Scott was tired. He was tired of a lot of things and just wanted to go to sleep. His muscles ached and he felt like his heart was going to give out at any given moment, it was so heavy. But he continued to smile anyway, with Allison at his side, clutching his hand with her life, and Stiles standing off to the side, close enough that Scott could reach out and touch him at any given time.
A few months ago, this would have been what Scott wanted, his girlfriend and best friend both by his side, feeling victorious after defeating the big, bad enemy. Now he just wanted to scream and to be left alone to face his own monsters that lurked in his head. But he smiled anyway, sucking in his cheeks and clenching his jaw.
He felt Isaac's heavy gaze on him. Isaac wasn't stupid nor was he oblivious; he knew something was wrong. Scott refused to meet his eyes and confirm it. He didn't want to accept it himself, he didn't need someone else telling him there was something wrong with him. His smile tightened slightly when Isaac turned away, listening in on Peter and Derek's conversation like the concerned, trusty beta he was. Scott could smell something akin to disappointment that Isaac emitted.
"We should get Jackson out of here," Scott heard Stiles say and then Derek's grunt of agreement. Jackson and Lydia were still clutching to each other, refusing to separate. Scott couldn't figure out how Lydia still managed to love Jackson, knowing all he did and everything he had put her through. He couldn't fathom why she didn't just leave him to his own personal hell.
Stiles moved away from him, towards the Jeep, but Scott couldn't follow him, not with the iron grip that Allison had on his arm. He looked down at her lithe fingers wrapped around his wrist and then back up at her pale, creased face. For a teenager, her eyes were old, like she had carried the weight of world more than once and lived to tell about it. Scott almost didn't recognize her; she looked so much different than she did not that long ago.
"We need to talk," she told him firmly, her tone matching her fingers. Scott nodded dumbly, looking back down at her fingers. They didn't hurt him, it was just the idea of them disturbed him. He was bound to her, and wasn't sure if that's what he wanted anymore.
He let her lead him to his father's car, where Chris was leaning against the hood of the SUV. Scott sneaked one more glance at the others, who were crowded around Stiles's Jeep, surrounding Jackson cautiously. Some part of Scott, a large one, longed to be over there with Derek's pack, relieved and even though really dysfunctional, a family. Scott thought it was his wolf.
He caught the eye of Isaac, who held his stare. Scott liked the color of Isaac's eyes; they were an icy, intense blue that complimented his milky white skin. His gaze was challenging, like he was daring Scott to leave Allison and squeeze into the passenger seat with him because Jackson and Lydia claimed the backseat for themselves while Stiles stared out the windshield with a hard, pointed look. It sounded so appealing but the steel grip was back on his wrist as Allison opened the passenger door, ushering me in.
He ripped his eyes away from the werewolf, looking at Allison again. He felt something that he wanted to identify as relief but he couldn't; it was numbness. Sweet, horrible, amazing, terrifying numbness. Maybe Allison wasn't the one who changed. Maybe it was him.
Chris started the engine, the rumbling washing over Allison's words and heartbeat. Scott blocked out Chris's murmured replies and his breathing, and just everything. He was in a still darkness, and it was refreshing.
He flinched slightly when a soft hand touched his arm lightly. Scott met Allison's eyes hesitantly. She smiled timidly at him, apology written all over his face. There was a part of him that wanted to leave him, that was so full of rage towards her that he was going to burst.
She turned without removing her hand from his arm, leading him towards the house that his wolf despised, fought him to go in every time. He almost complied this time, wanting so badly to run away and just hide out in the Hale House, or some place where Allison couldn't grip him hard and not let go.
He didn't know when but suddenly they were in her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed, hands laced together. Scott watched their hands, watched Allison grip and squeeze his fingers. He didn't want this, he didn't want this, he didn't want this.
Allison's breath hitched and her grip tightened. Tears filled her eyes and she started to sniffle. Scott sat silently, waiting for her to say something first so he wouldn't have to. Because he had nothing left to say.
But before she could get words out, suddenly out of nowhere, Scott's mouth began moving and words dripped out, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue as the lies poured out and then there were truths mixed in and everything was a jumbled mess that he couldn't fix except they seems to be the rights words because Allison wasn't crying like he had just told her that he was numb and hated himself sometimes because he was with her.
He closed his mouth when the words started to blend and fell deaf to his own ears, and Allison laughed, quiet and sad. Her words register after he responded and he kicked himself for not listening.
I'm trying to break up with you. And really, he wasn't expecting that but he lied anyway because that seemed like what he was good at doing and it was working. There was a dark corner of his mind, the one that was always screaming when Scott poked at it, rejoiced. It roared and wanted to sprint a million miles and Scott knew it was his wolf.
He wasn't there when his body started to move out of Allison's bedroom and then out her front door. He wasn't there when he entered the woods in the direction opposite his house. He wasn't there when he stripped off his shirt and got down on all fours. The only time he was there was when he unleashed his wolf, letting it run free for the first time in a long time.
He unleashed his wrath on an unfortunate raccoon out for a late night hunting trip. He crept up on, stalking it for a half of mile of woodland. Scott watched it dig and paw at leaves, looking for insects or berries. It was blissfully oblivious of its inevitable, gory fate.
Scott felt himself pounce when the raccoon finally caught a cricket. A strangled whine erupted from the back of its throat as Scoff pinned it to the ground, fangs barred and ready to snap it's throat. He sunk his claws into its upper abdomen, dragging them down, thick, crimson blood pouring out of the wound. The raccoon squealed loudly, thrashing violently, causing it to lose more blood.
Something primitive in Scott washed over his conscious, and he began enjoying it. He dipped his head down towards the raccoon's throat. Its movements jerked to a stop and Scott could hear its heart beating out of its chest and the bittersweet smell of fear: it knew what was coming next.
Scott's fangs latched onto the fur-covered, fatty skin that was its throat. He let out a throaty, sinister chuckle. He wanted to draw out the kill as long as possible, so he sunk his teeth lightly into its neck, just enough to draw blood. A warm, coppery taste flooded Scott's mouth, waking his taste buds and staining his teeth red. The raccoon sagged slightly against him, the smell of fear dissipating. And then, at that exact moment, Scott bit back into its throat and tore it out, muscle and skin flying out of his mouth.
The poor raccoon squealed once more, quietly this time, and slowly but surely, the life drained out of its eyes. Scott's wolf jumped in joy, tilting his head up and howling, loud and triumphant. The last time he felt this intense pleasure was the night he was turned, as if he had just woken up for the first time, like a part of him he didn't know was there was unleashed.
He dropped down to the ground after that, suddenly drained of all his energy. His eyes slid closed and he started to drift away, the sound of his own heartbeat roaring in his ears lulling him to sleep.
Scott was awoke by the sun beating down on him relentlessly. He registered a second heartbeat close to him and the familiar smell of aftershave and pine trees. Wiping his head around, Scott's eyes came into contact with Isaac's slightly smug face. Isaac was leaning against on of the trees, arms crossed, bright eyes trained on Scott, following his every move.
"What are you doing out here?" Scott's voice was raw and groggy, and his throat was dry.
"Derek, Peter and I were at the Hale House last night when we heard a vaguely familiarly howl," he responded. "I offered to check it but Derek said to wait until the morning. So here I am."
Isaac pushed off of the tree, walking closer to Scott, holding his hands out to help him stand. Scott took them without hesitation, pulling himself up. He pushed himself off, becoming confused when his dirty, bloody hands met smooth, muddy skin. He looked down to see his bare chest covered in mud and grime.
"So, I'm guessing the raccoon tasted pretty good by the looks of it," Isaac quipped causally, eyes roaming up and down Scott's body. The blood rushed up to Scott's cheeks when he eyed what was left of the poor raccoon. He can't believe he allowed himself to lose control like that. "It's okay, I've done it before. More than once actually."
"I killed a rabbit when I was first turned," Scott admitted quietly, embarrassed and horrified by his own doings.
"So I've heard," Isaac said, his lips curling up into a half-smile. "I guess it just comes with being a wolf." He shrugged and turned away from Scott, and started to walk in the direction of the preserve. Scott watched dumbly as Isaac's figure disappeared into the sea of trees. "You coming, Scott?"
Scott scrambled to catch up with Isaac. Isaac smiled at him widely, the one that's all teeth, just as he did in the vet's office just mere nights ago, though it felt like ages ago. Scott smiled back, crossing his arms over his exposed chest. Maybe letting go every now and then was okay. Scott just made himself promise not to slaughter anymore raccoons when he was letting go.