Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf.
Char and Ashes
By. Vanillorite
The moon was big tonight.
Night was falling in Beacon Hills, the clock almost hitting eleven; Deputy Jordan Parrish was still flipping through files on the recent assassinations involved with the hit list, or as Lydia and them called it, the "deadpool".
He paused to look over his hands disbelievingly, an action he had been repeating ever since the incident with Hank. He didn't remember much from the terrifying event, except that the fire had been bizarrely painless, almost comfortable, like the flames rejuvenated him, or even revived him?
Parrish shook his head slowly, trying to clear the memory. Frankly, after that experience, he didn't want to be involved in anything with fire again.
Interrupting his thoughts, a loud scream abruptly resonated inside of his ears. It was so high, so desperate, so… familiar. Parrish was suddenly flooded with a sinking feeling, an awareness of a sense of danger, like something was very, very wrong.
He looked out the office door window, and as if on cue, Sheriff Stilinski, his face distorted with worry and exhaustion, came running through the corridor towards him. Parrish had seen that expression too often these past few weeks. Sheriff burst into the office, out of breath.
"Parrish. Quick."
Parrish stood up quickly. What was the issue? What was it this time? He slowly winced, knowing the problem before Sheriff said it.
"It's Lydia."
His face went numb.
"Stiles called. She's in the school. There are teachers there too. Someone must have tried to kill her…the deadpool…we have to go."
Parrish's body moved rapidly and instinctively. He didn't bother taking his jacket as he led the way out of the office, his mind only on Lydia.
Parrish rushed out of the Sheriff's car to the burning Beacon Hills high school. The heat was searing hot. Flames slithered up the entire building, with clouds of smoke billowing out the windows. The fire was lively against the dark sky. Firefighters, sweating profusely in their suits, surrounded the perimeter and there was noise, too much of it, everywhere.
Parrish saw that Scott and the others were already near the entrance and went towards them.
"I'll be going in now." He stated to no one in particular, removing his gun and handing it nonchalantly to the Sheriff. He headed towards the door before Scott respectively put a hand on his shoulder.
"Deputy, wait wait wait, it's alright, leave it to us, we'll get them all. We—"
"Lydia." Parrish stared at Scott, his eyebrows furrowed together in both deathly worry and determination.
"I have to save Lydia." He wasn't asking permission.
Scott gave a sidelong glance at Stiles, who closed his eyes and nodded, unable to say anything. Parrish swiftly moved from Scott's hand and ran straight into the building, with the pack closely following.
He split from the teenagers—he could barely see through the smoke but followed his gut, the instinct skill he had learned from all the years in military, and walked through the crumbling building. His hand traced along the wall, listening hard through the crackling of the fire, until he finally heard vigorous coughing through the door of a classroom. Without hesitation, he knocked the door down and fervently scanned the classroom. Fire rippled the floors and walls.
Where was she?
In the midst of the flames and the disgusting, thick greyness, a familiar red-haired beauty was tied to a chair, ripped duct tape hanging off her flushed, burning cheeks. The beautiful banshee had screamed right through it. Parrish dashed to her and held her face.
"Lydia. Lydia, I'm here." He immediately loosened the ropes at her arms and legs.
Lydia slumped forwards, the heat drowsing her consciousness. Her arms weakly grabbed at the firm body in front of her.
"I knew you'd hear me…" she whispered, breathing unevenly. She closed her eyes, tired and dehydrated.
Parrish steadily lifted the girl into his arms and nestled his face close to hers, protecting her from the fire's reach. He walked slowly towards the door. The flames caught onto his shoes and flickered up his legs. He continued walking, the fabric of his clothing decimating in the blaze. Leaving the classroom, the smoke continued to thicken in the rest of the building.
As they trudged through the hallway, suddenly, the ceiling exploded from the heat, and a massive piece of burning plaster crashing from above them. Parrish buckled at the impact and curled over Lydia carefully, like a shield, as the fire burned and blackened his back. He forced himself to his feet as the fire continued to dance upon his body. His eyes focused on the two exit doors while their original green colour melted into a brilliant orange.
Outside, Sheriff Stilinski and Scott's pack, along with the rest of the victims they saved, were anxiously waiting for Parrish and Lydia's arrival.
Finally, through the smoke and flames, two figures, one on fire, and one covered in ashes; Parrish emerged with Lydia bundled in his arms.
Once he felt the outside air, Parrish fell to his bare knees, the cloth on his body burned off, his skin stained with ashes, his girl in his hands, and took a deep breath. Lydia's eyelids fluttered open and stared at her rescuer, deep brown orbs against the fading orange; the gorgeous light cerulean underneath enchanted her.
"Parrish…" She touched his ashen face with her fingers lightly. "Jordan…"
Parrish's heart beat faster at the sound of his name. He tilted his head downwards, letting his lips softly touch her forehead for just a moment, leaving behind a small mark of ash. She smiled at the gesture and closed her eyes again.
Almost reluctantly, Parrish then handed her to Stiles—who was almost in tears—and the rest of the pack, immense gratitude and relief in each of their faces.
Ash fell from the sky. Sheriff Stilinski sat by Parrish at the stairs of the burnt high school.
"You haven't even been in Beacon Hills for long." The Sheriff scrunched his nose. "But this is the second time this month I have seen you charred and naked." His face twisted into a comical expression of disgust.
Parrish let out a chuckle. "Speaking of which," He ran a hand through his dirtied blonde hair. "Sheriff?"
Sheriff Stilinski grinned at the deputy. "Yeah?"
"Can I have some clothes now?"
A/N: This is my first attempt at writing a little fic! Tried my best to subtly add my respect to stydia..anyways, hope you liked this product of procrastination.
Reviews are like froyo...I want them now! lol sorry.