped secured around her waist to keep her from slipping as the other brushed the hair off her forehead, his warm hand surprisingly soothing against her clammy skin.
(In a different universe, the thought of Scott McCall holding her against his chest would have sent her blushing madly. Now she was just worried about why she was seeing dead people when she dreamed.)
The feeling of dread crawled up her spine as she suddenly remembered the contents of her dream(?). The memories of the morgue, the bodies, and the conversation between the nurse and sheriff flashed through her mind, all of those memories making the nausea tumbling in her stomach churn even faster. Her already shaky pulse seemed to skyrocket, causing her vision to become spotty.
"Hey, Lia? Lia, you need to calm down, your heart rate is getting too high, you're going to pass out again. Liam? Liam!"
It was hard to focus on the voices after that, the panic and fear more overwhelming than the odd mix of comfort that her brother and McCall seemed to bring her.
What's happening to me, she thought in terror.
But the scariest part was that she didn't even have an answer.
ââ â
"You're boyfriend's a creep. So is his friend."
If it weren't for the insistent pounding in her head, a collective effort from the godawful fainting spell from earlier, and the booming, insistent chatter of the other students as they walked down the hall. She winced every time a blue locker door slammed shut, grimaced at the pounding footsteps hitting the tile floor, and cringed whenever a particularly loud laughter echoed in her head like a gong. Her sensitive hearing was normally manageable on a good day.
For context, this was not a good day.
"Lia!"
"Gah!" She blenched at the sudden shout, pain assaulting her senses before she could get a grip on it, "Fuck, Ilee, what?"
"I was just going to tell you that your boyfriend's a creep," he frowned, "Does your head still hurt?"
"It ebbs and flows," she said with a shrug, grimacing ever so slightly. What had started out as a pounding migraine in the morning had mellowed out into a dull ache by the middle of second hour. The pain followed the up and down pattern the entire day, leaving her body feeling achy and drained. As of now, the pain was on the downhill slide, once again granting her a gratifying sense of relief. The repetition was getting a bit dull, though.
"Wait, hang on," she said, suddenly remembering his earlier statement, "What did McCall do?"
"I'd like you to notice how I didn't even say his nameâ"
"Don't be an asshole, I'm trying to help you."
"I'm just saying, you too are so mushy, it's disgusting."
"Oh, please," she rolled her eyes, "You've seen us interact, like, twice. That doesn't exactly give you the grounds to call us disgusting."
"Of course it does," he said easily, "It's my solemn duty as your brother. That. and annoying the hell out of you."
"You don't need much help with that," she grumbled, putting the last of her books away before gently closing her locker door. The blinding ache was finally starting to taper off. She raised a brow once she realized that Liam hadn't moved, instead shifting from foot to foot as he peered around the hallway, clearly itching to tell her something.
She raised a brow at his persistent squirming, "Did... something else happen?"
"Oh," he said, as if remembering something he had forgotten to mention. His demeanor quickly shifted from annoyed-younger-brother to over-excited-puppy. "You're still coming to tryouts later, right? I talked to the coach earlier and he said that we had made it back in time for the lacrosse tryouts before the season started and guess what? They're open tryouts!" He said, not giving her much time to guess, "That means that all of the positions are open. If I try hard enough, I might be able to make team captain!"
"It's certainly possible," she agreed vaguely. While he was kicking everyone's ass on the field before her episode that morning, she also knew about the unspoken directive of 'seniority rules,' despite how heavily she thinks that line of thinking is bullshit, "I don't think a single person got the ball past you before I blacked out this morning. It could happen."
His mood dampened ever so slightly at the mention of her fainting spell that morning, but he quickly shook it off, sending her an unsure, hopeful smile, "So, you'll be there?"
"Obviously," she said, "It's not like I have anywhere better to be."Â
Seeing his unconvinced face, she sighed, dropping the untouchable, emotionless facade that she had adopted to deal with the pain in favor of her true, genuine expression that she knew Liam would believe easier than any words she could say. "Is this important to you?"
"Yeah."
"Then it's important to me. I'll be there." She sent him a sincere smile, "Promise."
He studied her face for a moment before sighing, gratitude filling his expression as he stared at her with relieved eyes, "Thanks Lia."
"Hey, what can I say," she smiled, giving him an easy shrug, "I'm always gonna be here for you, Ilee. Mereu."
His gaze shifted to something over her shoulder before flitting back. Mischief replaced the relief she had seen earlier, "Vine iubitul. Ora sase."
"Wha-"
She didn't even get time to process what he said before he grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her around harshly and shoving her forward. Her head protested at the sudden movement and she staggered for balance before another set of arms grabbed her. Apple cinnamon and brown sugar hit her nose instantly, cutting through the pain and the dizziness that had engulfed her head, leaving her staring wide eyed at the overly concerned expression of Scott McCall.
"Wha-" she immediately spun her head to see her brother sprinting down the hall, "Liam!!"
"Imi vei mulČumi mai tarziu!!"Â Was all she heard before he dashed around the corner.
"Prick," she mumbled before turning back to look up at the boy whose arms she was currently being held in, "Sorry about that."
"It's okay," he said easily, eyes still shifting over her in concern, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," she said sincerely. It was the best she had felt all day, surprisingly. The pounding in her head even seemed to have diminished greatly than any other time previous.
He smiled, his mirth and relief almost blinding her. He kept a gentle grip on her arms as they both stood up before awkwardly gripping his backpack straps. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, his smile becoming slightly hopeful, "Wanna walk with me to my locker?"
She couldn't help but snort softly, "You're an absolute dork, McCall. Lead the way."
As it would turn out, his locker was only a little way down the hall from hers. Two of his friends, Stiles and Kira, were standing a little further down the hall, trying as hard as they could to look as innocent and inconspicuous as possible. It didn't work though; their staring was about as subtle as a house fire.
"Hey, Lia," the boy said, pulling books out of his bag and placing them back into his locker. He was skillfully avoiding her gaze, "Are you coming to lacrosse tryouts later?"
She confirmed with a cheerful hum, "Yup. Liam asked if I could come and I promised him that I would, so, yeah, I'll be there."
"...he did?"
The flat tone in his voice took her off guard more than the words did. She frowned, looking at him with inquiring eyes. "Yeah, I mean, I didn't see anyone get any shots past him this morning and I didn't really get the chance to see you in action so I figured I might as well come and watch you guys, if only to know who to cheer for this season."
The last part was said as a joke to alleviate the tension, but Scott didn't care. His chest grew warm at her statement, as if she had grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the sun with just her words. He suddenly couldn't wait for the school day to end, if only to get onto the field and hear Lia cheering his name as he scores goal after goal.
RRRRIIIIINNNNNGGGG!
The sudden sound of the bell ringing sent a sharp dose of panic through their veins. Scott began shoving books in his bag faster than before, finally turning to look at Lia. "So, you'll be there?"
She smiled faintly, Scott wasn't sure if she was aware of it or not. "I wouldn't imagine being anywhere else, McCall."
"Great!" He beamed, "See you then."
Mindlessly, he swooped down and kissed her, lips pressed against her lower cheek, edging close enough to touch the corner of her lips. He pulled back before she had a chance to process what had just happened. He jogged down the hall, moving straight past Kira and Stiles, who were staring at him with awed and stunned expressions, without paying them any mind.
Lia, who hadn't moved since Scott had kissed her, blinked owlishly at the space in front of her, her cheeks beginning to turn a deep red. Her mind seemed to have turned to mush, but finally, finally, a single thought emerged from the scrambled aftermath.
What the actual fuck?
Inside the economics class, Scott too, had begun staring at the space in front of him, his actions and their consequences finally dawning on him. A mild version of horror began to fill his expression.
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ââ âBeacon Hills, California. February 1st â6th, 2012.ââ â
ââ â04x03: mutedââ â
ââ â
TW: SHOW DEPICTED VIOLENCE AND MENTIONS OF DEAD BODIES.
The Nights of February 1st - 6th, 2012
The Nights of February 1st - 6th, 2012
The voices were talking again.
Under different circumstances, she would have been annoyed that this couple was ruining the few precious hours of sleep that she gets a night with their chatter. But the disembodied voices spoke urgently, voices hushed into a whisper, and she could never help but try to listen in. If it were possible, she would have headed in their direction in an attempt to help them, if only just so that she could sleep. Yet, her surroundings were completely dark, as if she had entered a void within her own mind.
Though if she had, she mused, there probably wouldn't be people talking in here.
There were two people, she realized after listening to the inflection of their voices. One boy and one girl. Their voices were distant and echoey, as if she was hearing them from down a large tunnel. She took a few steps closer, closing her eyes and straining her ears to listen, only catching a few words.
"Haveâway out?"
"Noâfindâway."
"Ba...âBeacon?
"Ma...âPack?"
"YouâScottâfind us?"
"I don't know..."
The last sentence was as clear as rain, and she frowned, opening her eyes back up to peer into the darkness, "Hello?" She called.
The voices were silent, so silent that she wondered if they had left, before a calamity of noise hit her like a hammer to her skull. Their voices were screeching at her, one overlapping the other, piercing and ringing through the air with a similarity to church bells, until one, the girl, finally broke through and said a clean full sentence.
"FIND HIM!! FIND SCOTT MCCALL!!"
She threw her hands up over her ears, staggering backward as her head began to spin, her ears ringing until she tripped, and then she was falling falling fallingâ
Until she wasn't. Then a new voice spoke.
"Willow!"
The world was blurry, the boy coming into focus faster than his suburban surroundings did. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary about him; dark blond hair that was almost a light brown, pale bluish-gray eyes, dressed in a simple t-shirt with sweatpants, no shoes, but the open door of the house behind him suggested he wasn't going far from home. A sudden breeze cut through the night.
"Willow!!" He called again, rubbing his arms as goosebumps ran up his skin. Nothing happened, no human, or pet, she assumed, responded to the call, the suburban neighborhood just as still and peaceful as it was before he left his home. She looked around, dully taking in the little details she could see around her, parked cars, street signs, and a few number plaques. Nothing, in particular, caught her eye, but small details she took note of.
He shivered, rubbing his arms again as he gave one last scan of the suburban neighborhood before turning to go back inside.
The world blurred, and when it came back into focus with her standing on a catwalk above a foyer. The bubs in the glass chandelier cast pretty patterns over the wood floors and cream walls. Simple decor was scattered around the foye; a small table with a bible resting on top and a vase on the bottom shelf sitting off to the side of the door, a coat rack directly beside the door, and a family portrait hanging on the wall next to the stairs.
The boy appeared again, opening what was the front door before closing it behind him, and locking the deadbolt, "Mom, I can't find her."
The boy flicked off the light switch, the sudden darkness of the house concealed the more prominent details, the only light creeping through the sheer curtains by the front door allowing very little to light the interior. In the day, it would have felt extremely homey, putting anyone who walks in at ease; but in the dark, with no one but the boy in sight, it was desolate, haunted, as if she had stepped into the middle of a graveyard during a new moon.
It felt perturbing, unsettling. Something was wrong.
The boy seemed to come to the same conclusion, as he walked further into the house than she could see, flicking off more lights as he went. "Mom?!"
There was no answer. He paused his head turning as he searched the hallways of his home before he came to a stop at the foot of the stairs. His fingers, resting just over the switches, froze in place as he called up the stairs, "I'm going to bed!"
Again, no answer. The feeling of dread and unease was worming its way into her stomach, and the boy hesitated before flipping the final switch. Darkness coated the rest of the main floor, and the stair creaked softly under his feet as he walked upward, his right hand softly, ghosting over the railing as he ascended.
The upstairs area was as simply decorated as the downstairs area. A faint light from the street filtered in from the window of one of the bedrooms, which allowed minimal visibility to the other rooms that were shrouded in darkness. The floorboards continued creaking in sync with his footsteps, only stopping when he turned back to scan the upstairs space. His eyes scoured the darkness, searching for something to have caused the shift of fear in his stomach, before he scurried into the room, closing the squeaky door behind him.
The world blurred again, coming back into focus in what she could only assume was the boy's bedroom. Posters were pinned up on the walls, trinkets from his childhood were placed all along the dressers, and clothes were scattered all across the floor, namely towards the edge of his bed. Seemingly have had forgotten about the unease he had felt earlier, he pulled his shirt off and dropped it onto the floor with the ever growing pile of his clothes. The creaking of the floorboards disappeared as his feet touched the carpeted floor that encased his bed, His covers rubbed against the sheet as he pulled them over his body and he reached over to flick off his lamp light.
He froze, eyes trailing over his carpet next to his clothes pile and she followed his gaze. It wasn't hard to see what got his attention.
Little circles of darkness stained the off-white carpet, the small tracks leading under his bed. Upon closer inspection, she realized they weren't circles of darkness, but little bloodied paw prints of a small animal, perhaps a cat or maybe a dog. The very center of the prints were a dark black, only the very edges showed the true crimson color of blood. What was more horrifying was the fact that the prints were shining in the lamplight, the blood no doubt fresh.
As soon as the realization hit her, the ever-familiar smell of the crimson ichor hit her nose, dread sloshing around roughly in her stomach.
The boy lowered himself over the edge of the bed with caution, clearly recognizing the significance of the bloody stains. As he peered underneath, his hair beginning to skim the floor, she held her breath, waiting for the horrible moment when the monster under the bed would reach out its clawed hands and grip him by his face and drag him under the bed, kicking and screaming the whole way as he begged for mercy and for someone to save him.
Instead, he sighed, shoulders dropping with evident relief. She frowned in confusion.
"Hey you," he said gently, bracing one hand against the floor as the other one reached up and angle the lamp light closer to the floor before bringing his hand back down and reaching into the chasm of darkness that resided under his bed as if that was a sane thing to do. She couldn't decide if the boy was brave or stupid, or a chaotic mixture of both.
He pulled back his search ( hand surprisingly still intact) shifting into a more comfortable, upward position on his bed. And, to her utmost surprise and disbelief, he had a cat nestled in her arms. It was a beautiful cat, she would admit, with a black fluffy tail, a mixture of white and black fur coating its face, and what seemed to be a misshapen pattern of orange and white fur covering its body.
It seemed to calm in the boy's grasp, content to purring and getting scratches behind the ears.
"What were you doing down there, girl," he frowned, staring down at the cat with an odd look, "And what's all over your fur?"
He glanced over at the lamp before reaching for it, angling the light back up towards the bed and, most importantly, to him and the cat in his arms.
As soon as the light hit the cat, the sight made Lia want to gag. The cat didn't have a speck of orange on it, the color of its fur was either black or white, save for its pink nose that sat amongst the white fur. The cat's entire body, which she thought was a misshapen collage of orange and white fur, was covered in blood.
The boy gasped harshly at the realization and threw himself back, the cat leaping from his arms and diving under the bed, as graceful and as uninjured as it was that morning.
The boy scrambled off the bed, stumbling back in horror from where the cat was now hiding, when a woman's scream began to emanate from beyond his bedroom door. He stood there, panting for breath as he stared at his door in terror. There was a loud succession of thuds outside, then a man began crying out in pain. There were no words in their screams, it was nothing but the sound that a human could only produce when experiencing the most primal sense of fear.
When they were being hunted.
Goosebumps rose across her arms, wracking her body with a sudden chill that left her trembling. The boy seemed unaffected, or if it did affect him, he didn't let it show. The man's scream died off and the woman's scream picked up after him, sounding even more horrifying and gut-churning than before. This seemed to rouse the boy into action and he charged at the door, throwing it open with a mighty purpose.
As soon as it was open, the screaming stopped.
He quickly scanned the upstairs area, eyes shifting from one darkened doorway to the next, searching for the mysterious assailant. He had unknowingly placed himself in a position that allowed her to peer out into the hallway unobstructed, taking in the same, if not more details than the boy.
Although, that meant they both spotted the intruder at the same time.
It also meant that he saw them too.
There wasn't much that they could see, his silhouette being illuminated by the little street light that poured in through the window behind him, but she was able to take in the barest amount of details; a male, no doubt by his muscular stature and his shaven scalp, wearing black clothes to that helped him blend in with the shadows behind him, fitting much like military fatigues clothes, and combat boots if the sound of his footsteps were any indication.
What caught her attention more was the fact that he had a military tomahawk in his hands.
What was more pressing was that it was covered in blood.
The sight of what was no doubt a relative's blood coating the blade roused the boy's fight-or-flight response and he jerked back, slamming the door close at the same time that the assailant raised the tomahawk. The boy just managed to lock the door and shuffle over to the side of the frame before the axe was buried in the wood, sending splinters and wood chips flying everywhere, and sawdust was clinging to the blood that coated the blade. She was still in the same place that she was when he closed the door, and had she been there in real life, the flying wood pieces would no doubt be embedded in her face.
The boy pulled back in shock, staring at the blade tip in terror before madly dashing to the bathroom. Whatever invisible rope that tied her to the boy dragged her along, spurring her body into action before she could even process what was happening. He slammed the door shut and locked in violently, rapidly turning and searching the bathroom drawers for some form of weapon, hope deteriorating when he found none.
There was a loud BANG! As his bedroom door was busted open.
He stopped, staring at the door in hatred as he breathed heavily, his icy-blue eyes catching the light from the street, and, for a moment, she could have almost sworn his eyes appeared white.
Another moment passed, and it was gone.
Footsteps approached the door, somehow managing to sound both heavy and quiet, before they stopped right outside the bathroom. They both seemed to be holding their breath, and they both seemed to cave before her very eyes, his righteous fury vanishing in the face of his grief, in the knowledge of what had just happened to the people he loved. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
She hated how she related to him.
The door knob slowly turned until it became caught on the lock, then slid back into its resting position. There was silence for a moment before someone spoke, and it took a horrifying second for her to realize that the murderer was talking to them.
"HELLO SEAN," a distorted voice seemed to say, sounding far too automated to be anything but fake, "I JUST KILLED YOUR FAMILY."
Tears welled in the boy's eyes and his hands were clenched into furious fists. Her heart twisted in her chest for him.
"DO YOU WANT TO DIE LIKE THEM? BEGGING FOR YOUR LIFE?" The voice asked uncaringly, "OR DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT?"
A fire seemed to be lit in the boy's eyes at the question, grieve and utter rage mixing together to form an inferno of soul wrecking catastrophe. No matter what the outcome was, it wouldn't end well in this boy's favor, he would either die or he would be forced to survive as an orphan and as someone who took someone else's life.
Lia knew exactly how hard it was to live with that guilt.
"I'LL GIVE YOU SOME HELP," the voice continued, "WRAP A TOWEL AROUND YOUR FIST, AND SMASH THE MIRROR. USE ONE OF THE SHARDS TO DEFEND YOURSELF."
The boy turned and stared at the mirror apprehensive, undoubtedly wondering why this man was helping him. And, as much as she could tell he wanted nothing to do with what the man said, it was his only chance for survival. He had to take it.
"GO AHEAD," the voice said, "I'M WAITING."
The boy glared at the door, clearly hating the man for what he was doing to him, but he was smart enough to see that he didn't have a choice. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves before reaching over to the towel rack and grabbing one, wrapping it tightly around his fist three times before turning back to the mirror. The world began getting blurry at the edges, the same black void she had been in earlier coming back to greet her, her vision beginning to completely flicker out as more time passed.
The last thing she heard was the sound of glass breaking before the world blurred away, taking her somewhere else.
When things came back into focus, they unsurprisingly, but not any less horrifically, worse.
She was in her bedroom, the same full size bed her Bunica had gotten her before she passed, the same plain white walls with one accent gray wall, her brown desk that sat off to the left of her reach-in closet and the same window that lead off the area of the roof she and Liam were comfortable sitting on and watching the stars during the summer. It was all familiar, it should have been comforting, it should have been.
But the horrible feeling of dread and fear were still in her stomach.
After someone began speaking, she knew why.
"ARE YOU READY, LIA DUNBAR?" The same voice asked, just as uncaring and disoriented as it had been with Sean, "BECAUSE HERE I COME."
She barely had time to react before her door was kicked in, the same man storming in and attacking her with a tomahawk that she knew, somehow, had Liam's blood on it.
She only was able to note that he had no mouth before the blade of the tomahawk was buried into her chest.
The Morning of February 6th, 2012
She bolted upward with a choked scream, frantic and terrified eyes scouring her room as if the mouthless man was going to leap up from the shadows. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, adrenaline flooding through her veins. Her sleep shirt was stuck to her skin, the neck and underarms of the dark blue shirt appearing almost navy. Her limbs shook as she forced herself to crawl toward the foot of her bed. Her ragged breaths were the only sound made in the entire house, and she wondered vaguely how her cries hadn't woken up anyone else.
She sat there for a moment, her mind and body still caught up in the horror of it all. She couldn't seem to make herself breathe without gulping down air, her body shamefully quivering from the fright. Distantly, she could hear the crickets chirping outside, someone's TV making a slightly obnoxious white noise, and, the most comforting sound, the sound of her brother's light snores and his steady heartbeat coming from the room next to hers.
The sound was surprisingly soothing in her ears, acting almost as a tether as she began taking more deep breaths, her heart slowly but steadily calming down to a more normal rhythm. She let loose a slightly heavier sigh, shoulders caving slightly from the loss of tension, and stared at her clasped, quivering hands.
Just a nightmare, she reassured herself, just a nightmare.
It was just a nightmare. It had to be.
Right?
The litany wasn't as comforting as it had been a few days ago, when the nightmare had started to emerge. She had woken up, fear freezing her to the bed and wrapping around her throat, choking her and making her unable to breathe. The spell had been broken when she was thrown into a coughing fit, her lungs had rattled with the force of it.
The fear had hardly eased off, even after witnessing the dream over and over since the beginning of the week. It was always the same, seeing the boy searching for his cat, calling out to his family, and the murderer attempting to kill him.
Not even mentioning the mystery couple...
Whatever, she thought, it wasn't her problem. And even if it was, she wouldn't be able to help them, she couldn't see them, didn't know their names, and didn't know where they were she couldn't help them. She couldn't.
But she could help the boy...
Her urge to help was nearly drowned out by her skepticism, by her downright refusal to believe that it was true. She was already having a hard time dealing with being a...a...
She shook her head fiercely, crawling back across her bed toward her nightstand. It didn't matter, she would call, ask for a welfare check, and nothing would come out of it. Nothing had happened to this Sean boy or his family. Nothing would come upâ
The burner phone sat in her hand, something that she had nicked off her mother's boyfriend when the delusion of whatever power he had over the household began slipping. She crawled back to her previous position, legs swinging numbly off the edge of her bed. The familiar comforter beneath her clenched hands offered minimal comfort as she reflexively punched in the number she needed. The dial tone only lasted for a few moments before someone picked up.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"I would like to request a welfare check be done." Her voice was croaky beyond belief.
"What's the address of the residence?"
It took her a moment to drag back the details of her dream, rattling off the address as smoothly as if it was her own. She could hear the faint clicking of the operator's computer.
"What is the reason for the welfare check?"
"...Because I can hear them screaming in the house..."
"Screaming," the operator sounded much more alert now, "Whatâ?"
Lia ended the call insensibly, mind and heart feeling numb. She sat there until the early hours of dawn, burner phone hanging loosely in her grip. That was exactly how Liam found her.
"Hey," Liam frowned from his perch in the doorway, "You okay?"
"...Yeah," she said, finding it hard to commit to her barely believable lie, "I'm fine."
Distantly, she wondered if she ever had been and if she ever would be.
She rose to her feet slowly, Liam staring at her in uncertainty.
"C'mon," she said, "We've got to get ready for school."
ââ âBeacon Hills, California. January, 2012.ââ â
ââ â04x??: ???ââ â
ââ â
TW: MENTIONS OF ACTS COMMITTED BY THE NOGITSUNE, SLIGHT SURVIVOR'S GUILT, SLIGHT IMPLIED CHILD ABANDONMENT.Â
January 12th, 2012
"Lia! Hey."
She hid her smile behind the book she was reading, a gift from her grandfather for her fifteenth birthday, before closing it, smiling up good naturedly at the boy before her, "Hey there McCall."
He gave her a goofy grin before sliding into the seat next to her. They had seen each other periodically, both waving at each other during those few circumstances, with Scott usually initiating the wave before Lia reciprocated. She had yet to meet any of his friends, but she saw them often enough in the halls to recognize them; the three girls she saw on her first day and the boy that made chills of fear race down her spine.
The first bell had yet to ring, leaving students to mill around the halls until their classes began. Scott, it seemed, had milled around far enough that he managed to find Lia's first hour. A plastic bag hung at his side, the red Grab and Dash logo staring at her brightly. She had a sinking suspicion that she knew what was in the bag, and, if she was speaking honestly, she found it a little ironic that it was the bag he chose.
"Heyâum," he then lifted up the bag, "I have your shirt ready."
"That's quite a coincidence," she said, pulling a similar Grab and Dash from beside her chair, "Because I have your hoodie here too."
They smiled easily at each other, humored by the small coincidence before swapping bags with the same giddiness that a child on Christmas seemed to have. Scott pulled his hoodie free from the bag, the faint smell of lavender and books mingled in with the smell of fabric softener drifting towards his nose. He smiled softly at the smell, a smile that went unnoticed by the two.
Though, a curious Lydia Martin watching from the door undoubtedly took notice.
Pulling the shirt out of the bag, she was hit with the same scent she had come to recognize as Scott's; apple cinnamon and brown sugar and something else that seemed to scream at her instincts that this is home, this is safe. She would be lying if she said she didn't care for it. Lia was also surprised to find the coffee stain from a few days ago now completely removed from her shirt.
"You... got it out?" Her voice sounded shocked even in her own ears.
"Yeah," he said, smiling easily like it was the simplest thing in the world, "It just took a little soaking, scrubbing, and washing, but it came out. Good as new, if I had to say."
Scott wouldn't say how he spent his sleepless nights scrubbing it clean, occupying his hands in a vain attempt to distract him from his thoughts.
Her shocked expression melted into a pleasant smile, making Scott's heart dance in his chest, "Thanks... it means a lot that you did that..."
"Yeah," he stammered, "Yeah, it was no problem at all."
A small silence passed between them, but it wasn't tense, or awkward, it was peaceful, akin to how it feels when you first wake up in the morning. They were oblivious to everyone that wasn't the other person, and if they were being perfectly honest, they were okay with that.
RRRRIIIIINNNNNGGGG!
They both jerked at the sudden sound, the tardy bell gave its first and only warning. Scott leapt from his seat, scrambling to grab his things, "Crap, I gotta go," he stumbled, "But I'll see you later, right?"
"Definitely," she said easily, returning his infectious grin. He just seemed to have that effect on her.
He gave another radiant smile that didn't seem to waver, even as he left the room. He paused for a moment to acknowledge Lydia before he vanished into the dwindling crowd of students.
"What was that about," Lydia said curiously as she took her seat next to the blonde.
"I'm not really sure," she said, still smiling softly.
But she couldn't wait to find out.
ââ â
January 16th, 2012
"Hey Lia?"
"Yes McCall?"
"...You do know my name is Scott right?"
She gave him a dry look over the edge of her book and raised a brow, "Contrary to popular belief, not all blondes are airheads. Case in point," she gestured to her book, "One of the main characters in this book is a blonde, and she's the smartest one out of the trio."
She then frowned, "Though, that might have something to do with the fact that she is a daughter of Athena, the-"
"Goddess of Wisdom and Battle Strategy?"
Her frown vanished and her eyes seemed to sparkle at the sentence, "You know Greek Mythology."
A statement, not a question, but Scott answered anyway, "Yeah, and I've read the series," he smiled back at her, "Contrary to popular belief, not all jocks are snooty windbags. Case in point," he tapped the very top of her book's spine, "Percy Jackson."
"You know your stuff," she smiled knowingly before closing her book, thumb holding her place as the cover pressed against the table, "But that wasn't what you wanted to ask me, was it?"
"No," he said, and after an expectant brow raised from the blonde, the words fell out, "How come I never see you in the lunchroom?"
The way her body froze almost made him regret asking the question, but his body seemed to burn with the need to find the answers to his questions. Her eyes held a thousand mile stare as her thumb gently stroked across the cover of her book. He could hear her heart beginning to speed up in her chest as she took a deep breath.
"I..." she said slowly, almost as if she was unsure of how to answer, "I usually just get my lunch and leave. I don't... typically stay around big groups of people. It doesn't usually end well."
"Oh. Because of social anxiety?"
"Something like that." If it wasn't for his werewolf scenes, he wouldn't have seen the way her smile became ever so slightly strained, or how her eyes had the thinnest film of wetness gathering in the corners. Her scent, while still the ever enrapturing lavender and books, held the barest hint of fear and sadness in them, a smell that made his wolf ache.
So, he said nothing, instead tapping the cover of his own book, Bud, Not Buddy, "At least we both have our books then."
She gave an uncharacteristically loud snort at that, slapping her hand over her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. It wasn't long before they caught each other's gazes, and they dissolved back into laughter.
Neither noticed Kira and Malia watching them from across the room.
ââ â
January 23rd, 2012
The library had become a sanctuary to Lia throughout her life.
With shelves upon shelves of books, it always seemed like there was a new world to explore every time she visited. The library was there when she was at her lowest, whether emotionally or financially. She found herself being drawn back there in her (extremely limited) free time, despite Liam's persistent whining. The stories and the lives there scarcely made up for her ailing stability.
That was the public library.
The school's library was different.
It had plenty of books in it, for sure, but it lacked fiction stories and the ones they could provide were somehow able to contain non-fiction ideals, like a bunch of facts and lore about the supernatural world, bringing up different cultures and time periods and pointing out their references and effects during history, like The Salem Witch Trials, lasting from 1692 to 1693 or The Beast Of Gevaudan, whos attacks lasted from 1765 to 1767.
She sighed, sliding the book back in its place on the shelf before reaching for another one, this book almost as distasteful as the last book she grabbed;Â The History of The American Revolution. All of the other books that the library had to offer were fact based, used when the students needed to research a topic or another for a paper.
Because god forbid they use the internet and make their lives easier, Lia thought crossly.
The tranquil sounds and smells from the library soothed her, easing the tension from her muscles and leaving her feeling calmer than before. She eased the strap of her backpack over her head before setting it down in the chair next to her with a content sigh. It felt good to be back.
The homework was a breeze, she finished Biology in a few minutes (she scoffed at the questions, half were true or false and the other half were multiple choice), Economics, English, and History were completed not long after. Now all she had to do was wait for the bane of her existence to begin: Math.
The urge to bash her head against the table was nearly consuming.
She sighed, flipping open a battered copy of Fahrenheit 451 when a loud BANG! echoed through the library. Her head snapped up, her startled blue eyes coming to focus on a frazzled looking Scott McCall. His soft, cropped hair looked almost windswept, like he had been running, which the slight heaving of his chest attested to.
"Be quiet," the librarian, who had been startled out of her nap, hissed.
Scott either ignored her or didn't hear her, instead chose to dash as fast as he could towards the desk that Lia was currently sitting at. Her body immediately tensed, seeing the absolute panic on his face. Oh god, what happenedâ
The words were utterly bunched together, slurred to the point of incomprehension, but living with and practically raising her little brother made her apt in the art of understanding the incomprehensible. She immediately placed her book to the side without another thought, reaching up toward his bag, "What are you learning about?"
His panicked expression dropped, and sweet, utter relief took its place. He moved to sit down, pulling out his textbook, notebook, and mechanical pencil, "Equations of Hyperbolas."
Her brows were furrowed in concentration as she grabbed her blonde hair and began twisting it up into a bun. She shoved a pencil through it in lieu of a ponytail. "Do you have your Trig card?"
"Uh, yeah," he said, opening the cover of his textbook and pulling it out, "Right here."
"Okay," she said, eyes married slightly in determination as she pointed her own pen at him, "Here's what you're gonna do..."
ââ â
"Scott, where the hell are you," Stiles swore furiously into the phone, pacing up the hall, "You're missing English, with our non-murdering English teacher for a change, and I don't want you to lose your position as captain of the lacrosse team because you're failing her class so where the hell are youâ!?"
His rant came to a sudden halt as something caught his attention in the corner of his eye, his feet taking a few steps forward as he threw his torso back, craning his head to see what caught his attention through the library door window.
Scott and the blonde girl, Lia, were both hunched over a textbook, Lia pointing at something in a notebook with her pen, Scott nodding along and scribbling something down on a notecard.
"Ah," Stiles said, still speaking out loud as he hung up his phone, "You're studying Trig... with the new girl..."
His gaze never strayed from the pair, thumb subconsciously ending the call and pulling up his camera, snapping a few pictures before he ducked away from the window and leaned against the wall next to it. The first picture was simple, the pair staring at each other intently as Lia's pen rested against the notebook paper. The second one was slightly more interesting, with Lia kneeling closer to the paper with her brows furrowed in concentration and Scott staring at her attentively, light shining in his eyes that Stiles hadn't seen since before he was bitten.
The third picture was the one that caught his attention, their positions were reversed; Scott hunched over his Trig card as he frantically scribbled something down, with Lia staring at him attentively, her eyes appearing softer than he had ever seen them.
Though, a cold pit began to form in his stomach as he stared at her. Something was familiar about her, but what? Where had he seen her beforeâ
A flash of moonlight. A cold breeze. The feeling of damp leaves pressed against his skin. Cold metal against his frigid hands as he laid his final trap.
The snap of a twig, a flash of blonde hair and cautious blue eyes. Panic striking at the core of their being. A flash of metal flying through the air and sinking into the meaty flesh above her hip, nearly hitting her abdomen. Cautious eyes filling with panic and pain as she staggered back from him. The ground rushing past them as they left her to die.
He snapped back to himself, the air cool against his clammy skin. His heart stuttered in his chest as he grabbed his shirt with a shaky fist.
Oh god, what had he done...
He turned and dashed through the halls, uncaring about finding Scott and only wanting to escape the pain he had carelessly caused.
ââ â
January 26th, 2012
She gave the door a slight tug after she locked it, for nothing else if not to make sure the lock completely slid into place. The metal door rattled against that frame, the lock securing the door into place. She breathed a quiet sigh as she jingled her boss's keys in his direction, sending him a slightly smug smile, "See? Nothing to it, Massimo."
The man scoffed, playfully snatching the keys from her grip, "Yeah right. I'm still convinced you've got some kind of magic touch, Ragazza."
Her heart warmed at the endearment from the man. Massimo was slightly on the heavier side of the spectrum, with a distinct Italian heritage and accent, the two of them bonded over their love for their cultural foods and fond memories of their home country. His knowing chestnut eyes and mischievous grin never failed to get her or Liam to fall into an easy banter with him.
It was a bonus that he almost always needed her to work, unknowingly allowing her to make the perfect amount of money that she needed to make ends meet.
"You gonna be able to get home safe?" He asked, the subtle dinging from his light gray Toyota Corolla slipping out through the open door.
She was oddly touched by the gesture, but turned him down regardless, "I'll be alright, Massimo. Not much in these streets that can hurt me."
"Of course," he said with a good natured grin, "How could I forget that the mysterious Lia Dunbar has incredible superpowers."
Her heart froze in her chest and he laughed, obviously to her turmoil, "See you later, ragazza!"
He sped off into the night, leaving Lia frozen stiff with fear. Slowly, she moved, mind still racing with the panicky feeling of he knows he knows he knows.
The night was unsettlingly quiet, the only noises were the distant sound of a car driving by and the pitter-patter of her feet against the broken pavement. The distant sound of the car was slowly drawing nearer. Adrenaline began to flood through her veins at the sound. She slipped her hands back into her pocket, hands curling around the taser connected to her keys, the very same taser that she stole from one of her mother's boyfriends.
The car slowly came to a halt beside her.
A pit formed in her stomach, and a lump began to clog up her throat. She was slowly becoming numb to her fear, apathy taking its place.
The driver rolled their window down.
Oh god...
"Lia?"
The fear fled from her body and she nearly wept with relief at the familiar voice. She looked over her shoulder, sending the driver a relieved smile, "Hey, McCall."
He hastily threw the car into park, scrambling out of the driver's seat and running over to her side. "Are you okay," he asked, arm wrapping around her shoulder as his eyes scanned the streets, almost as if he were scouting out potential threats.
She tensed momentarily at the sudden contact before relaxing under his grip. She would never admit this to anyone, but Scott's hugs were comforting in a way that she couldn't understand, but she would be lying if she said that she didn't enjoy it.
"Yeah," she said softly, eyes shutting momentarily as she leaned into him, "I'm okay."
His eyes, narrowed in the search for a nonexistent enemy, became soft when they landed on her again, taking in her suddenly relaxed features with a gentle smile. In the low light of the street lamps, she almost seemed to be glowing. He had the sudden urge to wrap her up into the tightest hug and never let go, to make sure he had truly found someone who was as remarkable as Lia Dunbar.
The puzzle pieces were clicking into place: Stiles's passing comments, Lydia's raised brows, Kira's knowing grin, and the ever so blunt Malia telling him that he 'reeks of love and admiration' whenever she gets the chance. And, as he stared down at the blonde girl leaning against him, the realization that had been brewing for the last few weeks was finally starting to show itself.
He had been crushing on Lia Dunbar. And, if he was being honest, he had been since they met.
He blinked in surprise. Oh...
But, oddly enough, the notion didn't bring a sudden weight of fear and pain that he had been expecting. No, because Lia was the type of person who made sure you felt safe enough to talk to if you ever needed help. She was the one who Scott once saw giving away her lunch to a homeless man on the street, who did not hesitate to help him study for the trig test and didn't reprimand him for not studying. She was the girl who made sure she had snacks in her locker in case someone was hungry, and the very same girl who smiled with the brightness of a thousand suns and had a laugh that sounded even more beautiful than a symphony.
She was the full moon in a midnight sky, gracing him with her light, a piece of driftwood in the middle of the ocean, keeping him afloat in the rockiest of storms, and she was the north star, his guiding light, the one thing he would never turn away from because once he did?
He would be lost.
The surprise melted from his face, leaving a look of soft affection in its wake, "C'mon," he said gently, "I'll take you home."
"You don't have to," she said reflexively, slowly pulling herself back from his grasp. She wouldn't admit to anyone else how a part of her wanted to stay. Not even to herself.
"Lia, it's five till midnight, I'm not gonna let you walk home by yourself," he said, his voice firm, yet kind.
"Scott, couldn't ask you to do that," she then furrowed her brows, "What are you even doing out this late?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
She pulled back brows furrowed even more, "I just got off work."
"You work until midnight?"
"First of all, it'sâ" she grabbed her phone, "âtwo minutes till midnight, and I work the closing shift with my boss. And don't change the subject," she added, placing her hands on her hips, "It's a bad look. Makes it look like you're hiding something."
"...Alright," he said, placing his hands in his jeans pockets, "My mom ran out of ibuprofen earlier this week and I figured I'd get her some while she was asleep."
And here she thought Scott McCall couldn't get any sweeter.
"And don't change the subject," he said with an impish grin, "It's a bad look. Makes it look like you're hiding something."
"And what is the subject, McCall, cause I'm very intrigued," she asked, lightly crossing her arms over her chest as a sharp breeze cut through her. His hoodie merely rippled in the wind, and she felt an immature stab of envy of the piece of clothing.
"You. And the fact that you're walking home at, which is highly dangerous. And how you think I'm just going to stand by and let that happen."
Sweet and a smartass.
May wonders never cease, she mused.
A silence settled between them, brown and blue eyes staring each other down. After a moment, she let loose a small huff, not looking entirely put out, "You're not gonna let me walk home by myself, are you?"
"Not a chance," he said with a grin.
After entering the car (where he even opened and closed the door for her, a true gentleman), he settled himself into the front seat, turning up the heat as subtly as he could. She relaxed at the sudden warmth, the goosebumps on her arms slowly receding as Scott pulled back out onto the road.
He glanced over at her, a small smile on his lips, "Where to?"
She sat up, and pointed at the road ahead of them, "Okay, so at the next crossroads, you'll need to hang a right..."
ââ â
"Thank you again for driving me home," she said, peering at him from over the car as they both closed the door in sync. The light from the porch light was the only indication that someone was awake. And, after straining her ears for a moment, she could tell that Liam was the only person home. She felt a stab of sorrow at the thought.
I should really tell him that he can invite Mason over more often, she thought dolefully.
"It's not a problem," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, as he walked around the car, "I'd rather be the one to take you home as opposed to some stranger picking you up."
She chuckled slightly at the notion and began slowly walking up toward her porch, Scott trailing after her. As odd as it seemed, Scott seemed to have the uncanny ability to make her smile regardless of how she was feeling, "Well, then I guess I should consider myself lucky that you were the first one to pass by me."
She laughed softly but unrestrained, completely unaware of the butterflies she had just set loose in Scott's stomach. They both smiled at each other, their laughter pattering off into the silence, leaving them both feeling comfortable and warm.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" He asked, feeling foolish in a way he hadn't since he had attempted to ask Allison out to a party the year before. He was also shocked to find out that the name didn't send a stab of pain through his very being. There was only the loss... and the memories that came with it. The guilt was slowly ebbing away, and Scott realized in shock that it was because of her, the same girl in front of him that was as surreal as a dream, causing him to make a fool of himself whenever she was around.
He didn't mind it though, not really.
"Of course you will," she said, sending him a confused smile, "Where else would I be?"
"I don't know," he admitted, his giddiness overriding his feelings of embarrassment, "I guess I just wanted to make sure you'd be there."
She huffed a little in amusement. It never failed to surprise her how Scott McCall made her feel normal, "I'll be there." She assured, "Don't worry."
"Alright... I'll see you then..."
"Bye, and thank you again," she said, backing up towards her front door, "for the ride, I mean."
"It's not a problem," he said with a smile, "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Alright. Bye."
"Bye."
He circled back around the car and watched her go with tender eyes, the girl was completely unaware of how she was pulling at his heartstrings.
And, as she closed the door and he began to pull out of the cul-de-sac, they both were perfectly unaware of how he was doing the same thing to her.
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January 27th, 2012
"Liam," she called, closing the door behind her, "I'm home!"
The house was quiet when she answered, and after straining her ears, the only heartbeat she heard was her brother's who was sitting in the dining room. It wasn't uncommon for their mother to drag Geyer out of town on a whim, if only to make him take her on an expensive date and an even more expensive hotel afterward.
(Lia knew exactly what they were doing. The mere notion made her gag. Her mother was as far from conservative as one could get.)
"Ilee?" She called again, kicking the door closed behind her. It didn't take Lia long to find him, all she needed to do was peer into the opening on the right side of the front door and she saw her brother sitting in the dining room, arms crossed on the table and a look of... not quiet melancholy, but something that told Lia he wasn't far from it. It was a look that reminded her vaguely of how he looked before and after his psychologist appointment.
A bowl sat in front of him and after a tentative sniff, the smell of pumpkin spice, marshmallow fluff, and Kraft mac and cheese hit her nose. Cheesy Fluff, a food that Liam had always taken comfort in since he was a little kid, always wanting to eat it when he was sad or stressed.
Lia tensed, this conversation wasn't looking too good.
"You save any of that for me?" She asked instead.
He slowly jabbed his head toward the kitchen, "Bowls in the microwave, should still be hot."
"...Alright," she said, slightly taken aback at his short, choppy sentences. True to his word, the bowl was in the microwave (and still warm. Bonus.) She instinctively grabbed the seat closest to him, keeping the windows leading out to the front yard and the front door in her view. The moment she sat down, Liam began scooting his chair over slightly in a not-so-subtle attempt to create distance.
She sent him a hard, affronted look, "Dude. I don't stink."
"I'm fine, Lia," he said, ignoring her jibe as he continued to stare down at his food, "Honestly, don't worry about me."
"Oh yeah," she scowled, words dripping with sarcasm, "I'll get right on that."
Who does this kid think she is? AÂ deadbeat?
They both glared at each other for a moment, Liam's annoyed glare meeting Lia's fierce gaze. Their eyes were locked in a silent battle of will, blue on blue, before Liam cracked, turning his head back towards the table with a sigh. Her stubbornness melted at the sight of her little brother, sadness replacing her earlier determination.
Because, as much as she wanted to pry, for Liam to tell her what was bothering him, she knew that she would never be able to force him to tell her, Liam being too stubborn and Lia never wanting to push her brother past his boundaries. He meant too much to her to do that.
And besides, while she wouldn't force him to tell her, she was more than ready to wait him out.
She conceded to her own point with a small huff, shoveling in spoonfuls of food in an attempt to hide it. The familiar food was like heaven on her tongue, and she honestly forgot how comforting it was. She made herself a mental note to pick up more of its ingredients from the store.
"Does he make you happy?"
She absolutely did not choke on her food at the statement. Liam, like an asshole, watched with a slightly amused look before reaching over to rub her back.
"You're such an asshole," she swore, eyes watering as her coughing fit came to a close.
"I thought I was a bitch," he said, looking far too amused in her professional opinion.
"You are a bitch," she said wisely, taking a drink of her water, "But you're also an asshole. Deal with it."
"Yeah?" He asked, and she could feel them both falling back into the easy and familiar pattern of banter. It made her heart warm, "Well, then that means that you're a jerk."
"Oh no," she said grinning cheekily, "I'm devastated."
Her quip seemed to do the trick as he dissolved into snickers. The sound was like a balm to her soul, a sound she hadn't heard in a long time, at least no time after his diagnosis. His eyes were alight with mirth as he stared at her and she didn't even try to resist the urge to dip her fingers into her glass and flick water at him.
He let loose an indigent squawk, staring at Lia almost insultedly.
All she did was start eating again, chuckling at the look he was sending her.
The silence that came afterward was comfortable, the sounds of their forks scraping against their bowls filling the tranquil stillness. As the last of the cheesy fluff was scraped from their bowls, she rose from her chair, grabbed the two bowls and walked towards the kitchen, her brother trailing behind her with the cups.
And thus began their nightly tradition; Lia would set to washing the dishes, scrubbing the sticky cheese from the bottom of their bowls. Liam would usually sit behind her as she did this, legs crossed and on the kitchen island despite how many times she's told him not to do that. While they would usually chat with each other as she did this, Lia had a sinking suspicion that Liam wouldn't be up for talking tonight, as he would most likely end up getting lost in his own head. The sound of rushing water would be the only thing filling up the silence.
Once she was finished washing their bowls, she would place them in the other sink, and Liam, without fail, would hop off the counter and help her dry them before putting them away (he always thought it was funny how he could reach the cabinets and she couldn't, the brat).
He was halfway through drying the first bowl when he finally spoke.
"You never did answer my question."
Lia, more concentrated on scrubbing the dish and not expecting Liam to talk, gave a start at the sound of his voice, "Huh?"
"My question earlier," Liam said, gaze focused solely on the bowl in his hands, "About if he makes you happy. You never answered it."
"If who makes me happy?" She frowned, "Wait, you mean McCall?"
He wordlessly nodded. She frowned harder, "What brought this on? Did something happen? Did he do something to you?"
Her voice was fierce at the end of her statement, because it didn't matter how nice he had been to her, if Scott had done something to her brother, she would rip his fucking lungs outâ
"He didn't do anything, Lia," he said uncharacteristically softly, and after quickly tuning into his heartbeat, she knew he was telling her the truth. She made a face at his conflicting statements.
"Okay, hold on," she said, placing the freshly washed dish into the sink, to which Liam reached down and grabbed the dish before it touched the bottom of the basin. He began drying it indifferently, not paying a single mind to Lia's bristling shoulders or her livid glare. In hindsight, it was ironic how different they were in certain situations, just as ironic as how alike they were in others.
"If McCall hasn't done anything to you, and he hasn't done anything to me..." She frowned completely puzzled by the position she was somehow put in, "Then what's got your boxers in a twist? Why don't you like him?"
He dried the bowl sullenly, eyes downcast and a prominent frown on his lips. She had to resist the urge to scowl.
The whole puzzle and riddles that he had thrown at her were making her head spin and after a day of dealing with shitty customers and pissy pervs, the little patience that she had left was rapidly deteriorating. As the stifling silence persisted, she resigned herself to scrubbing their forks with vigor.
"Because I don't know how to protect you."
Her scrubbing stopped and she stared at him with appalled disbelief, "What?"
He shuffled uncomfortably, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Their eyes met and he sighed, giving up the facade. "At Devenford Prep, there was this group of girls who were always hanging around the lacrosse teams after games. Whenever a guy started getting too close, I could always see their Dads watching from the bleachers, ready to jump in at a moment's notice."
She had a sinking suspicion about where this was going, "Ileeâ"
"Tata is..." he swallowed thickly, finally turning away from her, "Tata is gone..."
Her eye burned at the mention, and she turned away in an attempt to force air down the lump in her throat. Breathing was hard, but the mention of their deceased parent was worse.
"...which means that it's my job to do that for you," he said, and the words seemed to be poring out. She realized with a start that he had been thinking about this for a long time, "But I don't know how to protect you in situations like this and I don't want you to get hurt but I don't know how to keep you safe andâ"
She didn't hesitate to throw her arms out of the sudsy and wrap them tightly around her brother's shoulders. As a testament to how emotionally wrung out he was, he didn't complain about the water that was now soaking through his shirt and hugged her back, burying his face into the crook of her neck. Her nails lightly bit into the material of his shirt as she rubbed up and down his back in a hopeful attempt to soothe him."Hey," she said, pulling back only to rest her forehead against his own, one hand cupping his cheek as the other one rested against the back of his neck, gently holding him in place, "Are you listening?"
This had always been the easiest way to get an upset baby Liam to calm down and listen, while also preventing him from working himself into a panic attack. It was a position that they had found themselves in multiple times throughout their childhood, but hadn't been in much in their recent teenage years. She was almost surprised to find that it was still effective.
Liam paused, taking a few deep breaths before he nodded, focusing more on his breathing.
"Good," Lia said, "Now, listen to me, okay?"
He nodded again.
She paused, gathering her thoughts together, before she plunged in, "Firstly, I want you to know that there is no one in the universe that I trust to have my back and keep me safe than you. Heck, Bunica could come back from the grave right now and I wouldn't trust her to have my back like I trust you. You've been there with me through everything and that counts for something, alright Ilee?"
He nodded again, eyes now open and holding a look that was eerily similar to the one he had when he was a child and thought he disappointed her.
(She hated that look. She never wanted him to wear it again.)
"Secondly, you are more than capable of keeping me safe. Why do you think I always turn to you to help take care of my injuries instead of dealing with them on my own? It's because I know how capable and willing you are to help the people you care about. There is no one else I would want to do all of this with. Okay? I can't do this without you."
"Yes, you can," he mumbled, looking thoroughly dejected.
She narrowed her eyes, "No, I can't. And you know what? Even if it was possible for me to do it with someone else, I don't want to. There's no one else in the universe that I want to do all of this with okay? No one."
He paused, searching her eyes to see if he could find any sign of lying, then nodded, the earlier angst that had mard his face now smoothed out.
"And what is this about protecting me from McCall?" She asked, pulling out of their former embrace-like position and instead pulled him into a noogie, getting the remaining suds all over his scalp, "What, you think I can't take McCall in a fight? Is that it?"
He bucked and squirmed under her grasp, but gave into laughter nonetheless, "Oh please," he said good naturedly, "As if you would ever need my help to win a fight. Or to start one."
The last bit was added under his breath, and she playfully smacked him on the back of the head.
"Brat," she mumbled, releasing him from the headlock wrapping her arm over his shoulder, giving him a side hug, "But if I ever do need help kicking his ass, I know exactly who I'll go to."
"Hmm," he hummed, "Okay, but you never did answer my question."
"What question?"
"If he made you happy."
Now that the water between them was clear, Lia found it easier to actually stop and think about the question. To say Scott McCall made her happy... felt wrong, but not in the sense that it was bad, but rather in the sense of something that could never be obtained.
Whether she meant happiness or Scott, she couldn't be sure.
"I..." she said, before trying again, "Ilee, I don't even know... all I know is that... he makes me feel different..." She turned to look at Liam, finding him already staring at her, "And I don't know what to do with that."
He stared at her intently, as if searching her soul for any sign that she could be lying to him, before he relented, his eyes softening.
"I just want you to be happy," he said simply, but honestly, "And if this... McCall guy makes you happy thenâI guess I can put up with him. I guess."
"Thank you," she said with a smile, before adding on in slight exasperation, "But I'll make sure he gets your permission first before anything else happens."
"Oh yeah," he said with sudden sarcasm, "Thank you. I feel so blessed to know you're asking for my permission to banâaCK! Lia!"
Lia didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt over flinging cold, soapy dishwater at him.
Because, in her professional and very mature opinion, he completely deserved it.
ââ âBeacon Hills, California. January 9th, 2012.ââ â
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TW: EXTREMELY ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, GASLIGHTING, BLOOD, GORE, VICTIM BLAMING, VOMITING, IMPLIED SEXUAL ACTIVITY, AND MENTIONS OF DRUG ABUSE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF TRIGGERING.
(A/N: after the phrase 'The letter stating that he was behind two months on his car payment,' the content of this chapter will become extremely abusive. If that content is triggering to you, please don't read it, I will offer a vague summary down at the bottom.)
The sun was beginning to dip beneath the horizon by the time they returned to their house.
Beacon Hills at dusk wasn't much different from how it was at dawn. The cool air nipped at her skin, but it held the bitter aftertaste of heat. The vacant streets left Lia feeling frighteningly alone, almost as if she was the last person on earth, the spell was occasionally broken by a stray car driving by or the one time Liam tripped on a crack in the cement.
She snickered as she pulled him back to his feet, "Have a nice trip?"
He blushed, "Shuddup."
The crickets were beginning to chirp by the time they rounded the corner onto their street. The sky was losing its orange glow, and the horizon was painted a light blue, fading beautifully into a dark navy. The houses that lined the street were humming with peace and harmony, windows filled with a yellow light that allowed the siblings to see some of the families inside. A mother sat knitting in her armchair, smiling lovingly at her husband as he read a story to the twins that were settled on his lap. The twins, both too invested in the story, failed to see the looks of adoration that their parents sent them.
The Dunbar siblings' stared at the scene longingly.
"C'mon," Lia said at last, her arm draped awkwardly across his shoulders. Despite the fact that Liam was the younger sibling, he had the audacity to grow four inches taller than her, the scandal, " we'll miss dinner if we're late."
His breath fanned her cheek as he scoffed, "Oh yeah, hate to miss it."
She pretended not to hear him. "You're staying at Mason's after," she said, still leaning against him, "The sooner dinner is finished, the sooner you can get out."
His face didn't brighten, by any means, but some tension left his shoulder as his face smoothed out. Lia took that as a win, she had always measured her success in Liam's safety and happiness.
Their shadows lengthened on the cracked pavement as they walked, the light from the setting sun fading fast as the streetlamps began to flicker on. There was one streetlight that would flicker occasionally, which only happened a few days before the bulb would go out.
The Dunbar residence was on the end of the cul-de-sac, standing just as ordinary as the other house. Their house was simple; a simple, two story house with gray sidings and white window frames. Small windows surrounded the house and one small picture window in the front, just to the left of the front door. A single, double hung window can be seen on the front end of the house, just right of the front door. Dark gray curtains shrouded the inside of the house from view, along with the people inside. The number 167 was nailed into the wall next to the door, rust turning them from silver to brown.
And, though there was not a single imperfection in the reasonably normal neighborhood, there was something still odd about the Dunbar House.
The house was as normal as it was ominous, the white walls looming dauntingly over the neighborhood, despite the fact that the Dunbar residence was one of the shorter houses on the block. The fresh green grass always remained short, and the flower beds lining the front of the porch were always well managed. If asked, a few of the neighbors would recall seeing two children working on it after dark, pulling the weeds and giving them fresh water, laughing all the while.
It was an unspoken rule in the small, little cul-de-sac to remain to yourselves, a courtesy rule to give your neighbors a sense of privacy, though, as younger individuals began moving into the neighborhood, more and more questions began to be asked, particularly about the foreboding air that surrounded the Dunbar house.
And though most of their old neighbors moved away, the rumors of their family still circled.
The arguments between the couple would keep the neighborhood awake until the early mornings. A man would be screaming about how leery she was about his work environment, how he only worked closely with other female co-workers, and a woman would scream how he doesn't love her, spewing the absolute worst accusations until they would both be shouting at the top of their lungs. As often as their neighbors threatened to call the cops, it would only keep them quiet for a little bit before the fighting would resume.
The man's voice hardly stayed the same, the woman's never changed.
The children were rarely ever seen by the neighbors, only the select few with younger children and needed a babysitter having had more in depth interactions with them, but everyone knew they were there; a leftover remaining from a bad marriage, one rumor would state, while another claimed that they were only related by their mother.
The eldest daughter resembled her mother with her blonde hair and blue eyes, though that is where the resemblances stopped. While the mother had no problems lazing about the house all day, her daughter took to working like a fish to water. If there wasn't work to be done, she double checked her work before she would triple check it, compulsively inspecting her work so that it was nothing less than adequate.
The youngest son was much like his mother in physical appearance, though his personality matched along nicely with his sister's. They were both natural born fighters, with sparks in their heart, and grit in their bones, mixed with the rebellion and loyalty in their blood, both for each other and the few people that managed to worm their way into their lives, a prime example being the Hewitt family.
Anger was another thing they shared in common, though, at the same time, it was different. When the youngest was angry, you were made aware of it as soon as his fist would hit your face. His anger was loud and fast, burning out as quickly as it came and the smoky remains would be the blood on his knuckles and glare on his face.
When the eldest was angry, the only warning you got would be when she walked away. She would watch you out of the corner of her eye, maintaining appearances while she plotted your demise behind the facade of a content high school girl. She would watch from afar as your world crumbled to ash around you, and she would not feel an ounce of remorse as she slipped the lighter back into her pocket.
Their anger was similar, but while Liam's held the bluntness of a swinging sledgehammer, Lia's held the fineness of a sharpened blade slowly driving you to insanity.
The label of 'Troubled Kids' found them pretty quickly, for nothing else if not their anger.
At school, temper flares were common between the two; and while Lia's were rarer and more manageable than her brother's. Although, she was always more than ready to rip someone to pieces with her words if needed. Academically, while her scores were high, her attitude towards the student body was less than desired, usually resulting in fights that ended in lunch detentions. Her mother never answered her phone when the teachers called.
The youngest, while usually well mannered to those he believed deserved it, had a temper that was nearly as bad as his sister's, and he had absolutely no issues with trying to solve his problems by punching people in the face. Fortunately (for the student body of Devenford Prep) lacrosse practice became a frequent outlet for his anger, keeping his temper simmering down low.
He quickly became the entire talk of the school, as he (a freshman!) went to being a well known and popular lacrosse player seemingly overnight, the whole school knew his name, and they all knew who he was.
It only made the crash so much harder, when his fame came to an abrupt end when he changed in mid-January, his anger issues suddenly turning into full psychotic episodes of rage. The youngest sibling, the one who commonly became background noise in the troublesome family, was diagnosed with I.E.D. after an incident where he keyed his coach's car.
It was something Lia was still paying for.
The sound of rapid footsteps pulled her from her thoughts, and she barely had time to look up before something plowed into her legs, knocking her flat on her ass. Liam, who had stopped walking a few paces back, doubled over at the waist, laughing so hard that it sounded painful. His gaze held far too much amusement. She scowled.
"That's cute." She nodded, "That's really cute. You wanna help?"
He shook his head, still smiling, "Not really."
Rolling her eyes, she grabbed a stray stick off the pavement before throwing it without looking. There was a sick twist of satisfaction in her chest at the small yelp her brother elated, proving her aim was sure and true.
She grinned smugly as he glared back.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
"CÄĹŁea."
"SmuciturÄ."
A small voice interrupted their bickering, "Hi guys!"
The youthful face of Lily Fen stared up at them, one of the children that they frequently babysat. A smile graced her dust covered face, a twig and a few leaves sticking out of fiery red locks. As opposed to being pulled back in a thick hair tie, her red curls were being held back by a broad black headband. Instead of her usual t-shirt and shorts, she wore a turquoise dress with gold trimming, all evidence pointing towards a birthday dinner to finish off her day at the park. If it wasn't for her green eyes, she would look exactly like the princess in Brave, a new Disney movie that was going to come out in June.
"Hi Lils," Lia smiled at the girl as she got to her feet, "Happy Birthday."
Liam quickly echoed his sentiment, causing the young girl to blush. "Thank you," she said shyly.
Lia idly pulled a twig out of the young girl's hair, smiling as she did, "What are you doing for the rest of your big day?"
Her shyness vanished instantly, replaced by the same enthusiasm that she had greeted them with, "Today was amazing! Daddy and Papa let me sleep in and then when I did wake up, they made chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast and they're my favorite! Kyle and Nico were at the babysitterâthe one that Daddy and Papa send us to when you guys are at school, I don't like them very much, she smells like raisinsâand-"
"Lily!"
She spun on her heel, grinning innocently like she hadn't just been talking shit on her sixty year old babysitter, before charging at the man in front of her, "Papa!"
Austin Fen, one of Lily's parents, sighed in mild exasperation, shaggy brown hair falling in front of his equally brown eyes. He wore a white button up shirt and light tan khakis, dark leather dress shoes making muffled thumps against the pavement. A simple, silver chain necklace sat below his collar, reflecting off the street lamp as he reached down to pick up his daughter, his work as a plumber aiding in holding his children when they asked to be carried.
"What are you doing out here, princess?" He asked, carefully cleaning the dirt off her face with one of Nico's baby wipes, "You're father and I were worried. We couldn't find you anywhere in the house."
"I saw Lia and Liam walking down the sidewalk," she said innocently, as if she didn't have the faintest idea of what she did wrong, "I wanted to say hi."
Austin sighed at his daughter's antics, shaking his head affectionately and glancing up at the two siblings, "Hello, you two." He said, "Sorry if she caught you both in the middle of something."
"Nah," Lia said with a small wave of her hand, smiling good naturedly. "We were just trying to get home before dark, Mom's making pasta tonight and she doesn't like it when we're late."
Austin smiled in acknowledgment, nodding as he bounced Lily on his hip, her slender fingers innocently fiddling with his necklace. Brown eyes met green and their smiles were nearly identical when they smiled at each other. Wiping the final bit of dirt off her face, Austin gave his daughter a loving kiss on the forehead, smiling slightly as his daughter squirmed in his arms.
"Papa, c'mon let's goooooo," Lily whined, and he laughed good naturedly, setting her on the ground before allowing her to tug him towards their car, turning his head so he could still talk to them.
"I hope to see you guys soonâeasy Lilyâand tell your mom and her boyfriend that we'd love to see them soon! It's been a while since we've all sat down and caught up with each otherâLily, that's the wrong seat beltâ!"
"Did you find her?" A panicked looking Carter Fen stumbled out the door, carrying along a frazzled five year old Kyle and carrying a car seat that held a two year old Nico. The appearances between the three siblings were vastly different; while Lily had thick and curly red hair like her surrogate mother, Kyle and Nico resembled Carter and Austin respectively. Kyle had Carter's thin, wheat blond hair that was lightly curled on the ends, while Nico had Austin's thick and dark brown hair with a slight beach wave to it when it was grown out. The only physical appearance the kids had in common was their startling bright green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dark.
The car seat snapped in place with an obnoxious click! Carter paid the pair of siblings no mind as he made sure his children were securely strapped into the vehicle. Austin quickly slid into the driver's seat, his cool demeanor a stark contrast to his unusually frantic husband's.
"Honey," Carter asked, closing the rear passenger door, "Did you grab the-?"
"Keys are in my hand, dear!"
"And the-"
"Nico's diaper bag is in the back-"
"Ok, thank you," Carter let loose a deep breath before patting down his pockets, "Wait, where is my-?"
"Um, Mr. Fen?" Lia asked, startling Carter out of his ramble before she held up his missing wallet. "You dropped this when you were checking Kyle's seat belt."
The man sighed at his own clumsiness, running a hand through his thin hair, "Thank you, Lia," the man plucked the keys from her hand, "You truly are a lifesaver."
"Eh, what can I say, " she shrugged with a smile, "It's all in a day's work."
"Darling," Austin called out, recapturing Carter's attention, "We're going to be late if we don't leave now."
"Right, of course," the man slid into the passenger seat, closing his door with a soft click. The car wheeled slowly out of their driveway and Lia could see the kids waving at her through the tinted windows. She humored them, waving at them as they drove away, only stopping when their car turned the block.
The neighborhood was silent once more, the dull chirping of crickets rising above the silence. Their house was less than twenty paces away and, in the low light of dusk, it loomed ominously over. The porch lights flicked on, a sure sign of how late it was getting, and there was a flash of a silhouette that peeked from behind the curtain before it vanished again. Lia sighed before clapping her brother on the back.
"Well," she said, trying to ignore the heat of the full moon's rays on her back, "Time to face the music."
ââ â
If she were being honest with herself (which was unlikely) she would admit that her memories of before the accident were foggy at the edges.
The memories of her dad had long since lost their clarity and were the first to disappear into oblivion, she could only remember the bare bone of his appearance. Dark hair. Blue eyes, the same blue eyes that he passed on to her and Liam. The only other features she knows of is the ones that Liam has, the feature that he didn't get from their mom.
As much as it scares her, the other people who had long since left her life were rapidly fading as well; Aunt Veronica's brisk nature, her Bunica's gentle yet firm hands over hers as she painted, and all that was left of her childhood friendsâthe ones that were practically familyâ was the distant echoes of their laughs as they played together through the neighborhood.
The fading memories preyed on a fear she didn't know she had until recently: forgetting.
Whether the fear stemmed from her lack of memories to tell Liam about their father, or the fact she had nothing to remember her beloved family members by, she wasn't sure; but despite how much time had passed, she never forgot how much her house had changed from when she was a child.
A few things immediately came to mind: the see thru curtains being replaced by thick, dark gray drapes that allowed no light thru, the rugs beneath the couch and the dining table, which was once an off white, was now much dirtier than it had been in her youth, whether it be from the dirt from their shoes or from the food and drinks that were constantly thrown onto it, stains that no amount of cleaning could ever remove. The dark hardwood that lined the floor was gorgeous when she was younger, but was now worn down, with scratches and grooves marking the years that passed, along with the marks on the gray painted walls.
The outside of the house was pristine and perfect, the inside was as worn down as Lia was.
But despite how different the house was, the first thing that she saw that was different was right by the door.
Her keys jingled slightly as she forced them into the lock, the fading light of day shining back at her from the metal. She could hear the TV playing a few feet away from her, the wood and insulation of the house muffling the sound of whatever show Geyer chose to watch that evening. She could hear her mom walking around in the kitchen, humming with an air of deceptive happiness about her.
Lia pushed the door open a crack, wincing as the smell of cherry blossom perfume and the underlying smell of a sickly sweet herb assaulted her nose. The true indicator of how strong the smell was, was that Liam choked slightly once the scent reached him. She glanced through the opening, looking at the wall that framed the front entrance, the right one being slightly shorter than the left one by design, and glanced picture frame that took the place where a mirror used to hang, one with intricate vines and flowers adorning the edge so that it looked like it came straight out of a fairy tale. When she was younger, she always thought it looked like it came out of Beauty and the Beast. Both she and her father loved that mirror, so Jenna deemed it the first thing that needed to go.
If someone were to actually look at what was in the picture frame, they would see a death certificate.
"Hey, Aunt Mary," Lia said casually. Their Aunt Mary died before they were born, around the time their mother was ten. Going from being an orphan in the foster system to learning that the only family she had left died in a fire was mind boggling, but to learn that her sister knowingly gave her up was a tough pill to swallow.
Not even to begin talking about the fact that their mother became an aunt when she was six.
Pushing the door open further, she felt it brushing against something on the floor, a stack of envelopes were sitting on the floor, farther than it would have been possible if they were just pushed through the mail slot. It wasn't uncommon for their mother to go through the mail, picking out the catalogs and the letters addressed to them while leaving the bills on the ground for Lia to grab when she came home.
Liam sighed, bending down to pick up the letters, "Looks like Jenna has gone through the letters again."
"Watch it, Liam," Geyer said from the couch, eyes glued to the TV screen as the News played.
Both of the siblings sent a man a steely glare and they would have happily ripped him apart if it weren't for the fact that he somehow made their mother happy. The relationship between Geyer and their mother was the longest one they could remember, lasting for a little over a year. They were more accustomed to one night stands, or the occasional fling that would last a couple of weeks, a month tops.
On the horrid day that Geyer had entered their lives, it had been made abundantly clear that he didn't plan on leaving them anytime soon. It became abundantly clear during the beginning of the relationship, it was not built off of love, but of need; Geyer had lost his home a few months prior to meeting Jenna in an electrical fire. He had been living out of a cheap motel, despite the fact that he could easily afford a new house due to his job as a neurosurgeon. But, due to his excessively frugal nature, he stayed at the cheapest motel in Beacon Hills, Misty Motel 13, and would excessively complain about its run down nature, the rampant cockroaches, and the horrible water pressure.
The irony of the situation was that, despite the lengths Geyer went to preserve his money, the minute their mother, or anyone really, went up against him, any spine he had fled him as he became a sniveling and trembling mess. The few people who had a harder time going against him were his patience and the Dunbar siblings: his patience because he could play the 'I'm the doctor and I know better than you' card and the Dunbar siblings because he had something that all three of them knew that the siblings didn't have: Jenna's favor.
Lia's glare still pierced the side of Geyer's head, but the sound of Liam flipping through the mail pulled her attention away. The first and second letters were from city hall, their water bill and electric bill respectively. The next letter was the bill for the car payment (ie: read Geyer's car payment) which was far more expensive than usual. The next two letters were their internet bill and the gas line bill.
Lia wasn't blind to the fact that Geyer had been behind on his car payment.
Liam sucked on his lip, gnawing the inner lip skin between his teeth, a nervous habit he either picked up from Mason or Mrs. Hewitt. He stared at her with an anxious gaze, "Are we gonna be able to pay it all?"
He's too young, a part of Lia screamed, he's too young to be worrying about money, he'stooyoung!-
She forced herself to smile reassuringly, "We're gonna be fine Liam, I promise. You should go ahead and pack your bags for tonight. From the smell of it, dinner will be ready soon."
The smell of lightly burnt pasta had been drifting from the kitchen masked by the smell of their mother's perfume. The same sickly sweet herbal smell drifted out of the kitchen as well, causing her to feel even more lightheaded. It only took the slightest bit of prodding before Liam caved and went upstairs.
As soon as she could hear his bedroom door close, and all the restraint she had snapped, her angry glare landed on Geyer. She marched in front of his view of the TV, ignoring his vexed protests as she threw the letter on his lap.
The letter stating that he was behind two months on his car payment.
"What the fuck is this?!"
"Watch your fucking language," he said hypocritically with a glare, ignoring the letter in his lap.
"Don't tell me to watch my language!" She shouted, "What the hell is this shit?! You know they don't have to give you a notice before they take your car back, right?!"
He sighed condescending, like he was talking to a child, "Lia, don't talk to me this way, I'm the adult-"
"No you're not!" She shouted, her face turning bright red in rage, "If you were an adult, you would be taking care of these fucking bills, not me! I have had to pay for everything around here since I was twelve! The only reason you can't afford your car payment is because you're too much of a pussy boy to say no to Jenna-!!"
The punch wasn't unexpected, but that didn't lessen its effect any. Geyer's lack of upper body strength meant that any illusion of strength came from momentum, and Lia had been learning how to roll with the punches since she was four; she normally would have been able to take without so much as hunching over.
But the herbal smell was thick in the air, almost as if it was being held directly in front of her nose. The malodorous scent was akin to honeyed poison, sweetly working its way down her throat as it clogged her windpipe. Her vision was covered in black dots, her senses taking in every little detail to compensate. The feeling of her knees against the floor, the sickly sweet herbal scent was still in the air, the smell of cherries and lightly burnt pasta nearly gone. She could feel the moon creeping closer to the horizon, goosebumps prickling across her skin at the sensation of the dawning lunar light.
And then, from up above, she could hear the faint sniiick of the window in Liam's bedroom cracking open.
She forced her head back up, staring at Geyer with spotty vision.
"Man, is that it?" She then smiled breathlessly, "Wow... you hit like a girl..."
Which, wasn't even close to the truth. Geyer couldn't put her on the floor if he tried, the present situation notwithstanding. Most women she knew could bruise her ribs with a single punch if they wanted to.
But it had the desired effect.
She could see the exact moment his vision went red; she could see it in the way he gripped her hair and drove his fist into her nose, taking swing after swing at her face, uncaring of where he hit, only that he hit her n a vain attempt to drive his message home.
Neither of the two could hear the thump-thump of two bags hitting the ground outside, but it did happen.
"Stop it! Stop it and look at what you've done!!"
Geyer's fist suddenly stopped pummelling into her face, and her vision took a moment to clear. Her mother was standing just outside of one of the entrances to the kitchen; the first entrance was an opening that was an absolute pain to explain how it looked. The opening almost seemed like it was cut out of the corner of the perpendicular walls, though more was taken out of the vertical wall than the horizontal wall. The said vertical wall didn't extend for long, curving outward and around the kitchen, serving as a kitchen bar and creating another opening. From the opening where Jenna stood, she was blocking the way to the door behind her, which led to the laundry room and to the screened in porch they had in the back with a porch swing.
It was one of her favorite places in the house, now she could barely go there anymore.
"Look at this!" Jenna snarled, glaring at Lia, "Look at this!! LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"
She stomped forward and the hand in her hair quickly became her mother's, who yanked her up before slamming her face into the ground, where a few drops of her blood had fallen. The smell of herbs and cherries was overpowering.
"I cooked for you," she snarled, lifting her up and slamming her back down with each pause, "I slave over the stove all night, just so your ungrateful ass could eat, and this is how you thank me? This is how you repay me! I SHOULD HAVE DUMPED YOUR INFANT BODY IN THE WOODS WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE!!"
The last statement was enunciated with a particularly hard slam against the floor, and she could feel the skin splitting on the swelling side of her face. And yet, Jenna persisted.
"The only reason you're alive right now was because your father was too fucking attached for me to dump your bodies without suspicion. If I hadn't needed him for his money, you wouldn't even fucking be here right now."
The hushed whisper was forced into her ears, beating her protective walls down faster than any form of torture ever could. She could smell the liquor in her mother's breath, could see her bloodshot eyes and the slightest tremble of her hands, indicating she was in need of a hit.
And, distantly, she could hear the quiet sniiick of Liam's window closing, and she struggled a little to pull their attention towards her.
Her mom pulled her head up by her hair, "All you have ever done is cause this family misery. You killed your father, your grandmother, and your so called 'aunt' and 'cousins'. They're all dead because of you. So tell me... why do I still keep you around?"
That was the real question, wasn't it? Because Lia didn't know either.
There was a thud from upstairs, most like Liam's subtle way to break up the fight he shouldn't know is going on right now. Jenna turned her scathing gaze to the ceiling before looking back down at her daughter. She let her hair go after forcefully shoving her face back into the floor.
"Clean up," she scoffed, "Dinner is almost ready."
The smell of wolfsbane and cherries was bitter in her mother's wake.
ââ â
The side of her face was already swelling, a dark, morbid collage of blue and purple bruises taking place on her face. Blood oozed gently out of the cut on her temple, courtesy of Jenna and co., while even more had oozed out of her nose.
Which, Liam told her after a bit of prodding, was definitely broken.
It didn't help that the wolfsbane was thick in the air, keeping her from getting a deep breath of fresh clean air, accompanied by the sickening smell of cherries and scalded pasta.
All three of the grisly smells seemed to mix together from the plate below, recreating a horrific scent she had to experience every month for the past year. She stirred the penne noodles in her plate, in vain hopes that if she covered her meal in enough alfredo sauce, it would save her from the bitterly painful taste of the purple herb. The smells were overwhelming, making her feel more and more lightheaded with every breath.
The sound of forks scraping against plates and the continuous beating of their hearts were clamorous in her ears, the repetitiveness making her want to cover her ears and give a baying howl. The lights seemed sharper too, like tiny needles jamming into her cornea every time she opened her eyes for too long. She didn't even want to know how bad the taste was going to be.
She was content to just stir the plate, letting the noodles get drowned in the alfredo sauce, blatantly ignoring the purplish tint that was in her food.
"Lia," her mother said harshly, "Eat your food."
Fuck that noise, she thought.
"I'm not that hungry," she said, her head tilted up in defiance.
The clatter of forks among plates came to a sudden halt, making her want to cry with relief.
She didn't though, she just stared at Jenna, eyebrows raised high as she dared her to say something.
Surprisingly, it was Jenna who said something, but it was Geyer.
"Don't speak to your mother with that attitude, Lia Dunbar," he said with a warning tone and she scoffed at it.
"Why should I listen to you? You're not my dad-"
The plate hit her head before she could even register that it flew, the plastic hitting her already bruised face. The little penne noodles and alfredo sauce that was left splattered access her face and hair, the plate hitting the table with a hollow clack! before it landed face down against the rug.
It was fine, she thought, alfredo sauce was simple enough to get out of the rug. I can do it in a minute.
As an afterthought, she was glad Liam had chosen the plastic plates instead of the glass ones when he set the table. It made everything easier to clean.
Jenna stood at her end of the table, chest heaving and her eyes wild with rage.
Huh, Lia thought. She almost forgot how bad her mother's mood swings would get when she was withdrawing.
While this was certainly a different display of what happened every month, she couldn't find it within herself to feel the slightest bit of fear at her mother's wild gaze. Her own expression was the picture of nonchalance.
But then, her mother's crazed gaze shifted to Liam.
Lia's expression instantly went blank.
"Get out."
Liam, who had been quietly brooding the entirety of dinner, looked up, brows furrowed in frustration and confusion, "What?"
"Did I fucking stutter? I said get out."
"Don't fucking talk to him like that!" Lia snapped, slamming her hands against the table before rising from her seat to match her mother. The wine glasses, which were sitting at the edge of the table, clattered and fell over the edge at her motion.
The palpable tension was so thick, anyone could reach out and grab it. It was a silent battle of wills, Lia fighting for family while Jenna fought for control. It was a battle that took place long before Geyer entered the house. Their father had started it, their Bunica had continued it after their father passed, and the mantle was passed down to Lia after she had died.
At least, that's how she interpreted it.
Liam believed she had been fighting that war since their Dad died.
"Lia... it's okay..."
Resisting the urge to snap and say No it isn't, she instead sighed, closing her eyes briefly before looking at her brother, her heart sinking at the sight before her; because despite the fact that her brother was four inches taller than her and made nearly entirely of muscle, he had the uncanny ability to maintain the innocence of a four year old when he let his puppy dog eyes shine. He rarely did it anymore, but whenever he chose to unleash his secret weapon, every maternal figure within a four-mile radius seemed to want to take care of him; Lia was no exception.
Jenna was.
"It's fine," he said again, eyes imploring into hers, "I can leave. It's fine."
At that moment, a silent conversation passed between their eyes, a conversation that can only be achieved by knowing someone their entire lives. It lasted a few seconds, short enough that Jenna and Geyer didn't notice, but long enough for Lia to cave to Liam's puppy dog eyes.
Like she usually did.
She heaved a heavy sigh, nodding her head in the direction of the door with her silent permission.
His heart rate spiked as he left the table, walking slowly in a vain attempt to appear calm. She bowed her head after he passed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she focus all her attention on his heartbeat while he walked around the house to where his bags were and then up the cul de sac, steadily making his way to Mason's house.
She was so focused on his heartbeat that she didn't hear Geyer get up from the table and lock the door, or hear her mother pick up the near empty wine bottle. She only came back to herself when she felt the thick glass bottle smashed over her head, and then she knew no more.
ââ â
"Give her more."
Geyer, true to Lia's earlier description, didn't question Jenna's command, only forced more of the alfredo sauce down the thing's throat. She moaned in pain, her already labored breaths coming out as wheezes as she struggled to breathe. They had given her more than the amount that the woman had told them to give her, but it was no matter.
If she didn't want to get hurt, she shouldn't have fought back.
From the corner of the room, her late husband watched, his blue eyes stark against his burnt skin, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes were sad and disappointed.
It didn't matter. He was dead and soon she would have his money.
(Itdidn'tmatteritdidn'tmatter. It didn't)
The thing's eyes cracked open, the light of the full moon making its eyes glow, fueling it with more power as its wheezing became more pronounced.
"Please," it rasped, before its eyes closed once more, most likely from the pain.
Her backhand was sharp and quick, knocking him onto the ground from his crouched position.
"GIVE IT TO ME!" She screamed, snatching the small pouch from his hand and dumping the purple powder down the thing's throat. It choked on the poison and she quickly covered its mouth and nose with her hand, forcing her to swallow. For a moment, its eyes cleared, and Jenna was left with the familiar blue eyes she would see the monster wear in the daytime.
"Please Mom," it said, muffled by her hands, "It's me... It's Lia... it's your daughter..."
Shut up. Shut up shutup shutupshutupshutupshutupshut-
"SHUT UP!" She wailed, eyes once again going feral, "SHUT UP!! SHUT THEÂ FUCKÂ UP!!"
Her hands moved from its mouth to its throat, picking its head up only to slam it down again, a satisfying CRACK! ringing through the air every time its skull hit the hardwood.
It was a good thing she convinced her late husband to go against carpets.
Blood began to mat in its hair, slowly leaking down and staining the floor. Fury flooded through her at the sight, and she began bashing her head against the floor harder. Its cheeks were flushed with a fever, no doubt a combination of the poison and the full moon, but its hands were clammy, trembling as it weakly grabbed at her wrists. A cold sweat seemed to cover the rest of her body.
"Jenna!" Geyer seemed to be shouting, "We can't get the money if you kill her!"
The money...
The constant bashing slowed to a stop, and she looked at the things below her.
Its face wasn't flush from fever, though it felt like it had one, its face was red from lack of oxygen, its eyes rolling and mouth weakly gasping for air. She let go, and a ragged breath sounded from the creature, its eyes beginning to glow softly as they closed, the thing more focused on its breaths than its environment.
No one did anything for a moment, the only sound being the creature's ragged breath.
After a moment, Jenna stood up, grabbing the creature by its ankles. She nodded in the direction of the kitchen, "Open the door."
Geyer hastily ran into the kitchen, throwing open the trap door, Jenna slowly lumbering after him, dragging the creature with her.
Their kitchen was spacious, with a big island in the middle that was useful when someone was cooking. The wall between the two different entrances curved with a rustic cabinet setting lining the gray walls. At the curve, it served as extra counter space in the kitchen, the bar portion of the counter being raised a few inches from the rest of the counter. A small sink centered in the long curve stood out against the maple wood cabinets. The dishwasher, a model from the late 1990s, sat near the wall that framed the entrance to the living room.
The quartz topped island sat in the center of the room, followed by the oven and stove that sat right in front of it. The refrigerator sat near the entrance to the dining room. Maple wood cabinets lined the upper portion of the walls, as well as beneath the quartz-topped counters.
The door in question could only be opened if something was wedged into the opening, like a knife or a crowbar. If you came in from the living room entrance, it would be directly in front of you, the door itself pressed against the foremost cabinets. It led to the wine cellar, a place that was once frequently visited to retrieve wine from the cellar, but was now only visited once a month, to lock away the family's darkest secret.
The body of the creature being dragged across the floor was the only noise, occasionally disrupted by its moans of pain. But even then, those sounds were quickly disrupted by the sound of it gagging.
Both of the adults froze.
The thing gagged again. Harder, this time.
"Hurry up," Jenna hissed, "Hurry up and give me the cuffs!"
Geyer moved, but he was too slow.
Vomit spewed from the thing's mouth splattering over the old t-shirt it had changed into for dinner. The putrid smell of vomit and stomach bile hung in the air. The half-digested wolfsbane clung to her clothes, along with a thin brown liquid that smelt disgustingly like coffee.
"Christ,"Â Geyer said, covering his nose, "You'd think that's all she had eaten all day."
"It doesn't fucking matter," Jenna swore, dragging that thing closer to the cellar, "Just get me the goddamned handcuffs!"
The handcuffs in question had been a pair from her ex-boyfriend, a fact that Geyer was still sullied about, both of them being a pair that he stole from the sheriff of Beacon Hills a few months prior to his third arrest. They had been soaking in a pot of wolfsbane infused water in preparation for the full moon.
And now it was time to use them.
They put them on its ankles first, the deadly metal burning against its skin, before they spun it around, throwing it into the cellar head first. It just sat there, its body barely moving other than the rise and fall of its chest. Blonde hair fell all around its head, some strands stained with blood while others stained with the grime of the wine cellar floors.
It was disgusting, but it was fitting for the monster.
Jenna looked at Geyer, jabbing her head in the direction of the beast, "Cuff her hands to the post."
Once again, Geyer hesitated.
And, once again, Jenna noticed.
"WELL GO!!" She shouted, shoving him down into the cellar. He landed with a loud THUD, causing the monster to stir slightly. He froze at the moment before scrabbling towards it, grabbing its wrists, and dragging it deeper into the wine cellar. The walls were lined with wine racks, going from the ground all the way up to the three and a half foot tall ceiling, and pushed back until it was around six feet away from the entrance. A pillar was tucked away in the back of the cellar, the pillar also acting as one of the many support beams of the house.
It also happened to be the strongest.
Geyer pulled her up against the pillar, cuffing her wrists behind the pillar as she began to stir slightly.
"Geyer," she croaked, "Wha-"
He scrambled back as quickly as he could ignoring her calls and her grunts of pain as the wolfsbane soaked chains burned her.
"Wait," she gasped, sounding desperate, panicked. Geyer hesitated again.
"Please... don't leave me... down here..."
He crawled out, not looking back as he took his place behind Jenna, gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor.
The woman in question was glaring down the hole with narrowed eyes, watching as the glow from the thing's eyes lit a dingy light in the back of the room before closing the trap door.
It closed with a sense of finality, the silence echoing throughout the house as it would for the next several hours. She was far enough underground that no one would be able to hear her scream.
Her late husband stood once again near the entrance to the dining room, looking at the situation with sad eyes, the deep reds and charred blacks of his skin causing his blue eyes to be far more prominent than they should be.
Geyer's lips on her neck were as unexpected as they were welcomed, which was not very. She tilted her head to the side and sighed, more out of boredom than lustful ecstasy. She was more focused on the clear headed feeling she had since her last hit, missing the fogginess so terribly that her heart began to ache from it.
"She can deal with it all in the morning," he mumbled against her neck, vaguely implying the mess that was made around the house, before biting a certain spot on her neck that nearly made her knees buckle. The smell of wolfsbane and vomit was strong in the air, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter that the plan to kill her hadn't worked, she was still too weak to escape the cellar.
ââ âBeacon Hills, California. January 9th, 2012.ââ â
ââ â04x??: ???ââ â
ââ â
TW: MENTIONS OF STEALING AND PHYSICAL SCARRING
Liam was quiet.
That was normal, she tried to reassure herself despite the worry that was eating at her stomach, teens get angsty and when they're angsty, they're quiet and bitchy. It's that simple.
Except Liam didn't get quiet when he was angsty. Combined with his temper and his worsening I.E.D. (which she still felt guilty every time she thought about it), he always had the tendency to let that one deaf stranger in Russia that he was pissed about something. He got loud, his voice rising in volume and intensity as he flailed his arms about, his fists curled and his eyes would be alight like a blue fire.
But as of now, he was silent, his face twisted into a pensive expression. His movements seemed automatic, almost robotic, like his body was running on autopilot while his mind was miles away. His footfalls were completely silent against the pavement, subconsciously silencing his footsteps like she taught him, and the worry in her chest was slightly dampened by her pride.
She had quickly learned at a young age to silence her footfalls and to move in silence without being seen. Over the years, she perfected her technique to the point she could walk through a room and no one would notice that she had been there. Liam was quick to learn them over the years, whether it be from their lessons on the Beacon Hills Nature Reserve, or by mimicking his sister's behavior.
They went unnoticed as they walked down the sidewalk, the only other people walking the nearly abandoned neighborhood were the homeless in alleyways and the sketchy people that could pass as jonesing gang members. The ghetto area of Beacon Hills was small, only a couple of city blocks near an old warehouse district, but it always seemed to reek of danger, the social and economical outcasts gathering there for refuge. It was a place that was more of a home than their actual home.
Lia gently nudged her brother's shoulder, mentally gauging his mood, "Hei, eČti bine?"
His shoulders seemed to slump in relief at her words like a marionette doll with its strings cut. He did that every time she spoke in their native tongue, taking her words as a silent sign that it was safe enough for them to speak in the language that their father taught them, one of the last pieces they had of him. Her sadness slightly dampened her pride.
"Nimic," he said with a simple shrug, still not meeting her gaze, "Sunt bine."
She with held her sigh. "Nu trebuie sÄ mÄ minČi."
He said nothing, but she could see his gaze shifting towards her out of the corner of her eye and how he bit on the inside of his cheek nervously. Lia could read his tale-tell signs a mile away and yet, she remained silent, mentally counting down to when he would speak.
3... 2... 1...
"Cum te descurci cu toate astea?"
She felt slightly smug at her guess being right, but then she frowned, "Ce vrei sÄ spui?"
He bit his lip in frustration before gesturing vaguely around them, switching back to english, "All of this? The two jobs, the self defense lessons, passing school with straight A's, taking care of everyone in the house. I just... I just don't understand how you can do everything that you do and still be on top of it..."
Despite her brother's evident frustration, she said nothing, her gaze shifting from his face and down his body, silently observing his tics. He ran his fingers through in hir agitatedly, his gaze never staying on one spot; his shoulders were pulled back by their tension, his fists clenching and unclenching. Her gaze shifted back upwards just as rapidly as it had shifted. He noticed.
"Quit profiling me!"
"I wasn't profiling you, I was just reading you!"
"That's what profiling is, smuciturÄ."
"Prove it, cÄĹŁea."
"Just," he huffed in irritation, his temper steadily rising, "Just answer the question." She stared at him expectantly. He sighed again, "Please?"
She stared at him for a moment, most likely to ensure that she had his attention before shrugging, "Puterea de a Îndura. The power to endure."
His eyes immediately shifted down, right where he knew he could find the engraving that sat on her necklace: a capital D made of silver, embezzled with white gems and an arrow shooting in through the bottom left, the words Puterea de a Îndura dancing across the arrow.
He frowned, gaze shifting back to hers, "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Ilee," she said gently, "Having muscular strength isn't that uncommon these days, it's getting to the point that almost everyone can throw some weights on a bar and bench press it, just like almost anyone can throw a javelin or lift someone in a fireman's carry. A lot of people can do it, but not everyone is strong in the way that they should be."
"If this is your way of telling me I'm weak, it sucks."
"That's not what I'm saying," she responded patiently, refusing to rise to the bait, "You are incredibly strong and you can do anything that you put your mind to, but you're not strong because you can bench press a hundred and eighty pounds, you're strong because you have the will, the power to endure the unendurable."
Her confident gaze leveled with his unreadable one, "That's what makes you strong, not some male stereotype that says you have to bench your body weight in order to be strong, true strength comes from your character. You get me, Ilee?"
"It's Liam," he grumbled, but his shoulders relaxed, the invisible weight that they held slipping off of them, making him look far less tense than he usually looked.
She eyed him for a moment, silently searching for something else that could be bothering him. Finding nothing, she nodded firmly, clapping him on the shoulder with her usual cheeky grin.
"C'mon slowpoke," she nodded her head in the direction of their destination, "We move any slower and I'll be old and wrinkly by the time we get there."
"You're already old. How else can you explain the gray hairs?"
"Brat," she swatted the back of his head, "I got them all from you."
"Did not."
"Did too," she shoved him lightly before taking off down the sidewalk, "Race you!"
"Hey!"
Their surroundings blurred around them as they raced down the sidewalk, their laughter and pounding footsteps being the only thing they heard. They made their turns reflexively, having traveled the same route so often that they could follow it in their sleep. Abandoned buildings and scowling homeless people were familiar, but unnecessary landmarks as they began to slow down after catching sight of their final destination.
The abandoned Cathedral loomed above them, and despite its ominous exterior, the pair of siblings looked at it with warmth, almost like how a child would look at their home. They went there as often as they could, usually once a week, or- on the week of the full moons- twice a week. It was all Lia could afford to take off, given that she was the only member of her family that was able to hold down a job. Her little brother was too young to work, being only fourteen, and her mother was so selfish that she forgot that she was supposed to take care of them, not act like a rebellious teenage girl by never staying at home and getting high in the slums.
More often than not, Lia would always be forced to come back to the ghetto part of Beacon Hills; It was a place their mother spent the most time and where Lia often came for extra work.
It was on one of the extra work trips that she met self defense teacher.
She threw open the creaky door, eliciting a squeal from the rusted hinges. "Rabbi Yoda!" She called out, "We're here!"
When it was in its prime, rows upon rows of pews would have lined through the room, at least four columns filled with thirty pews each, all of them facing towards the front to where the minister would stand preaching. The stained glass windows contained a very detailed picture of Mary holding baby Jesus, the Biblical Magi and Joseph standing behind them as the star of Bethlehem hung in the sky behind them. The colorful art would have caught the light of the rising sun, casting a holy glow across the worshippers.
But, after it was closed due to the lack of funding, the upkeep took a nose dive downward. Dust coated the pews, the walls were bare due to the thief of the decorative paintings that used to hang there. Some of the pews were missing, and scratches on the oak floor where the wood was taken to be used as firewood for the homeless during the cold winters. The window was covered in grime, the once beautiful artwork now unrecognizable. There were markings in the dust, allowing the wood beneath the chance to breathe for over a decade.
Discarded food trash coated the floor and a little mattress was pressed against the far right corner of the room, the blankets were thrown somewhat messily over the musty mattress.
"Well," Lia said sarcastically, "I'm glad to know he cleaned up for us. Rabbi Yoda! Where are you!"
Silence hung in the air. She gave a resigned sigh, then looked at her brother expectantly.
"We brought you food," Liam cried helpfully.
They could hear a faint 'Back here' from the minister's office, which branched off on the left side of the small stage where the pastor would give a sermon. The floor gave a slight squeak as they walked, the boards were well worn from their existence. Neither of the siblings bothered to check if anyone had followed them in, all of the other homeless stayed away from the cathedral as much as they could, driven away by a melancholic air that everyone but Lia felt.
The office was somewhat in the same condition as the rest of the church, with dust lining the small desk, the bookshelf that was pressed against the far wall in no better condition. There were marks in the dust from where items had been placed and moved around, more empty food trash littered the small area. The books on the shelf were extremely faded, time taking away the pigment of their colors and their text; Lia had read them when they were still legible, most were about Japanese lore and mythology. The rest were a bunch of church handbooks, something she didn't even know churches needed.
The desk chair was placed next to the doorway, and the rug that usually sits horizontally in front of the desk was tossed aside skewedly, revealing an open, wooden trap door. The siblings could see the small amount of rust that was building around the hinges, no doubt causing it to squeak when moved. The darkness was foreboding, almost like a silent warning and promise that some bad would happen if they entered.
So, naturally, Lia didn't think twice before dropping down, the four foot fall only lasting a few seconds. The cool air became thick when she hit the floor, the musty smell of damp wood and concrete prominent in the air. Small windows hung at the top of the wall, near the ceiling, letting in the most minuscule amount of light, mainly due to the shrubbery that concealed most of the windows that were hidden at the base of the church's walls. Weights and old workout equipment were scattered across the room, a punching bag swinging ever so slightly in the corner.
A sudden THUD behind her pulled her from her reprieve, seeing Liam dusting off his pants from the drop. She frowned in disapproval, but it was gone by the time Liam looked up, replaced with a raised brow and she nodded towards the slightly dilapidated ladder that was under the hatch.
"There's a ladder there for a reason."
He scoffed, "Please, like you ever use it.
"I'm older than you, I can do as I please. You, on the other hand, are but a minor, which means-"
"You are too!"
"Not for long."
"Believe me, IÂ know," he grumbled, "You're told me this every day since New Year."
"Not every day," she said before smirking, "just every other day."
"You-!"
"You're late."
They both snapped their heads in the direction of the shadowy corner, their eyes wide in attention as their teacher emerged silently from the shadows. His robes, while tattered and dirty from the streets, still maintained their brown color. A black undershirt was visible from the v-neck of his robes. A slightly stained white cire cap sat on top of his head. His black hair was thinning, and his almond shaped eyes were the few remaining hints of his Japanese heritage.
"You're late," he said again, "You could have gotten here quicker."
There was an uncomfortable tension in the air as Rabbi Yoda stared them down. Liam's gaze shifted towards the ground, and something ugly curled in Lia's stomach. It was mostly her fault, she knew. The route they took was slightly longer than the one they could take to save time, but she would be damned before she purposely put her brother in harm's way.
Liam was silent, an unreadable expression on his face.
"We know," Lia said, her face devoid of its usual cocky expression, instead filled with a solemn look that wasn't uncommon when she spoke to people of authority, "We took the long way. There were some sketchy people on the shorter route."
"Mmm, still? You would've thought they'd move on by now, given it's been three years now."
There was a small edge in his voice, a challenge, but she just shrugged nonchalantly, a cool look in her eyes, "Guess they had a reason to stay."
Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills engaging between them. Rabbi Yoda's gaze was stern and demanding, a look that could usually make any less of a person buckle under the look, though Lia held her head high, refusing to cave under the indiscernible pressure. Blue and brown, earth and sea, both rising to the challenge to see who would bow down first.
After what felt like an eternity, he broke the silence. Not in forfeit, but in truce, with a silent promise to continue when the time was right, just as he always did. And Lia would accept, just as she always did.
"Get ready," he said, taking the bags from the table, "I will put these away."
His footsteps were as silent as ever, the old floorboards not making a single sound as he walked across them, the plastic bags just as silent. They would have never known he was there if they weren't looking at him, and even then, he seemed to melt into the darkness of the room, vanishing from their sight like a ghost.
Liam shuddered lightly, "That's creepy."
Lia couldn't help but snort lightly, "We've known Rabbi Yoda for almost five years, and his vanishing act still creeps you out?"
"It's unsettling, sue me!"Â
She chuckled, shaking her head before staring at him with mirth in her eyes, "Better watch what you say, the old man has ears like a bat."
"I can still hear you," a disembodied voice called from the other side of the room, making Liam jump. Lia rolled her eyes at her teacher's antics. Such a drama queen, she thought.
"C'mon," she said softly, nudging Liam with her shoulder, "We better get ready."
They wordlessly broke off, turning their backs on each other as they changed into their workout clothes. For Lia, it was a purple tank top and black leggings that she found tucked away in the back of Goodwill. The kneecaps and the underarm side of her clothes had long lost their original color, a clear sign of how long they had been worn, even before she stole them. Her shoes were immediately discarded, the cool floorboards quickly warming up beneath her feet. She let loose a slow, steady exhale, rolling her shoulders with a satisfying POP.
Behind her, Liam's outfit was a stark contrast to hers. The colors on his clothes were bold and distinctively there, the dark blue of his tank top the very same color it was when Lia bought it at the store, his black workout shorts no different. And while their clothes were fine on their own, once they turned to face each other, it was clear who was wearing a nicer outfit. While Lia's clothes were attempting to be the colors they used to be, they were lighter shades of the colors they once were; the black now a dark gray and the Iris purple now faded to a Periwinkle.
And, oddly enough, the condition of their clothes was the perfect analogy for the state of their skin.
They both had their fair share of scars, serving as testaments to their triumphs, all of their scars ranging from small knicks that didn't even require a band-aid, to a six inch gash that needed twenty-eight stitches. Liam's most memorable one was hidden beneath his shirt, but even then, the scars she could see were like knives to Lia's heart, serving as a silent accusation of why didn't you help me as well as being a constant reminder of her failings as a sister.
The guilt was inconceivable as it was inconsolable, just a constant throbbing ache in her heart.
But even as Liam's skin was torn and damaged, Lia still had the most scars.
There was hardly a time she could imagine herself without them, the dips in her skin a constant under the fingertips of herself and others. Her body was akin to the earth, the grooves in her skin not much different from the canyons carved from the hard rocks. And while her eyes were the sky, they were also the ground, filled with the ability to nutrient others as well as crush them with a single glare. They danced with unseen secrets, the untold words and promises being held and nurtured as their roots were buried into the depths of her gaze and refusing to let go. Her eyes, as blue as a clear day, could hold the darkness of a place buried in the earth.
Those eyes, capable of holding such darkness, held only love for her brother.
And while they held love, her hooded gaze held determination as she stared at her brother, shifting into her ready stance.
I'm stronger than them, her eyes seemed to say, I'm stronger than all my scars.
And Liam stared back, his eyes holding a concerned sadness that cut through her heart every time he looked at her like that.
With a moment's hesitation, he relented, shifting into a stance that matched her own, his gaze torn between resolve and uncertainty. Rabbi Yoda looked between them, almost as though he could read the tension in the atmosphere around them. They didn't say anything, so neither did he.
"Begin," he croaked.
And so they did, the room filling with the sounds of flesh hitting flesh. There was a familiarity in their moves, almost as if they were dancing rather than fighting. With each jab and parring strike, they continued, occasionally switching off and on between defense and offense, both of their eyes narrowed in focus and determination as they sparred.Â
Rabbi Yoda watched them with a calculating gaze, approval blooming in his chest that he made sure to mask. He sat cross legged atop of the wooden table, the wood giving a sight creak under his weight. Eyes closed, he took a deep breath and, unseen to the naked eye, a light silver smoke slipped into his mouth. He opened his eyes, and it was gone.
"Elbows high, Dunbar!" He called suddenly and Lia's gaze shifted for him for half a second, shifting back in time to dodge a punch from her brother.
"Which one!"
"The ugly one."
"Oh," she said, "He was talking to you, Ilee."
"Hey!"
"Aw, c'mon Liam. It's nothing to be ashamed of!"
Liam responded by attacking.
But, Rabbi Yoda noticed with a firm nod, his elbows were now in the correct position.
Their sparring continued, the sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the room, broken only by the occasional sound of Rabbi Yoda calling out a correction. And while no one could see, the punches and blocks and swears hid their true demeanor beneath them. From an outside perspective, they were just a regular pair of siblings. They talk all the time, maybe more than most, but sometimes the important things are between the lines, something so blatantly obvious that they don't need to say it. When they do talk, they say smuciturÄ and cÄĹŁea and come here and stay safe and we got this and let's go and Ilee and Lia and Ollie.
But, if you really knew them, the people that existed behind the mask they wear in public, you would know that they're not just words.
It was a silent declaration of their dedication, a never ending love letter only they could hear.Â
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As the Jeep made its final turn into the school, Scott let out a small breath of relief. The gentle rattle of the engine woven itself gently through the silence, not necessarily breaking it but... moving it, in some way. Neither of the boys said anything as the Jeep rolled to a stop, the engine sound finally cut off as Stiles turned the keys, leaving them hanging in the ignition. Their gentle jingle was the only sound left in the cab as they sat in silence.
And, as per usual, Stiles was the one to break it.
"And you just... gave her your hoodie?"
"Yeah man," Scott confirmed, nodding his head, "That's what I said."
Stiles shook his head at the oddity that was his best friend, "I know Scott but... you just... you don't even know her."
"That's not true," Scott denied, and immediately regretted it.
Stiles threw his hands into the air dramatically, his gaze piercing through Scott, "Oh really?" He said sarcastically, "I thought you were a werewolf, not a psychic. How do you know that, Scott? How do you possibly know that?"
Scott was silent. By all standing logic, Stiles was right. His interactions with the mysterious girl were limited to a ten minute conversation in the middle of a gas station, which resulted in them awkwardly swapping pieces of clothing, her getting his hoodie, and him getting her shirt, which now smelt of lavender, old books, and coffee.
Scott did not sniff her shirt hmmm no sir-
He knew it wasn't enough to make a logical conclusion on whether or not she was trustworthy. No one, not even a werewolf, can make an accurate assumption about someone after only talking with them for ten minutes. There was no way, it wasn't possible.
And yet...
There was something about her that just radiated calm and safety, just being in her presence left a gentle tugging in the pit of his stomach, urging him to get closer. She somehow reminded him of when he was younger and naive, oblivious to the troubles and the struggles of the world and was just free to be, to be whoever he wanted to be and do what he wanted to do without feeling the need to look over his shoulder to see if his choices would come back to bite him in the ass.
And there was something about those eyes... the eyes that were familiar to him in ways he couldn't understand.
"I don't know," Scott said, as truthful as ever, "But I just know she is."
Stiles sighed once again, somehow conveying all of his sarcasm into a single breath, "Scott-"
"Stiles," Scott said, the barest amounts of desperation leaking into his voice at Stiles' incredulous stare "I know it sounds crazy, believe me, I know, but..." he hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I can't help but feel some kind of pull towards her. She's important, Stiles... I just don't know why yet."
Stiles was silent as he mulled over the new information, nibbling on his lower lip as his hands thumped against the steering wheel. His heart was faster than usual, setting a stone of dread into the pit of Scott's stomach. Anxiety quickly took hold as Stiles fixed him with a grave expression and his heart stuttered in his chest at the boy's next words.
"Do you think she's going to be the next big bad?"
WHACK!
The sudden sound of a hand hitting the glass window caused both of the boys to jump, Stiles' head bouncing off the roof. A peeved Lydia Martin stood on the other side of the glass, her perfect brows raised expectantly as her gaze shifted from the handle back to them. Their hearts were racing in their chest as they stared in raging disbelief at her unsympathetic response to scaring them half to death. At their lack of movement, she smacked her open palm against the glass thrice again, eyebrows raised high in displeasure as she waited for them to exit the vehicle.
Hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned, Scott thought nostalgically, both boys staring at each other in slight dread before they reluctantly exited the vehicle.
Lydia's arms were crossed shrewdly over her chest, displeasure evident in her stance as she schooled her expression into a stoic mask of stone. She only broke her immovable character to take two steps back from Stiles' door. Her red hair gently framed her face, which was lightly cladded with makeup. A small breeze pushed her hair out of her face, and Scott became acutely aware of the fact that he was no longer wearing his hoodie. The parking lot was oddly void, the ghostly absence of the student body serving as the only indicator that he was late.
It was a quiet morning, one of the more peaceful moments of Beacon Hills, but they didn't fool Scott anymore. He knew of the evils that hid in the streets, that were obscured by the walls of houses, and hidden by their masks of normality. His heart was heavy with the knowledge of why all the mysterious murders that had happened in this town never seemed to make any sense.
I suppose ignorance truly is bliss, Scott thought glumly.
He watched his fingertips lightly trail over the painted metal of the Jeep's hood as he walked, all of his silent musing coming to a halt at the sight in front of him.
Kira and Malia were standing behind Lydia, Kira staring at him with a cautious expression and Malia looking like she'd rather be anywhere but there. They had been carefully hidden from Scott and Stiles' view, tucked just out of their sight while they had been sitting in the vehicle.
His senses seemed to shut down slightly when he saw them, his stride slowing to a steady stop. He could distantly hear Stiles asking Lydia what was going on, but it all sounded underwater, his brain only choosing to focus on the girl that had captivated his attention. He thought back to before, thinking of how the sight of Kira used to make his heart skip, how her scent became something he took comfort in and how he began to love her, despite how other people stated that wolves and foxes could never get along and how they never would. He thought of how eager he was to prove them wrong, to prove to them that they could love each other in spite of their differences.
He remembered how it all changed after Allison. . . after Allison.
"Scott?"
Stiles' voice jolted him out of his contemplative state, his mind thrown back into the present. Stiles and Lydia were staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to supply an explanation to their persistent questions. Kira stared at him with undisguised concern and sympathy, the compassion in her gaze making his battered heart twist in pain.
The only one who really stood out was Malia, who seemed slightly annoyed with having to wait for him to get out of his own head. "It's progress," Stiles would say and, somehow, the thought became like an anchor to him, holding him down and keeping his mind from drifting again
Though they were still staring at him expectantly, and his insides squirmed under their gaze, his muscles slowly tensing up.
"Erm, sorry," he amended with a small bow of his head, "Got.. got lost in my own head for a second there. What... what did you say?"
Lydia, bless her, didn't question his obvious deflection and repeated herself. "The new girl is wearing a hoodie. Your hoodie."
It wasn't phrased as a question, but the demand for an explanation was evident by her tone.
The mention of the mysterious new girl sent the memory of their short encounter played back over in his head (again). He remembered the soft smell of lavender and old books that coaxed him out of his traumatic flashback, how the smell of fresh, gas station coffee was quickly added to the mix and how it surprisingly went well with her scent. He remembered how soft the skin on her hands were, of how she gently cupped his face to keep his attention from straying again and-
"Scott!"
He gave a start at the shout, a light blush now gracing his cheeks, as he was unceremoniously yanked from his daydream. His heart was beating frantically in his ears and he sent Stiles a halfhearted glare.
The boy in question waved his arms in a 'what the hell dude?' gesture and Scott didn't really have a response for that. He chose to say nothing, mostly due to the lack of an answer, though it was his lack of words that told Stiles everything that he needed to know.
"Oh my god, Scott," he said, voice low in disbelief, "Okay, you know what, I'll tell them what happened." He turned back to address Lydia, oblivious to Scott's wide-eyed expression. "Scott spilled coffee on the new girl's shirt, so he gave her his hoodie to wear instead and based on that small encounter, he thinks we can trust her."
"Stiles," Scott hissed, somewhat embarrassed by the bold and simplified statement, but his friend continued to stare at him unabashed. He stood firm by what he had said and even though it was the truth, that didn't mean that Scott wanted to hear it.
Annoyance bubbled in his chest and his eyes began to burn slightly as he fixed Stiles with a hard stare. He could feel his teeth growing longer in his mouth, the sharp pointed ends poking past his lips in a small sneer. A prickling sensation covered his fingertips as his claws lightly dug into the straps of his backpack.
"Dude," Stiles stated, staring at his friend incredulously, "Put the eyes and the claws away, man, we're in public."
A mortified expression covered Scott's face and a blush rushed to his cheeks as he forced his claws back into his nails, his teeth turning back to normal as his red eyes returned to their usual chocolate pools. He looked up toward the expectant eyes of the pack, before looking back down in embarrassment.
"Sorry," was all he said.
"Could your judgment be affected by the full moon," Lydia questioned, once again being an absolute saint and glossing over his momentary loss of control. He flexed his fingers subconsciously, grounding himself with the simple technique and assuring himself that his claws were gone and that his fingernails were there instead.
"Yeah, like this isn't a sign that tonight's gonna be rough," he heard Stiles mutter to himself and Scott sighed heavily, suddenly just so done with the conversation that he would do anything if that meant it would just end.
Even if that meant saying he was wrong.
"I don't know, maybe?" Scott sighed, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get to class. "Look, I can't explain it, but I just know that she's trustworthy. I just don't know why yet."
Silence enveloped the pack, each member staring at each other with unreadable expressions on their faces. The urge, the want to believe their Alpha was so strong they could feel it in each other's souls, a recent development that had occurred since the defeat of the Nogitsune. They were hyper aware of everything that happened to their pack mates, feeling faint, phantom sensations that left the pack riddled with questions and no answers, not even from Derek or Deaton.
The school bell rang, cutting through the silence like a hot knife and Scott could hear the chatter of students filling the halls. The bell had taken the place of a conductor that cued the students to begin their customized symphony of sounds, the sounds of their mixed voices somehow became integrated with the sounds of lockers opening and closing with harsh metallic bangs.
First period was over, and second period had yet to begin.
The familiarity of the noise sent an odd sort of comfort through Scott, his muscles relaxing at the sound as he looked at the school somewhat wistfully. It had been over a year ago that he stood near the doors telling a disbelieving Stiles about how he had found the body of Laura Hale.
A year since he had been saved...
"C'mon," he said absentmindedly to the pack, "We better get to class."
The march to the school doors was mostly silent, the chatter of their schoolmates getting louder the closer they got to the doors. Each pack member seemed to be lost in their own thoughts, all of them looking over at Scott at least once during their trek to the school entrance.
Well, save, Malia, who looked at the school with nothing but dread.
Acrylic nails dug lightly into his arm as he grabbed the door handle, making him turn and look at Lydia questioningly. She pursed her lips together slightly, almost looking like she was pouting before she said, "I think we should sit with her at lunch. Get to know her a little," she tilted her head slightly, "Maybe then we'll see what you see."
Scott smiled, relief flooding through his veins, "Thank you."
"Your welcome, and besides," she smiled wistfully, "It'll be nice to have a new friend."
The loss of Allison hit him in the chest, the pang of hurt echoing in the hole in his heart, the hole that Allison left. He took a deep breath and smiled, pushing the hurt aside as he smiled gratefully at Lydia, "It will be. I'm sure you guys will like her. She's really nice." She just gave him a look that clearly said We'll see.
Scott went to pull open the doors only for Stiles to gasp dramatically behind him. He raised a brow in his friend's direction, looking at him questioningly, "You good?"
"No Scott!" He shouted dramatically, "No I am not good! And you shouldn't be either!"
"Why?"
"Because we left the coffee in the Jeep!"
The boy in question turned on his heels immediately, sprinting back to his jeep at full speed. And, even as the bell told Scott that he and the pack were going to be late for their second period classes, he couldn't help but laugh. Some things just never really changed.
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Scott was not being moody.
No. Not at all.
But he couldn't say he wasn't disappointed that they couldn't find the new girl during lunch. Her scent was there, the prominent smell dancing through the air as though she was just hidden from view, tucked away in the room that their eyes couldn't see. He had torn the lunchroom apart with his gaze and yet she could not be found. Malia had said the same thing, or rather, a loose variation of it.
"Flowers and books, that's her scent, right?" Malia questioned, having to raise her voice slightly to speak over the chattering of the other students. Scott wanted to correct her, tell her that it was lavenders and old books, but he held his tongue, choosing to nod instead. She briskly continued at Scott's confirmation, "Then she was here, she wasn't here for long, but she was definitely here."
"While that's great and all, where is she now?" Stiles asked.
No one had an answer.
He sighed quietly, resting his head on the base of his palm and Stiles patted his back sympathetically from behind him, "It's okay, Scott. We'll just sit with her tomorrow."
But I want to sit with her today, Scott thought childishly, but instead he said, "Yeah, man, I know."
Stiles sighed, unsatisfied with the answer, pulled his hand back before throwing them dramatically in front of him again, "So what is it? Is it like her scent that you like or-or is she some other kind of creature that we're gonna have to worry about? Or-or is this just a teenage boy thing where you make stupid decisions because she's pretty?"
"Stiles."
"What? Are you saying she's not pretty?"
"I-that's not-of course she's pretty but that's not why I said we can trust her."
"Okay, wait, but how pretty is pretty? Like pretty as in pretty or pretty as in Malia pretty?"
"I don't know, I guess? I-I just," Scott hesitated, "I think she's really beautiful..."
Stiles studied him with a pensive expression, slowly easing back into his seat as he lightly nibbled on his thumbnail in thought. Scott stared off with a dazed expression, his mind still stuck on what he said and how right those words felt when he said. His heart sped up slightly as he thought about her, how she gave him a small smile when he offered to clean her shirt and how she effortlessly put him at ease with a few kind words and a soft touch.
Her beauty went deeper than the surface, her actions towards him, a person she barely knew, proved that.
"Maybe she's a succubus then? Trying to lure you into having sex with her then BAM! She sucks out your life force!"
"Stiles!"
"What? I wanna be prepared if she's gonna suck the life force out of me through my d-!"
"That'll be quiet enough Mr. Stilinski."
Stiles' jaw closed with an audible click, both boys immediately facing the teacher. Ms. Martin's arms were crossed over her chest, staring at the two boys expectantly. Silence rang out, her commanding voice somehow filling the very silence it had created. There was a soft and timid knock on the door, pulling Ms. Martin's attention away from them, "Yes?"
The door opened slowly and Scott's heart stopped in his chest.
It was her.
Her golden curls seemed to light up in the sunshine, almost making her appear as though she was wearing a flaming halo. The sunlight made her blue eyes appear even brighter, almost like the sky on a cloudless day. She was still wearing his hoodie, and while that should have been an obvious detail, seeing her wearing it made butterflies erupt in his stomach. Her stance was filled with confidence, but she didn't appear vain by any means, just capable and willing to take up space and be seen.
Scott's heart stumbled in his chest.
Her gaze landed on Ms. Martin, "Excuse me, Miss," she said, her alluring accent still present when she spoke, somehow being even more prominent than in their previous encounter, "Is this the biology class?"
"Scott, you lying bastard," Stiles hissed from behind him, "She's not pretty, she's fucking smoking!"
"Stiles," he whispered back, "You have a girlfriend."
"Doesn't mean I can't admit someone else is hot!
"I doubt Malia would agree."
"You-!"
"Yes, it is," Ms. Martin confirmed, "And I suppose that makes you the new student?"
Her lips curled into a cocky, half-smile, "Guess that's me."
Ms. Martin hummed before addressing the class, who was looking very eager to learn who the new girl was, and why she was wearing the lacrosse captain's hoodie. They eyed her like she was fresh meat and they were starving animals, ready to rip her apart, "Class, please do your best to make our new student feel welcome. May I ask what your name is Miss...?"
Her eyes surveyed the room, taking in every detail of the room and the students as she scanned over the class. The students in question squirmed under her gaze, seemingly unnerved by her confidence and while some students stared at her in undisguised lust, others had the bravery-or stupidity-to mumble about how she had the audacity to act like she was above them and better than them.
She was. On so many levels.
"Dunbar," she said finally, the confidence in her voice further unnerving the class, "Lia Dunbar."
"Miss Dunbar," Ms. Martin repeated, as though she was committing it to memory and that alone was the only thing that gave Lia the strength to resist the urge to roll her eyes, forcing herself to (somehow) keep her pleasant and confident persona in place.
Yes, she thought sarcastically, that's my name, I literally just said that.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Miss Dunbar, welcome back to Beacon Hills," Ms. Martin said with a kind smile and Lia felt warmth bloom in her chest. "As of right now, you'll be seated next to Mr. McCall, at least until the next seating chart is made. Mr. McCall, please raise your hand."
Scott was too absorbed with the fact that he now knew the mystery girl's name to realize he had raised his hand. Lia Dunbar. He vaguely remembered seeing her in elementary school, wearing jeans and flannel, her hair in two, small dutch braids. And here she was years later, gone were the dutch braids and the small little girl she was, instead leaving a beautiful and mature woman in her place.
She looked around hesitantly before their eyes met. She gave him a small smile, her eyes twinkling as if she knew something he didn't. Unbeknownst to him, he was giving her his trademark puppy dog look, and she had to begrudgingly admit to herself that she didn't entirely mind wearing his hoodie if it meant he got to look this happy.
The black t-shirt clung to his body, complementing his jeans and work boots nicely, but it made her favorite feature about him stand out.
"Nice tattoo," she said simply as she sat down, her smirk ever present on her lips.
She completely missed Scott giving her an awe-filled, adoring look.
Stiles did not.
"Alright class," Ms. Martin said after Lia took her seat, "Would you all please open your textbooks and flip to page 394 and begin writing down the vocab as I teach."
Scott was only able to pick up the few soft groans from his fellow classmates, but he ignored them all, his attention kept shifting between his new table buddy and the teacher's droning.
Lia was silent throughout the whole ordeal, quietly pulling out her supplies and taking notes without a sound. Her presence was oddly comforting, a perfect balance between soft and gentle and strong and intimidating. The other classmates kept glancing over at her, almost as if they could read her and see what made her tick with just a passing glance.
Scott was no exception. He snuck the occasional glances out of the corner of his eye, taking in a few small details before looking away again. Her softly curled hair was tucked behind her ears, allowing him to see the set of her jaw as she concentrated on her notes, pausing every now and again to mumble words under her breath that Scott had never heard before.
Scott was no exception. He snuck the occasional glances out of the corner of his eye, taking in a few small details before looking away again. Her softly curled hair was tucked behind her ears, allowing him to see the set of her jaw as she concentrated on her notes, pausing every now and again to mumble words under her breath that not even Scott could catch.
His gaze shifted back towards the teacher, his eyes finding her notes in a passing glance and he suddenly found himself doing a double take.
Her pen traveled swiftly and elegantly over the page, her hand hesitating every so often to let the ink dry before she continued on, leaving her message on the page. She was absorbed in her writing, switching back and forth between writing her notes and listening to the lesson. Scott risked a glance at her page, brows furrowing at the sight of non-english words.
'ViruČii sunt agenČi infecČioČi extrem de mici care invadeazÄ celulele de toate tipurile. OdatÄ ajunČi ĂŽn altÄ celulÄ, viruČii devin deturnatori, folosind maČinile celulelor pentru a produce mai mulČi viruČi. DacÄ viruČii constituie organisme vii sau doar conglomeraČii de molecule a fost o sursÄ de dezbatere de mulČi ani.'
His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him out of his reverie and he glanced at the screen.
Biles Bilinski:
Dude, I swear to god, if you don't talk to that girl, I will skin your werewolf ass and turn you into a throw rug.
Sent at 12:45 p.m.
The urge to scowl at Stiles was strong, but the simple text provided the push Scott needed to talk to Lia. He carefully tore out a piece of paper from his notebook, scrawling across the top line quickly.
Thank you for the coffee money. You really didn't have to do that.
He gently nudged the note within her line of sight, shifting his attention back to the teacher. He didn't see her small, genuine smile at the note.
Maybe not, but I wanted to. Besides, you looked like you could use a pick-me-up.
That bad, huh?
I mean this as respectfully as I can, but you look like you got hit by a bus.
Scott couldn't help but snort.
Yeah, you're not wrong, the coffee really helped a lot, thank you.
He slid the note back to her, and he caught the barest glimpse of the pink that was lightly dusting her cheeks.
You're welcome, thank you for washing my shirt.
You shouldn't have to thank me, I'm the reason coffee was spilt on it.
You were caught in a flashback, you couldn't help it.
Scott glanced up, his confused gaze catching her understanding one.
"How did you know that," he whispered.
RRRRIIIIINNNNNGGGG!
They both gave a start at the sudden onslaught of noise, before Lia swiped up the paper and shoved it in her bag.
"Alright class," Ms. Martin called as the students rose from their seats, "You have questions one through twenty for homework and it's due tomorrow!"
Scott scrambled to put his supplies away, his gaze shifting away from Lia as he shoved his notebook into his bag. By the time he looked up, he caught the barest glimpse of her leaving, the only sign she was ever there was the smell of lavender and old books.
ââ âBeacon Hills, California. January 9th, 2012.ââ â
ââ â04x??: ???ââ â
ââ â
"Excuse my french, but what the fuck?"
Despite the fact that his tone was laced with confusion rather than aggression, her response to his language was instinctive, reaching out her hand and smacking the back of her brother's head. The sound of his yelping was all she needed to know she made contact. "Watch your mouth," she said in response to his scrutiny expression, "We're in public, you can't just drop a swear like that, there are children around."
Completely ignoring her previous statement, or simply not giving a damn, Liam stared at her gobsmacked as he rubbed the back of his head. The questioning look in his baby blue eyes could only be caused by one thing, and the very thought of her encounter with the boy at the gas station sent her heart racing. She sent a withering glare to her younger brother as the memory of the boys' chocolate pools sent a blush rushing towards her cheeks, "What?"
Her response was enough to stop him in his tracks and she stopped alongside him with an inward groan. He sassily placed one hand on his hips before wildly gesturing towards the hoodie she was wearing with his free hand, his voice laced with protective aggression, "The hell are you wearing?!"
"A clown costume, obviously. What do you think I'm wearing, dumbass?"
"It looks like you're wearing some strange guy's hoodie. The same strange guy you gave your shirt to?"
She rolled her eyes at her brother's persistently, irking tone, "Cut me some slack, Ilee. The poor guy looked like he was gonna have a mental breakdown. He offered to wash my shirt and gave me his hoodie to wear instead, okay?"
"You gave him your coffee money. You never give anyone your coffee money."
She closed her eyes and released a sigh through her nose. It looked like she wouldn't be able to soothe his suspicions as easily this time. She raised an unamused brow at him, completely disregarding his accusation as she silently judged him. "You know, I would take you seriously, but you have honey bun icing around your mouth."
"Oh, shit where," his voice was muffled by the hand he was frantically scrubbing his mouth with. It only took a few moments of him scrubbing to realize there was no sticky residue of honey bun frosting on his hand. His hands faltered mid-motion after the realization hit him and his gaze snapped back towards his big sister, his eyes narrowing in accusation and suspicion as he did.
Rather than giving his looks a verbal response, she just smirked and started walking in the direction of Beacon Hills High School. It wouldn't do to be late on the first day. She could hear her brother stumbling after her, crying out for her to 'Wait!' and 'Slow Down!', but she continued walking away, knowing that he would catch up.
A sharp, cool breeze cut through the air, nipping at the borrowed hoodie as it sailed past her. She pulled it closer to herself, burrowing herself in its warmth. The soft material rubbed against her skin, the boy's scent wafting through the air at the hoodie's movement. Apple cinnamon and brown sugar drifted through her nose, the scent seemingly loosening what she thought were the permanent knots in her tense muscles.
Her brother was right, of course. She never gave her coffee money away before. Coffee was one of the only things that kept her going during the day and she hoarded it like it was gold, snapping at anyone who she thought was going to attempt to take it. Both the coffee and the money.
And yet, here she was, giving the money away to some stranger. Willingly.
She kept her cool and collected facade on, but she couldn't help but feel the same confusion that her brother felt about the situation.
Her brother had finally caught up to her, panting as his brisk run came to a slow walk. His gaze pierced the side of his sister's face, his blue eyes silently analyzing his sister's collected look. She knew he could see it all, all of her little quirks and notions, all of the signs that pointed to something he couldn't put his finger on. All of the things she knew she couldn't hide from him. Not completely.
So, rather than continuing to harass her with his questions, he silently walked beside her, both of the Dunbar siblings taking in the view that was Beacon Hills.
The wind had died down significantly since they first left Grab and Dash, the once harsh wind had now settled down to a gentle breeze. The clear blue sky left no secrets to find, the clouds blown away by the harsh winds from earlier. The sun was well over the horizon, its warm rays coating the earth in a golden hue. The sound of cars drifted through the air from a few blocks over, the early morning travelers few and far between.
The scene that had been painted gave the impression that Beacon Hills was a normal, quiet place, even though that was far from the case. It made it appear normal, despite the fact that there was just a massacre at the hospital a few months prior, or that there were more animal attacks in that city than there were anywhere else in California. Or the fact that the population was rapidly dropping.
But, ignorance is bliss, after all.
The sound of cars running was quickly replaced by the sound of teenagers talking. The ginormous brick building that revealed itself after they turned the block sent a rod of dread straight through his stomach. Teens were scattered around the front of the building, all of them chatting aimlessly among themselves as they waited for the first bell to ring. Her brother groaned next to her, pulling her out of her thoughts and she met his sullen expression with a sympathetic look. She clapped her hand against his shoulder and looked back at the building, or more specifically, every teenager's worst nightmare.
A high school.
"Welcome to hell."
"I hate this place," Liam grumbled. The chatter of the other students drifted through the air towards them though their words were too vague to decipher from their distance. The doors to the buses lined in front of the school opened, teens spewing out of them like blood from a wound. But it was the sight of one particular teenager that caught her attention, and she pointed him out to Liam with a smirk.
Her brother's face lit up in a grin and he waved down his friend's attention, "Mason!"
The boy in question perked up, his face breaking into a grin as he caught sight of his friend. He quickly broke away from the rushing crowd, bounding over to them and nearly knocked Liam off his feet when he hugged him. The two freshmen laughs mingled through the air as they finally were reunited after a year of separation. If any of the other students sent them odd looks, Lia's sharp glare shot them down before they could be noticed.
The boys hadn't seen each other in over a year, they deserved a happy reunion.
They broke away after a moment, youthful grins lighting up their faces and she cleared her throat. Their heads snapped back towards her and she couldn't help the slight smirk that coated her lips, her head tilting innocently to the side. "What am I?" She questioned in faux annoyance, "Chopped liver?"
Mason quickly detangled himself from Liam's grasp and practically threw himself at Lia, sending her staggering under the weight of his affectionate assault. She faltered for a moment before slowly returning the hug, doing her best to mask her uncertainty.
She ignored the look that she knew he was sending Liam over her shoulder, silently asking why she was acting weird, and Liam would shrug in response, because neither of them knew.
She didn't want them to know.
The knowledge of what she could do, the knowledge of her monstrous secret, shot through her veins like poison. It took everything in her to keep from pulling away, from pushing Mason back to create some space, to make sure she didn't actually hurt him, that she jerked in surprise when Mason pulled away and looked at them with barely contained excitement, almost like he didn't notice she was acting odd.
"What are you guys doing here?!" He cheered before his gaze caught sight of their backpacks and grew even more excited, "Why didn't you tell me you were moving back?!"
"Well, we thought we'd make it a surprise," she stated, clearly amused by the excitement the younger boy was displaying. His enthusiasm bled into his figure, making his eyes and his grin widened to the point it nearly hurt her to look at him. The crowd of students that shoved themselves through the school entrance now made themselves scarce, heading to their first class of the day before they made themselves late.
Though, seemingly after forever, Mason's gaze landed on the hoodie she was wearing. His eyes widened, and she mentally swore.
"Lia-"
A piercing whistle cut through their conversation and they all winced, bringing their hands up to their ears in unison. It did little to muffle the god awful noise, and the voice that began shouting after the whistling had ended did little to soothe her now pounding headache.
"Hewitt! What the hell are you doing here?! Get your ass back to class!"
Ah, she thought, there's Coach.
After the rapid changes her life underwent in the past year, finding out that Coach Finstock hadn't changed brought an odd sort of relief to her. His brown hair was still as wild as ever and his sports whistle resting on top of his gray t-shirt, his simple tennis shoes partially hidden by his red track pants. His trademark glare directed itself to Mason, prompting him to spit out his answer.
"I was gonna take Liam to get his schedule from the office," Mason said quickly and Lia quietly sighed. Mason had never truly been a good liar, almost always stumbling over his words and gathering the faintest layer of sweat on his brow. But, either Coach wasn't paying attention or he simply didn't care, cause he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, "Then get going! Class is about to start!"
"Thanks Coach!"
"Yeah, get outta my sight," the man grumbled as Mason pulled Liam away, the boys shouting a hurried 'Bye Lia!' over their shoulders as they ran. Lia only laughed good naturedly, sending them a soft wave to humor them, before turning back to the man in front of her.
"Let's get this over with," the man grumbled, not even sparing her a glance before marching towards the school. Her footsteps were swift and silent as she followed him and the sudden wind did well to mask any excess sound she made. Her school bag was the color of deep lilacs, and the strap dug somewhat painfully as it bounced against her hip.
Coach said nothing, leaving her to her own as they continued their walk. Very few students remained outside but the ones who did stop to stare as she passed, whispering and pointing at her the moment they thought she was out of earshot.
Of course, she had anticipated this. The student body was brutal, always so quick to judge and easy to anger and offend to the point where you couldn't even state your own opinion without pissing someone off. She had known this was coming, anticipated the moment that would be her high school judgment day, but that didn't make it any less nerve racking.
Her insides seemed to knot themselves together with every passing second, getting tighter and tighter with every breath she took, but her face remained a mask of indifference, conditioned by years and years of practice to never reveal her emotions, no matter how overwhelming they got.
He threw the doors open with a dramatic bang, catching the attention of the few students that were still lingering in the hallway. Silence rang out, the students standing next to the blue colored lockers seemed to find nothing more interesting than the new girl.
Or, rather, what the new girl was wearing.
She started cursing herself the moment she realized what was going on. It was hard enough being the new girl, you were the social outcast, the bottom of the student body pyramid unless you were friends with someone who was higher up than you, and everyone would constantly be staring at you, trying to dissect you with their eyes as they tried to figure out where you would fit in their fucked up world, if you even made the cut.
But now it was gonna be worse, because she was wearing McCall's hoodie, someone who was clearly very well known here.
Shit.
Coach said nothing, his stride never flattering as he continued and it was up to Lia to stay in pace with him so that she didn't get left behind. It was like a tidal effect as they walked through the hall; the minute they passed a group of students, they would start whispering and gossiping to each other as though their lives depended on it.
Her face gave away nothing, her expression a perfectly sculpted mask that she spent years mastering to the point of an art. It was her one skill that she used too often, one she wished that she never needed to use to begin with, but one that was helpful all the same. It helped hide the growing anxiety that was twisting her stomach into knots, or the tension that seemed to make her muscles one with her bones.
The only pleasant thing that she noticed was that three girls she passed didn't immediately start gossiping, which she was immensely grateful for. She didn't have a lot of time to take in their appearances, the only thing she noticed was that one girl had red hair.
The office was at the very end of the hallway, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because fewer students would catch sight of her, and a curse because the same students who had already seen her seemed to be watching her every move to the point that all she could feel was someone's gaze piercing the back of her neck.
"Here," Finstock grumbled, picking up a stack of papers off the top of the desk and slammed them into her hands. She nearly dropped her papers at the unnecessary force he used, but he was already talking before she could gather herself, "That's your schedule, locker number and combination, study guides for the midterm exam, and the study guide for the Biology quiz you have during your fifth period."
"What-?"
He was suddenly blowing his whistle as hard as he could. Her shoulders came up instinctively to try and protect her vulnerable ears, though there wasn't much that she could do while she had her hands full. Her previous headache returned with a roaring vengeance.
"Greenburg!" He shouted the minute he dropped his whistle, "Get to class! I don't want to see your sorry face any more than I have to!",
Those seemed to be the magic words, she thought, watching as all of the other students made themselves scarce and vanished from the halls. The once lively corridor now seemed dead, the life and energy that had filled it earlier seemed to dissipate along with students, leaving what once was an exuberant place now void and lifeless.
Well, almost lifeless.
The three girls she had taken note of earlier were still there, and now she had time to notice the differences between the girls. The girl with red hair wasn't actually as tall as she thought she was, her white heeling giving her the extra boost she needed to seem only the barest bit shorter than her friends. Her outfit was a fine balance between slick and professional, with a nice blue dress shirt and a light gray skirt to go with it.
The girl closest to the red head was a brunette and Lia could tell right off the bat that she didn't really care for her appearance. It isn't to say she looked bad, far from it, her simple cream sweater, brown leggings, and tan heeled boots pulled forth her natural beauty, but Lia could tell from her attitude that she was confident enough in her appearance that she didn't need validation from others.
The last girl's hair color was somewhere between dark brown and black, nearly the same color as her eyes. Black seemed to be a dominant color in her outfit choices though, between her black ripped jeans, her black leather jacket, and her black combat boots, her only speck of color was from the red rose on her (surprise surprise) black shirt.
Though, despite what some might assume as a shady exterior, Lia could tell that there was something soft about her, something that the world hadn't managed to break yet, and she secretly hoped it never would.
They gathered closely together as the silence began to press on them all and make the atmosphere the slightest bit more stifling. Their gazes seemed to be stuck on her and their eyes were either oddly blank or filled with an emotion she couldn't decipher.
Small rocks of dread began to form in the bottom of her stomach.
Lia prided herself with her ability to read emotions, it was one of the only things she was good at in the world. She has seen almost every emotion before, happiness, sadness, envy, anger, jealousy, and anxiety being a few of the more basic emotions, while loathing, terror, remorse, disgust, and serenity on the rare occasion, being some of the more rare ones she's come across.
Reading people and their emotions is the one thing Lia can take pride in, is one of the few things she can actually admit that she's good at.
And now, meeting three strangers, all of who seem to be regarding her with an emotion she hasn't read before... hasn't encountered before...
The rocks of dread soon began to give away to fear.
She put her things away in her locker as quickly as she could, but not so quickly that she would reveal her nervousness, and she kept glancing at the mirror that she placed on the inside of her locker door to see if they were still watching her. They were.
Her mask of indifference slipped back into place as she closed her locker with a slight bang. The girl with the rose shirt jumped slightly, but the other two didn't even flinch. She raised a brow at them, silently challenging them while simultaneously leaving no room for arguments as she said, "I think it's time we get to class, don't we?"
She never gave them the chance to answer before she spun on her heel and vanished down the hall. A quiet sigh of relief slipped past her lips once she turned the corner, the feeling of their eyes finally off of her, but she couldn't shake the dread that had settled in her stomach. The memory of how they looked at her replayed in her head before she shook it away, continuing her steady gait towards her first class.
She didn't know how, but something told her that her year at Beacon Hills was going to be anything but normal.
ââ âBeacon Hills, California. January 9th, 2012.ââ â
ââ â04x??: ???ââ â
ââ â
TW: MENTIONS OF PAST INJURIES AND CHARACTER DEATH
Her skin was rapidly paling, crimson blood slipping out of her back. It slipped through his fingers, staining the ground in its dark color. The sharp, metallic smell of blood hit his nose so forcefully that his mouth ran dry and his eyes began to water.
She was going to die.
Her eyes were filled with tears as well, but despite the fact she was staring death in the face, she still smiled. His shaking hands brushed her hair away from her face in a silent attempt to soothe her worries. He gripped her hand tightly, as if, by some miracle, he would be able to lessen her burdens one last time.
But nothing changed.
"I can't," his voice was soft, but ragged with pain, "I can't take your pain..."
"Because it doesn't hurt."
The soft glow of the moon casted a heavenly light on her rapidly paling skin in a form of morbid beauty. Her eyes, her big, bright brown eyes, were somehow filled with love and pain, as if it was some last gruesome joke from the universe. The realization of what was happening settled in quickly and he felt something cold and hard settle in the pit of his stomach.
If he focused his hearing, he would've heard a banshee screaming.
"No," he said, shaking his head in denial. His throat was rapidly closing, almost like he was having an asthma attack. His free hand pressed against her wound in her back, the blood quickly staining his shaking hand as his breathing became more ragged. This couldn't be real, this couldn't be happening... not to her, not to anyone.
It wasn't supposed to end this way.
"It's okay," she whispered. Her head tilted to the side, resting on his arm as she stared up at him in adoration. The light was beginning to leave from her eyes, slowly dripping away like water from a leaking faucet. She was an angel, he decided, she was an angel and God was calling her back to heaven.
He wanted her to stay, just like the selfish person he is.
"Allison," he sobbed and she watched through dying eyes. His heart was slowly fracturing, little pieces breaking off and falling to the bottom of his chest. They formed a little pile, a pile that would only get bigger the longer she suffered. She didn't seem scared, she seemed content, as if she wasn't bleeding to death in his arms, as if her whole world wasn't being turned on its head.
Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just him.
"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay." Her voice was shaky, like it was taking every once of her fading will power to speak. Blood dribbled past her mouth, staining her teeth and lips crimson. A single tear slipped past her eye.
"It's perfect." She wheezed, "I'm in the arms of my first love. The first person I ever loved. The person I'll always love. I love you. Scott." Her hand drifted upward, slowly reaching up to cup his cheek. "Scott McCall."Â
"Don't, please, don't. Allison don't, please." His sobs were coming out sharp and broken, his pleads not much different. He leaned into the touch, his eyes never leaving hers. While her hands were rapidly losing warmth, her touch seemed to burn, searing itself into his memory. She was growing heavy in his arms, her strength nearly gone. She was close to death, nearly as close as the time they sacrificed themselves to find the Nemeton.
Only this time, she wasn't coming back.
"My dad," she gasped, looking up at him with desperate eyes. Her voice was a sad, broken whisper, getting softer and softer the more she spoke. But, as weak as she was, she tried to speak louder. "You have to tell my dad. You have to tell my dad. Tell him... tell him..."
He nodded rapidly, giving her his undivided attention as she struggled to get the words out. Her hand fell from his face at the movement, sliding downward until it reached the collar of his shirt. The touch had his mind reeling, sending him back to the time when they were together and would sneak away from prying eyes just to be themselves. Her touch seemed to make him hyper focused, noticing every little detail around him until he allowed himself to get lost with her.
He didn't like what he was noticing.
The grip she had on his shirt was strong, stronger than a person's grip should be if they had been stabbed. She was almost using it as leverage, as a way to pull herself up if the need arose. The bleeding in her back didn't seem to be slowing, if anything, it was growing faster. Her heartbeat was still steady and strong.
Something wasn't right.
"Allison?"
In a fluid motion, he was pinned to the ground, Allison above him.
"Tell him," she seethed, "that it was your fault."
Her tears were soon replaced with blood, blood that began to leak out of her nose and ears. Her teeth were coated in blood as she gave him a bloody grin and blood dripped off of her face, falling onto his. He squirmed under her grip.
"What's the matter, Scott?" She purred, leaning closer to his face, "Can't own up to what you did?"
Allison's grip became impossibly tight, sure enough to leave bruises. Her brown hair fell from its tightened position, ticking his face as they brushed over his cheeks. The metallic smell of blood was thick in the air, like smoke after a forest fire, but there was no fire there.
There was only a murder.
More blood fell from her eyes in a morbid form of tears, each and every one of them falling onto his face. Tears of his own slipped past his eyes, but instead of smelling like iron, he only smelt salt. There was a sick twist in his gut and he wondered if crying blood only happened to dead people. Or maybe he caused her this pain when he killed her.
Despite the fact she was only using one hand to hold him down, he couldn't break free from her grasp. His super strength was useless against her, even if he could throw her off and try to escape, she would have him back on his knees with just a single word.
A single guilt and he would crumble all over again.
Her bleeding eyes never broke contact with Scott, her free hand reached behind her, pulling a chinese ring dagger out from its sheath. She tilted her head ever so slightly to the side before relinquishing her grip. A small whimper slipped past Scott's closed lips at the change in pressure. She straddled herself over his waist, legs spread wide enough to maintain her balance if she wished to lean closer to him.
She stayed where she was and her gaze finally shifted from Scott, coming to rest on the blade she was carefully running her fingers over. A little bit of moonlight reflected off the blade, casting a silver light on her brown eyes. She was an angel, he recalled from earlier, she was an angel.
But Lucifer was always said to be the prettiest before he fell.
Beautiful, he realized, a beautiful sin.
"'From dust we come, to dust we go,'" her voice was slow and melodious as she spoke. She slowly shifted her eyes back to him, her fingers never cease their slow and steady movements. "It's what God said back in the old testament, Genesis, if I remember correctly. He was talking to Adam when he said that, the first man, telling him he would become dust when he died. But," her head tilted to the side curiously, "what happens to a werewolf when they die?"
Lightning fast, her hand pinned his above his head while her other brought her dagger above her own. "Well, she said, and for a heart stopping moment, Scott was reminded of Kate, "Let's find out!"
"SCOTT!"
"Allison stop!"Â He shouted, his hands reflexively coming up to guard his face. He vaguely noted that the hand that was on his shoulder removed itself after the words left him. His heart was thundering in his ears and the sound nearly took him back to the night he was first bitten, where the deer nearly trampled him to death.
Where the mysterious girl had saved him...
"Scott? Hey, Scott? Can you hear me?"
Stiles spoke hesitantly and his fingers seemed to fiddle on their own accord, as if they had a mind of their own. His friend's concerned gaze didn't stray from his face as he did his best to compose himself. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, his sleeves picking up a few stray tears as he did his best to appear calm.
"Yeah, sorry," he could hardly bring himself to meet Stiles' gaze, too fresh from the nightmare, "Must have dozed off."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles open his mouth, most likely to call him on his bullshit, but he closed it at the last moment, focusing his attention back on the road, to which Scott couldn't be more grateful. A silence drifted over the two and he mindlessly rubbed the sleeve of his hoodie, the smooth motion the only thing anchoring him to the real world.
The only thing that kept him from getting lost in his head.
The window was cold against his forehead, his breath fogging the cool glass. It distracted him from the throbbing between his eyes, but it did little to soothe him. The rattling of the Jeep's engine was background noise to him, something he knew was there, but heard it so much he naturally tuned it out. It was a constant, a vibrating buzz in the back of his mind.
It was, until it wasn't.
The sound of keys jingling was almost unnoticeable, but they quickly replaced the sound of the Jeep's rattle. Scott blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by the sudden silence and turned to Stiles, who was moving to leave the car. He did his best to blink away his daze.
"What're we doin'?"
"Gotta get some gas, or else we won't be able to leave school."
Oh, Scott thought, that makes sense. His eyes drooped closed again, fatigue pulling down on them like weights. Sleep was close, nearly within his grasp, when something fell onto his lap. He flinched awake, finding Stiles had thrown his wallet at him.
"Yeah, no." Stiles snarked in disapproval, as if he wasn't nearly falling asleep at the wheel two minutes prior. "Do yourself a favor and go get some coffee. You'll fall asleep during class if you don't."
His friend's serious gaze cut through any sort of excuse he might have tried to make. His expression was void of the sarcastic humor it usually held. The lack of his usual bright smile only made the bags under his own eyes more pronounced, an indicator of his own sleepless nights, of his own nightmares and trauma. But he looked at Scott in concern, like his needs were more important than his own.
They were broken, Scott's foggy mind perceived, but they were broken together.
"Yeah, okay," Scott smiled sleepily, affection clear in his tone, "But I'm getting you one too, or else you'll end up crashing your crappy Jeep."
Stiles' caring attitude vanished into the wind and he scowled, waving the gas pump in Scott's direction. "Her name is Roscoe, you furry asshole, and if you insult her again you'll be walking to school."
"Like hell. You love me too much."
Stiles let loose a displeased grunt, tossing a hand over his shoulder in departure as Scott left the car. The cool January air nipped at the fabric of his hoodie, whipping it around wildly. The sudden change from the warm car to the cold breeze was welcomed. It woke him up just enough to be able to get he and Stiles from coffee.
The gas station (which was a little place called Grab and Dash) had a little bell over the door that rang when he pushed it open, announcing his presence to the employees and customers. The smell of coffee and breakfast pizza swirled around his sensitive nose, worsening his pounding headache. The employee behind the counter scoffed at his wince, mumbling something along the lines of 'weak stomach' under his breath as Scott passed.
Scott couldn't help but duck his head in shame. The sensibility of his nose had increased since Allison's death. Smells that were too strong, or smells that reminded him too much of that night were all that was needed to push him over the edge and have a meltdown.
The coffee machine was placed in the middle of the opposite wall, furthest from the entrance door that was placed in the corner of the room. While one employee ran the cash register, another worked on preparing the breakfast pizza and other foods. One blond boy dressed in a simple red jacket and a pair of jeans browsed through the packaged sweets, mumbling prices under his breath as he shopped.
The over powering smell of coffee nearly put him flat on his back. His stomach rolled rebelliously the closer he got, his nose practically screaming in protest. He blinked past his blurry vision as he grabbed two large cups, already mentally planning the order.
Stiles takes his black, he thought in a vain attempt to distract himself, he takes it black because any more sugars or creamers and he'll be bouncing off the walls. Then the sheriff will have to come to school and he doesn't need to come to the school because he's already busy trying to pay for the Eichen House and MRI bill and-
His hands swapped out the cups before Stiles' could overflow. He took advantage of the change as soon as it happened.
"I always put some creamer in mine," he mumbled. The new tactic brought momentarily relief to his senses, dispelling the overwhelming smell of coffee for a few, short, sweet moments. He continued with a new found strength. "I put creamers in mine because... because..."
Because my taste buds are always sensitive to bitter things, he thought vaguely, suddenly hyper aware of the rapid beating of his heart. He swallowed thickly. And because I might not be able to drink it now because I'm nauseous and everything makes me nauseous now and I haven't not been nauseous since the day Allison died and-!
His movements were extremely sharp, like if he moved quick enough he could escape his own thoughts. His hands rapidly threw lids on the cups while his mind was being funneled in a downward spiral, the end of it leading into memories he did not want to revisit. Ever.
His vision started spotting, taking away the brightly lit gas station and replacing it with the dark exterior of Eichen House. The sharp smell of blood entered his nose and the nausea in his stomach churned rapidly, nearly sending him to his knees. Allison's soft voice and faltering heart beat danced in his ears, pulling him back to the god awful place and it's so dark and cold and nononono don't please Allison don't go please don't go-!
He turned abruptly, dead set on forgetting the coffee and going straight to school when he hit someone, sending them both down to the ground.
Something seemed lodged in his throat as he stared at her dying form. Her breath kept hitching, like she couldn't get enough air and her gaze was shifting across his face wildly, trying to take in every single detail. His hand gripped hers tightly, as if, by some miracle, he would be able to lessen her burdens one last time before she passed.
But nothing happened.
"I can't," his voice was soft, but ragged with pain, "I can't take your pain..."
"Because I'm not hurt, you dumbass, get the hell off of me."
The smell of lavender and old books drifted across his nose, cutting through the vision of blood and death. As his vision cleared, the fluorescent lights of the gas station returned, followed by the person he knocked to the ground.
The frown gracing her face was the first thing he took note of, along with her stunning, bright blue eyes. Her golden blonde hair fell in soft curls off of her shoulder, coming to a rest near her mid-bicep. Her dark blue denim jeans went nicely with her white vans that she wore. Her top was a simple white shirt, with WAFFLES ARE PANCAKES WITH ABS in bold, black lettering. Beneath it was a little doodle of a sad pancake standing next to a waffle that was flexing its biceps.
It was a simple white shirt, which was now sporting a brown stain.
The sight of her sent his heart racing.
"Oh my god."
"Dude, let me up."
"I am so sorry."
"Honestly, it's fine, just let me up."
Her lightly accented words finally cut through the fog in his brain and he scrambled back to his feet, already offering her a hand in the process. She eyed him in distrust, almost like she thought he was going to push her to the ground again. He opened his mouth to convince her that he wasn't going to do that, she grabbed his hand and pulled herself up.
She shifted uncomfortably as the coffee stained shirt clung to her skin, grabbing some napkins to try and get as much of it off her shirt as she could. Scott sent her a guilty look. She scowled the minute she saw it.
"If you try to say you're sorry again, I will punch you.
His jaw closed with a loud snap and she couldn't help but snort in amusement.
The coffee was drying on her shirt, staining the once crisp white color a light brown and she frowned in disdain. There wasn't enough time to run home, change, and make it to school on time. She would either be late or she would have to go to school with a stained shirt. What a perfect start, she thought bitterly, perfect for the cursed family.
"I'm still sorry."
She sighed, "What did I say about apologizing?"
"I shouldn't have done that. I should have watched where I was going-"
"Have you never heard of an accident? And I should have made some noise, let you know I was there-"
"And now I ruined your shirt-"
"The shirt is fine, what about your coffee?"
"What?"
"Your coffee? It's on the ground."
She was right. The coffee was spilled across the floor, the cups sitting in them as the Grab and Dash logo starred up at him mockingly. The overworked and underpaid employee scowled at them from behind the counter before going into the back to get a mop. Scott sighed, throwing the useless cups in the trash and ran his fingers through his hair, "That was fun while it lasted."
His body moved ahead of his mind, hands already grabbing cups and feet steering themselves towards the coffee machine. Stiles takes his coffee black, he thought. A hand over his stopped his movements.
"Hey," the girl said, a sudden gentle look in her eyes, "Let me get that."
"But..?"
"Just go get the coffee sleeves for me, okay?"
Despite the fact that her voice held a gentle tone, he knew what she said wasn't a request. His heavy gaze met her concerned one and, for an unexplainable moment, neither broke eye contact. The staring went on for a few seconds before her gaze seemed to soften even more, sending him a gentle smile. "Please?"
The pleading look in her blue eyes had him halting in his tracks, his resolve crumbling in his chest. He sighed and gave a nod of confirmation as he grabbed the little cardboard sleeves. The employee scowled at him as they mopped up the spilt coffee, their distaste in the task was shown clearly on their face until the moment they left. The girl paid them no mind, filling up the new cups with an untroubled expression, like she didn't just have hot coffee spilt on the front of her shirt. "I'm still sorry."
She sighed, sending him a slight exasperated look, "Didn't we establish that it was fine?"
"But your shirt-?"
She winced at the mention, looking down on the material in disdain. "It's fine," she said, her voice sounding oddly flat, "I'll just have to wash it out tonight after I get home from school."Â
"But shouldn't you go home and start soaking it, then you have the chance to change?"
"Can't." She said with a careless shrug, "Don't have time."
"But your shirt..."
"Will probably stain. I know."
"Then let me wash your shirt," he said, extending a hand in offering. "It's only fair, given that I'm the reason coffee is covering it."
Unbeknownst to him, his earnest expression was dialing up his puppy eyes factor to a ten, when it normally rested on a six. His brown eyes were dark, like a fine mixture of dark and light chocolate, and they were holding so much concern over a mundane thing that part of her hardened heart softened at the sight. She did her best to hide the effect he had on her.
"I don't know if you were aware," she snarked, "But every school's dress code is sexist as hell, and if I show up to school with just a bra on, I might just kill every Millennial and Boomer in the building. And I don't have time to change."
"Then take my hoodie," he said, his hands and mouth moving faster than his brain could process. By the time he realized what was happening, he was already handing her his hoodie. She gathered the warm material in her hands, looking nearly as shocked as he felt, before she sent him one last unsure look, "Are you-?"
"Yeah," he said. Despite the fact he barely knew her, he knew he meant what he was saying, "I'm sure. Go change and I'll get you a plastic bag to put your shirt in."
He was gone before she could give a proper answer, heading towards the front counter like this wasn't the most bizarre encounter he's ever had.
The two coffees were left on the counter, momentarily forgotten as she danced around the wet spot on the floor. Her brother was shopping in the next aisle over, browsing through the breakfast foods and comparing the prices before he finally settled on grabbing a honey bun. She couldn't help but chuckle at the childish way he had finally decided: a prolonged, overly-exaggerated match of eenie-meenie-miney-mo.
It almost seemed like he would never grow up.
The thought made her slightly upturned lips falter for a moment before she finally ducked into the bother. The door fell shut with a click of the lock and the smell of cleaning chemicals hit her full force in the nose. Rather than riding the bathroom of its odor, it only failed to over-powering the smell of a public restroom and succeeded in making her eyes water.
She pulled the shirt over her head, wincing as she felt the stickiness of the coffee cling to her skin. The stain was stark in contrast to the shirt, drawing her eye more to it rather than the image on the front. She ran her thumb over it, staring at it in disdain. She had really liked that shirt.
After folding it gently, and washing her stomach to get the leftover coffee residue off her skin, she gently slipped the hoodie over her head.
The hoodie was as soft as it was warm. The boy's body heat lingered in the fabric, his scent still clinging to the material. It came to a rest near her mid thigh, the red fabric stark and bold against her blue jeans. The sleeves became bunched up on her arms, otherwise she would end up with sweater paws. She turned slightly and she could see the words McCall and the number 11 staring boldly at her in the mirror. So McCall is his name, she noted vaguely.
She faced the mirror properly after a moment and tilted her head slightly, observing how she looked in the hoodie.
"I look kinda cute...."
A gentle knock came from the door, pulling her out of thoughts. Shirt in hand, she gently pushed open the door, coming face to face with the McCall guy from earlier, now with a plastic bag in his hand.
"I, uhh," he stammered, eyes traveling to the hoodie she was wearing momentarily before meeting her gaze again. "I got the plastic bag for your shirt. Do you... um... Do you need me to hold it open for you...?"
Her laughter interrupted him, though both of them seemed surprised by the sudden sound. Her lips curled in a gentle, teasing smile and her eyes twinkled with mirth. Scott returned the smile with a goofy grin of his own, her laugh and smile infectious. He suddenly couldn't remember why he had been so nervous in the first place.
She gently slid her shirt in the plastic bag, tying it up before handing it back to him with an uncertain look on her face, "Are you sure you-"
"I'll wash it," he affirmed, "Besides, it's my fault there is a stain on it, anyways."
He didn't look as tired as he did earlier, she noticed. When he had spilt his coffee on her, his eyes were sad and held a far away look to them, like he had been seeing something entirely instead of her on the floor. But now he gave no sign of being the same person he was ten minutes ago. Now he looked lively, his eyes wide and attentive while his dark pools were filled with guilt and apologizes. The sight made her heart clench, she never wanted anyone to look like that.
She never wanted anyone to wear the look she found herself wearing daily.
"Um, excuse me?"
The two teenagers were snapped out of their peaceful spell by the grumpy employee from earlier, who scowled at them. "Can you move," the employee grunted, "Other people need to get into the bathroom you know."
"Oh, uh, so sorry," Scott stuttered, gently pulling the blonde girl out of the way of the grumbling employee. He vaguely heard them mumble something about 'horny teenagers' before the door closed.
A light blush coated both of their cheeks.
"Um," the girl stammered over her words gesturing to the door over her shoulder. The boy he saw earlier stood next to the door, munching on his honey bun as he gazed in the girl's direction, clearly waiting for her to hurry. Were they siblings? Possibly, they both had the same blonde hair and blue eyes and had a similar face shape, but nothing else stood out to him. "I gotta... go."
"Oh," Scott stated with realization, releasing his loose grip from her wrist, "Do you need anything-?"
"Nope," she said, popping the p, "Totally fine. Don't need a thing. Be sure to check your coffee sleeves before you pay though. You might find something you need in them."
"Wha-?"
"Ah psshhh psshhh," she exclaimed, walking away, "Can't hear you. You're breaking up. Terrible service. Gotta hang up."
While most people would have viewed her response as rude, Scott couldn't help but laugh at her antics, "This is a verbal conversation-!"
"Psshhh bye!"
She grabbed the blond boy standing by the door and nearly pushed him out, the bell signaling their leave to the store. Scott could vaguely hear the boy shout, "Aah! Stop, I could've dropped my honey bun."
And for the first time in a while, Scott McCall gave a genuine laugh.
ââ âBeacon Hills, California. January 19, 2011.ââ â
ââ â01x01: wolf moonââ â
ââ â
TW: SLIGHT MENTIONS OF GORE, PAST INJURIES, AND A DEAD BODY
The moon was full in the sky, preparing to illuminate the chaos that was going to ensue below.
The night was still and quiet, save for the chirping of the crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. The moonâs rays drifted downward, blanketing the forest of the Beacon Hills preserve in a silvery glow. The forest was peaceful, all of the animals minding their own as they continued on, the crickets kept chirping and the owls kept hooting.
And, slowly but surely, the animals fell silent. One by one, the animals hid away, tucking into the nooks and crannies in hopes that they would be left alone, that they would be spared.
In hopes that the monster would let them live another day.Â
It walked slowly through the underbrush, its eyes scanning the night and growling every so often. Blood stained its claws and teeth, making it far more intimidating than it already was. An animal, a rabbit by the sound of it, made the harrowing mistake of moving, dashing from its place in the treeâs roots toward its burrow.
The monster growled, ready to pounce and give in to the chase before it stopped, its ears twitching.
A sound. Voices.
Someone was in the forest.
It growled again, its gaze narrowing at the direction the rabbit had gone, before it took off in the direction of the voices.
It had some work to do.
ââ â
In the midst of the forest, a girl with blonde hair surveyed her surroundings.
She didnât dare make a sound, instead she looked up, watching as her breath became vapor in the chilled air. A sharp gust of air cut through the bare tree branches, making them rattle and she nearly gasped at the cold shock of the wind. The rain fell softly and slowly, hitting the ground with a gentle pitter-patter. She resisted the urge to move, the feeling of her clothes rubbing against her injuries was uncomfortable, but it was preferred over being caught.Â
Her black combat boots created the perfect grip on the soft soil, allowing her to stand comfortably against the tree without sliding to the ground. The rest of her outfit was slightly constricting, her black jeans rubbed the cuts on her legs and the five stitches she had on her thigh. The gauze that covered them rubbed against her jeans, creating a sharp stab of pain. She winced.
Her shirt underneath was black as well, but it couldnât be seen as her black leather jacket was zipped as high as it could go without making her look dorky. A black beanie was thrown haphazardly on her head in a poor attempt to hide her blonde hair.
If anyone were to see her, they would say she was dressed to become one with the shadows.
Her sky blue eyes were filled with caution and awareness, scanning the trees in search of what had sent her nerves on edge.
And, finally, she heard it.
âWeâre seriously doing this?â
âYouâre the one always bitchinâ about how nothing ever happens in this town.â
She froze, ceasing to breathe. Who were they? They sounded her age, but she couldnât be sure of their intentions. She stayed quiet.
âI was trying to get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow.â
âRight, cause sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort.â
She held her breath, pressing her back further into the bark of the tree as she listened to the voices and footsteps getting closer.
âNo, because Iâm playing this year. In fact, Iâm making first lineâ
âHey! Thatâs the spirit, everyone should have a dream. Even a pathetically unrealistic one.â
She barely concealed her snort. God, that second boy was sassy.
âJust out of curiosity, which part of the body are we looking for?â
She tensed at the words. Body? There was a body in the woods? Since when?
âHuh,â the sassy boy exclaimed, âI didnât even think about that.â
âAnd, uh,â she could hear the grin in the other boyâs voice, âWhat if whoever killed the body is still out here?â
âAlso something I didnât think about.â
She inwardly groaned, the sassy one was a moron.
The footsteps began traveling up the sloped hill, if she poked her head out from behind the tree, she would be able to see them. She let loose a slow, steady exhale and peered out.
There wasnât much to see. One boy wore simple sneakers, blue jeans, and a red jacket with the hood pulled over his head, an eagle embroidered over his heart. The other boy was dressed similarly, besides the fact that his jacket was black and the hood was down. All she could see was that he had a buzz cut.
The boy in the black jacket scaled the slope easily. The boy in the red jacket struggled.
âUhh,â the boy panted, âItâs⌠comforting to know youâve... planned this out with your usual attention to detail.â
âI know.â
Ah, she thought, so the boy in black was the sassy one.
The boy in the red jacket slouched against one of the few trees on the slope and raised his head in an attempt to catch his breath. He pulled something out of pocket and began shaking it rapidly. She recognized it as an inhaler.
âMaybe the⌠severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight, huh?â
He continued shaking it as he followed his friend and in a moment of poor decision making, she chose to follow them. Her footsteps were light and silent against the dead, fallen leaves and she seemed to dance from one shadow to the next. Neither of the two boys noticed her.
The boy in the black jacket suddenly threw himself to the ground, the boy in red followed after. She wanted for them to move, to get back up and start looking for the body again but they didnât. All they did was turn off the flashlight. She frowned but the sound of dogs barking cut through the silence. Her eyes widened and she stuck her head around the tree, finally seeing what they were panicking about.
Flashlights.
The cops were here.
âOkay, câmon,â the sassy boy said and she didnât even get a chance to process his words before the sassy boy leapt from the ground and he dashed through the trees.
âStiles,â the other boy hissed before taking a puff of his medication. He set off after him and she followed behind him, leaping from shadow to shadow quickly and silently.Â
âWait up,â he called feebly, âStiles!â
What the hell is a Stiles, she wondered briefly, but didnât dwell on the question.
The sassy boy- Stiles as the other one says- did his best to dance around the group of cops. His body was turned to face them as he scurried over the dead leaves. His gaze occasionally shifted from the cops to where he was heading, holding a strange resemblance to a crab as he did. She could help but silently chuckle.
The flashlights wove and bobbed through the air, the light was blocked by the low hanging branches. It provided the perfect cover for the kids as they wove under the little light that managed to slip through.
âStiles,â the other boy hissed again, slightly louder than the time before. One of the police dogs turned its head in the direction of the noise, its ears perking up. The girl froze for a moment before pressing herself into the treeâs shadow, her eyes trained on the dog as she became one with the shadows.
Stiles, on the other hand, kept moving, shooting glances over his shoulder to ensure the boy in red was following him. He stopped, keeping his gaze focus solely behind him as he scanned the trees for his friend.
A flashlight finally landed on him and the dogs went haywire.
Stiles quickly spun on his heel and fell in shock at the cop standing behind him. The dog strained against its collar, paws flying through as it jumped and lunged for the boy. âHold it right there!â A random cop shouted. More flashlights from the other cops swam in their direction and the boy in red ducked behind the nearest tree. Finally.
âHang on, hang on!â A gruff voice called out and she stiffened. It was the Sheriff. âThis little delinquent belongs to me.â
The mad barking of dogs nearly muffled the crunching sound of the leaves as Stiles staggered to his feet. âHey Dad, how are you doinâ?â
The dogâs barking ceased drastically and now she could hear the exasperation in the Sheriffâs sign, âSo, do you, uhh, listen in to all of my phone calls?â
âNo! ⌠Not the boring onesâŚâ
The Sheriff scoffed breathily and she could see a flashlight scanning the tree line, âSo where is your usual partner in crimes?â
âWho, Scott,â Stiles asked and she could hear the bullshit dripping off of his words. âScott's home. He said he wanted to get a good night sleep before first day of school tomorrow. There's just me... In the woods... AloneâŚâ
She couldnât resist the urge to roll her eyes. Yeah, because that was believable.
The boy in red, who was peering at them from behind a tree, noisily threw himself back when the flashlight came dangerously close to spotting him. She hoped it did, just for the principle of the matter.
âScott you're out there!? Scott!?â The Sheriff called out and the boy in red- Scott, she corrected herself- flinched as if hearing those words and ignoring them were causing him physical pain.
Silence continued to be the only things greeting the Sheriff and the flashlight became pointed down at the forest floor. The sound of dead leaves crunching began momentarily before Stiles suddenly made a noise of discontentment. âWell young man,â the Sheriff said, ignoring the noise from his son, âI'm gonna walk you back to your car, and you and I, we're gonna have a discussion about something called invasion of privacy.â
The Sheriff continued to drag his son away, despite the sounds of protests his son was making. The sound of footsteps faded away, taking the flashlights and the danger with it. She released a breath she was involuntarily holding, her muscles slowly losing their tense knots.
She could faintly hear the sound of thunder.
Scott staggered away from the tree, his eyes trained in the direction Stiles was taken. His footsteps were loud against the dead leaves, like he wasnât making an effort to conceal them.Â
Maybe he didnât know how.
The vapor from his breath danced around his head, cloaking his face from view. His hood fell, revealing the boyâs dark brown hair before he reached back and pulled it into place. His head was rapidly turning and his eyes were scanning his surroundings. He was on edge, his muscles were tense and he was constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was scanning the trees, looking for danger, while he ironically, couldnât seem to spot the girl standing a few yards away from him.
It seemed only then did the girl realize how peaceful her surroundings were. The night was now void of the chatter of cops and was soon replaced with an odd stillness and quiet, save for the chirping of the crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. The moonâs rays drifted downward, blanketing the forest of the Beacon Hills preserve in a silvery glow. It illuminated the path she had taken and was guiding her down a new path.
One she wouldnât return from.
Scott occasionally shot a paranoid look over his shoulder, walking aimlessly in hope that he would stumble across a road. She sighed silently, ready to take pity on him and point him in the right direction if she could and-
A tree branch snapped overhead.
The noise immediately brought the two teens to a halt. The boy stood stupidly out in the open, leaving himself exposed to an attack from any and all sides. The girl, however, forced herself to mold back into the shadows once more, concealing herself from view as she forced herself silent and strained her ears to find an oncoming threat.
No one moved for a moment, both of them staring up at the tree tops before Scott finally began to move forward, and, albeit hesitantly, she followed his example.
The walk seemed to lose its urgency as the night continued. Scottâs posture began to relax and his stride was slow and lazy, his hands hidden away in his pockets as his gaze veered around the woods. His hood slipped again and she was only able to see his uneven jawline before he moved it back in place.
Thunder rumbled through the air again, closer this time. She stopped, her muscles tensing all over again at the sound. Her eyes locked in the direction of the noise, peering through the trees as she searched for the source. Something shifted in the woods.
Her gaze narrowed.
Scottâs inhaler rattled as he shook it, his gaze locked in the same direction as hers. The thundering sound grew, nearing closer and closer with every passing second. It was off, she realized, it didnât sound entirely like thunder it almost sounded like⌠hooves.
She realized what it was the second before they arrived.
The herd of deer sprang through the trees, all of them jumping wildly as they fled. She threw herself back against the tree, a startled yelp leaving her lips as they ran past. The thundering of their hooves echoed in her ears like war drums. She was fortunate enough to be behind a tree when they came.
Scott wasnât so lucky.
The moment the deer burst through the trees, Scott scrambled backward frantically, tripped over his own feet after only a few steps. in an attempt to get away. The thud of his back hitting the ground joined the thundering of the deerâs hooves. His inhaler flew out of his hands and went soaring through the air.
His arms curled around his head in a protective gesture and the rest of him curled into the fetal position. His eyes danced around frantically, the thundering of hooves and the steady onslaught of deer obscuring his senses. He flinched away when one stumbled next to him. The deer scrambled back up and ran as fast as it could, stumbling after the herd.
And then, there was silence.
Both of their breathing was labored as the adrenaline bled away from their veins. The girl quickly rightened herself, composing a mask of nonchalance to hide her startled reaction.
Scott made no move to conceal how frightened he was. There were tears in his eyes and his breathing was slightly ragged, though that might have been from his asthma. The leaves still danced through the air as they drifted downward, finally settling after the deer had passed.
He scrambled backward, his widened eyes pooling full of fear. His hood had fallen again, his shaggy brown hair was ruffled, but it added to his charm. He didnât seem to notice the leaf stuck in his hair.
His gaze nervously shifted around the woods again, almost like he was expecting more deer to come leaping through the trees again. He scrambled back to his feet, his shoulders hunched up and his head ducked low. He blindly reached for the phone in his pocket and the flashlight barely illuminated the ground as he searched for his inhaler.
âCome on, come on,â he mumbled and the leaves rustled as he shifted through them. His tone was sharp with agitation though his voice held an overall softness that seemed to bleed the tension from her muscles.
The light on his phone was dull, barely casting enough light to shine six inches in front of him. And even though the little light casted bounced back off the water on the leaves, she still had to close her eyes tightly to adjust her eyesight.
When they opened again, she saw the dead body.
The dead body- the dead woman- looked to be in her mid-twenties. The pieces of skin that werenât covered in blood was pasty white, a color that can only be achieved by dying of blood loss. Her raven black hair seemed to melt with the shadows, making it nearly impossible to be seen in the dark. Her dark eyes were glazed over with death, unseeing the two children who had been traumatized by their corpse.
Her eyes drifted downward, but shot back up once she saw the beginning of the womanâs spine.
Unlike a normal person, the girl didnât make a sound at the sight of the body. Her eyes went wide with horror, yes, but nothing, not even a whimper, slipped past her open lips. The only reaction she had was digging her thumb nail deep into the palm of her hand, so deep that it bled.
It might have to do with the fact that this wasnât the first time she had seen a dead body.
Scott, like any normal person, threw himself back as soon as he saw it, a horrified cry tearing from his lips. He flipped over the side of the slope he had been struggling to climb earlier and his startled shout was soon replaced by grunts of pain as he tumbled. She winced as his back slammed into a tree trunk before he kept falling.
He fell to a stop at the bottom, his ragged pants laced with pain as he struggled to catch his breath again. He curled into a tight ball, seemingly unaware that he was being watched. And slowly, so slowly that she wouldnât be detected, she made her way down the hill.
She carefully leapt from shadow to shadow, her gaze never leaving the hurt boy who was trembling on the ground. Her footsteps were light, almost as if she was floating on air as she walked. The shadows still seemed to wrap around her body, shielding her from view if anyone wasnât looking closely enough.
When the boy grabbed a fallen tree in an attempt to pull himself up, she froze.
His face was still tight with pain and he grimaced slightly when he began to move, but at the moment, she was just grateful that he could move. She slipped back into the shadows as he propelled himself over the tree, somehow landing gracefully despite the tumble he took earlier. He only managed to take a few steps forward before her stopped, his shoulders tensing.
Almost as if he felt someone watching him.
She forced herself back up against the tree and held her breath. She cursed herself for following him, for going into the woods that night, and for the damn murderer that was on the loose. Life just couldnât get any harder for her.
But instead of seeing her, he saw something else, something beyond the place she was hiding. She could vaguely hear growls and a blur of brown dashed past her tree before it leapt on the boy. They tumbled onto the ground, a blur of brown and red, and when they came to a stop, the monster was on top and it dug its fangs into the boyâs stomach.
His cries were horrific, loud and broken with pain as he squirmed under the monster's grip. Dead leaves were thrown into the air as they both struggled. Blood started to dribble onto the leaves and the monsterâs eyes narrowed, a growl escaping his blood covered lips. It was going to lunge. It was going in for the kill.
âHEY!â
The monster turned its head just in time to be struck across the face with a tree branch. A loud, sickening THUD resonated throughout the forest and the impact sent the beast flying away from the boy, landing at least six feet away from the two kids.
Scott forced his eyes open, squinting through the pain to look at his savior. Her black clothes helped her melt into the shadows and her blond hair was slightly covered by her black beanie. His vision blurred and when she turned to face him, all he could see were bright blue eyes.
âStart running!â She cried, just as the monster leapt up and pinned her to the ground. She managed to wedge the tree branch between her and the monsterâs mouth before it ripped out her throat. Scott stared in horror, âBut-â
âGO!â
Scott jumped up and ran.
As soon as Scott made it past the tree, the girlâs attention shifted back to the beast on top of her. It frantically pressed against the tree branch, trying with all of its might to break it, to try and kill the girl underneath it. Its foaming saliva, the saliva that was mixed with Scottâs blood, fell from itâs mouth and dripped onto her cheek.
The girl pushed the monster back with all of her strength, a disgusted squeal escaping her lips at the wet touch. The monster clenched its jaws at the last moment, pulling the branch with it as it fell away. The girl's ragged breath of relief came too soon as the monster leapt back onto her, immediately digging its teeth into her flesh.
Her scream was loud and shrill, nearly making the beast flinch away from the sound if not for its stubbornness and shire will. She thrashed under its grasp, kicking its stomach and punching its snout, throwing all of her strength into escaping. With one last solid punch to its nose, the creature flew backward.
And she was running.
Trees blurred as she passed, branches and leaves snagging at her clothes and cutting up her face. Blood leaked from her wounds, both the small cuts and the bite mark on her side. The sound of the monsterâs growls still rang in her ears, despite the distance she was putting between them.Â
Her foot caught against a raised tree root, sending her tumbling towards the ground. She tucked her arms protectively toward her chest, pulling her legs upward and inward as she rolled. When she came to a stop, she was in the middle of a small clearing, the moon light drifting down gently.Â
She winced as the pain in her side returned vigorously, nearly sending tears down her cheeks. She glanced down at her side, blood was already leaking down her side, the black of her clothes cloaking it from her sight.
Slowly, she shifted her jacket off of her body, letting it fall onto the forest floor with a crunch. She took a shaky breath and clenched the material of her shirt in her shaky fingers, raising it in one fluid motion. She peered downward and grimaced. Blood now covered his side and more was still pouring from the wound. One look at the actual bite and she could already tell it was going to be a bitch to clean.
She sighed, let her shirt fall back into place and looked up.
The full moon shone down on her, illuminating her bloodied shirt and the clearing around her. The night was still and quiet once more, save for the chirping of the crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. The moonâs rays drifted downward, blanketing the forest around her in a silvery glow. The forest was peaceful, all of the animals minding their own as they continued on, the crickets kept chirping and the owls kept hooting.
She sighed once more, glancing around the woods a final time before running back the way she came. And if Scott had gone back to look for her, he wouldnât have seen her, because she was running so fast that she was just a blur of silver and crimson.
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