title: defender
summary: when she starts dreaming of werewolves and red eyes, lexi hannigan – and her best friend lydia, too – thinks she's going insane. but with the recent animal attacks and her unfortunate habit of slipping into the geeky crowd, she's got a whole lot more cut out for her than insanity.

"Does this colour suit me, Lex?"

Snapped out of my musings by the strawberry blond, I frowned at her hand – the side of which she'd coloured with lipstick and was holding up to her face – before smiling widely. Without waiting for a verbal reply, Lydia – as in, HBIC Lydia Martin – rolled her eyes and nodded her head.

"Of course it does." She answered her own question, putting the tester away and plucking the tube off the shelf. With her task done, she turned back to me. "Okay, so what was this about a dream?" I shrugged, picking up a tube of mascara from another shelf, before responding in a forced-airy tone,

"I don't know. I was on the reserve, there was this body – like an actual body, totally split in half and leaking guts and stuff – and some kid got bit by something. Then it was just... over. I woke up. Weird, huh?" There was a lot I'd left out, admittedly, and I'd shortened it a whole lot, but that was the general gist. The vivid dream had been at the forefront of my mind all day, since I'd been woken up by it at four o'clock this morning, and it was only now that I was explaining it to my best friend.

Without turning away from her perusal of a shelf displaying nail varnish, Lydia shrugged. I got the idea that she was rolling her eyes, and I shook my head at her turned back. "Maybe you're just overstressed. With school starting tomorrow and everything."

I sighed. I didn't think so – it didn't feel right. It was like the dream was more important than that. Shaking my head at my stupid feelings, I murmured, "Maybe." After a beat of silence – in which I starting searching for lipstick – I questioned, "You nervous about tomorrow?" I peered over my shoulder at her.

The redhead raised one well-groomed eyebrow at me in the mirror, giving me a look that said clearly, are-you-crazy? I shook my head, giving a laugh that was much lighter than I felt. "Of course you're not, little-miss-queen-bee."

My friend gave me a wink in the mirror, before pulling a jar of magenta nail paint off the shelf and eyeing the objects in my hands. Her eyes flickered up to my face, clearly double-checking that the makeup I'd picked out would look alright with my tanned skin-tone, before she gave me a nod of approval and a pleased smile. Maybe someone else would've been pissed with her lack of trust in my judgement, but Lydia had been outfitting me since I was old enough to wear a bra, so I was used to it.

Linking her arm through mine after we'd paid, we wandered through the mall slowly, chatting about whether Tara Finch was banging Cody Peters, Lydia's boyfriend Jackson, my own current singular status (as well as whether Tom from the football team was interested in me), Jackson, the first day of school, and Jackson.

"-He gave me his key, Lexi. As in, his house key." Lydia complained over her cup of Coke Zero, snatching a fry from me and dropping it in her mouth. Her bright eyes looked at me earnestly, brows furrowed in a frown, and I sighed, swallowing the food in my mouth. Personally, I thought Jackson was an asshole; I had since junior high and he'd started walking around like a superior asshole.

Still, I gave her an excited look and tried to push my dislike for her dick of a boyfriend out of my head. I beamed at her cheerfully, the smile feeling awkward and false on my lips, but if she noticed, she didn't say anything. "Wow, Lyd. That's- that's great. Oh my God, you must be getting really serious then."

She beamed for my efforts, fingers playing with a chain tucked into her shirt, and shrugged. "I guess. Yeah. Yeah, we are." This realisation in and of itself seemed to spur her into further excitement, and the smile that lit up her face could have blown out the sun. The strawberry-blond giggled girlishly, and soon I joined in, choking on my milkshake.

Lydia gave me a concerned look as I pounded on my chest, before rolling her eyes in what I hoped was affection. "You are such a dweeb." She stated, shaking her head. I glared at her. I was not a dweeb. Granted, I might have been a few years ago, but she had since groomed me into the kind of girl she 'approved' of. Personally, I preferred myself now that she'd given me this makeover, and I'd spent last year delighting in the looks I got in the halls and strutting about the halls of Beacon Hills High like I owned the place. I didn't, of course, but Lydia did.

"You are such a bitch." I retorted, chomping down on another fry. After finishing the rest of her coke, Lydia gave me an affronted look, which quickly faded into a grin.

"I know. Now c'mon, you've got stories to tell."

I frowned confusedly. Stories? Clearly, some of my cluelessness had leaked onto my face, because she rolled her eyes and prodded, "Italy? Remember? The place you went on holiday to? C'mon, spill. There must've been a few hot guys, a fling here and there!"

I felt my cheeks flame in a blush, suddenly feeling as though my holiday was inadequate in my friend's eyes. "Uh... there were a few hotties around, yeah. But uh, no, no flings."

Lydia gave me a scandalised look, leaning forward in her seat. "What? No flings?" Immediately a suspicious look overcame her. "Why not?"

And there it was. The question I'd been faced with for the last three months. Why not? A stab of pain erupted in my chest – no, not somewhere cheesy like my heart – and I sighed, answering her question and sparking another dozen with, "Nick."

Immediately, sympathy bloomed in her eyes, and she leaned forward further to take my hand. I'm not some kid, Lydia. I thought scathingly, before guilt welled up inside. She was only trying to help, after all. "Sorry, Lex." Lydia murmured after a beat of silence. I shrugged. "Anyway, so what else do you remember about this dream?"

Internally, I thanked God that Lydia Martin was my friend. The girl might be petty and bitchy at times, but she knew when to back off, and when to be a good friend. I offered her a hesitant smile, which she returned. With a sigh, I thought back to my dream, picturing the dark trees of the preserve and the even darker sky, the scrambling, fumbling boy and the red eyes that glowed from the shadows. "There was a boy. He looks, maybe, our age? He's kinda a loser; inhaler, stupid hair. He falls over, drops that stupid inhaler, and there's, like, this body. It's all gross and cut in half. And, I don't know, things are too fast, but he gets bitten. And God, I sound fucking insane."

I opened my eyes again to see Lydia giving me an odd look. "What?" I questioned. There was a beat of silence, before a grin crawled across her face, and she giggled.

"You went all... psychic." I frowned, picturing myself in a turban while waving my hands over a crystal ball, before snorting slightly.

"Right."

After finishing our food – well, my food, since Lydia was on a strict diet – we wandered around for a while, going into a few more stores and walking out with even more bags, before my dad texted to say he was making dinner. Lydia drove me home, both of us discussing the next day eagerly. I was apprehensive to return to school, to say the least.

I sighed, looking out the car window at my house, before turning and hugging Lydia goodbye. "See you tomorrow, biatch." I murmured into her thick hair, feeling her arms tighten around my back as she laughed into my shoulder – she being several inches shorter than I – and replied,

"See you, dweeb." After pulling away, I climbed out of her car, turned and waved, before heading towards the front door. After jiggling the key around in the stiff lock for a few moments, I finally got it open, and stepped into the foyer. It wasn't particularly big – just big enough to fit the stairs that curled around to the right, heading for the next floor, the door into the kitchen besides the stairs and the doors to the living and dining rooms on the wall beside that – but had a particularly homey feel, with its plush carpets and cream walls.

"I'm home!" I called.

"Hey sweetie!" My dad called from the kitchen.

"Hi honey!" My papa yelled from the living room.

I smiled, dropping the bags on the table beside the door – I'd come back for them later – and poking my head into the kitchen. My dad – Oliver Hannigan – was stood at the stove, cooking something that smelled divine. He looked up from the pan to see me, smile creeping across his face. I didn't look a thing like him; while we had vaguely similar shades of brown eyes, his hair was far lighter than my own chocolate curls, and his face was smaller. With slightly paler skin than me and a tall frame, standing beside him and my papa, it couldn't have been clearer that I was adopted.

"Good day?" He questioned, stirring the contents of the pan with a wooden spoon. I shrugged, reaching into the refrigerator for a carton of orange juice and fetching a glass from one of the cupboards.

"Yeah. Me and Lydia went shopping."

He grinned, looking up at me. "Shopping, huh? What did you buy?" More hesitantly, he added, "How much did you spend?" I was some-what famous for going overboard when I went shopping and buying everything in sight, but even so, an offended spark flickered in my belly.

"Hey! I didn't spend much. I've got the receipts to prove it." I stuck out my tongue playfully, and he laughed. "Anyway, just... makeup. A couple of possible outfits for tomorrow. That kind of thing." Dad nodded, looking vaguely interested. I rolled my eyes. "How was your day?"

He shrugged. "S'alright. I got a few more chapters done." Dad was an author, and he'd been working on his latest novel for months. "Get me some plates, would you?"

Swallowing my juice, I reached for the plates in the china cupboard, passing them into his waiting hand and leaning against the counter. "What're you making?"

He grinned at me over his shoulder. "My infamous linguini. Want yours now or later?"

I felt sorta guilty; having already eaten at the food court in the mall, I wasn't all that hungry. "Later. Definitely later." He gave me a look, before shrugging.

"Your choice."

With that said, he passed me a roll of cling-film, before yelling, "Benjamin! Food's ready!"

From the living room, papa gave a hoot. Dad and I shared a look, him laughing softly. He came striding through, shaggy light brown hair brushed neatly and tall frame covered in sweats. Clearly, he'd only recently come home. Papa worked as a lawyer at the Whittemore law firm, and had done for years. Quite how he'd ended up with a writer was seemingly lost on most of his colleagues. I was glad he had.

He pecked Dad's cheek gleefully, picking up a plate off the counter. "You, Oliver, are a saint." Dad rolled his eyes, swatting at papa's shoulder and replying idly, "I know." Papa laughed. I rolled my eyes at the two, cling-filming my plate of pasta, before putting it into the refrigerator.

"Hey, Lexi." Papa greeted, smiling at me softly. Papa had a very happy face, overall. His features were softer than dad's, and his hair was longer, but he had much more similar colouring to me. He pecked my cheek too on his way past.

"Hey, papa." I replied, grinning at him. He eyed the bags near the door for a moment, before glancing over his shoulder at me with a raised brow. "What?" I asked, mirroring him.

He laughed, shaking his head softly, before murmuring, "Nothing, Lex." With that said, he continued into the living room. I rolled my eyes. My parents – dads, whatever – were particularly careful about my shopping habits. Dad himself was rather similar to me, and since I was young, they'd kept an eye on what I bought. I could understand why, to be honest, but that didn't make it any less annoying.

Picking up the bags, I headed up the stairs and down the hall, to the last door on the left. With both hands full of bags, I nudged it open with my foot, before dropping all the bags onto the floor. My room wasn't anything particularly special; I'd painted the walls bright blue on a whim two years ago, and I'd spent a lot of time tacking posters of bands and celebrities on top of the paint over the last couple of years. My bed – a comfy double I'd gotten for my birthday last year – was covered in creased white sheets and a blue throw, with my old Pluto plush thrown onto the pillows. Beside the bed was a plush blue rug and a white bedside table, on which I'd thrown a couple of candles, a lamp, a few half-used, bright bottles of nail polish, a lot of makeup and a jewellery box. On the other side of the bed, halfway down the wall, was a wide window, on which I'd situated a few pillows to act as a window seat. The dreamcatcher I'd made at an arts & crafts workshop four years ago had been tied to my headboard, as had a selection of fairy-lights. On the wall opposite my bed was my closet; a big, white thing positively overflowing with clothes.

I collapsed onto my bed beside the bags, closing my eyes. I was exhausted. While I loved shopping and Lydia – both were even better when together – both quickly gave me headaches and made my feet hurt. After a moment or two of relaxation, I sat up with a groan, slipping off my heels and suddenly feeling much shorter without them. I massaged the crick in my neck, sighing as relief came.

After unpacking the bags and putting my purchases away, I collapsed, once again, into bed, curling under the sheets and burying my face in the pillow.

I fell asleep with howls in my ears and red eyes in the dark.

notes: new fanfiction, woo! tbh, lexi's been floating around in my head for a while, so it was nice to put her on paper. i've got a little more inspiration for this than i do for a connotation of infinity, so here's hoping you like it :) in other news, i now have a tumblr, yay! extra tidbits and outfits can be found at the link in my profile. mind reviewing?