Hey everyone! I'm Nocte Amissus, but you lot can just call me Noc or Nocte. This is my second TW Fic, and I've got a bit of a question for you - what pairings do you lot think I should do? There will be a poll on my profile for you to answer on! Thanks! - Noc
DISCLAIMER: I do not own TW in any way what-so-ever, if I did then Allison and Scott would totally be dead. Please enjoy this purely fictional story and review! Also, there well be some major Scott & Allison bashing! You have been warned!
Chapter One:
"Don't go away. I don't want to be alone. I can't stand being alone." - Arnold Rothstein
There comes a time when everyone is alone. Lost, forgotten, abandoned - doesn't matter, the only thing that matters is that they are alone. No friends, no family, no nothing. No one cares, no one bothers, no one even notices. Why? Well why should they? What reason do they have to care? The answer is pure and simple - none. Friends betray you, family dies, and who else really matters?
A heavy hand clamped firmly over my shoulder, claw-like fingers gripping tight enough to form bruises yet neither I nor the owner of said hand cared. "I'm sorry, Stiles.." Derek's hoarse voice was barely above a whisper. Perhaps he expected me not to here. Perhaps he hadn't realized he'd said it. Either way, it was said and it was heard. The hand fell from its place and then nothing. Everything was silent. The shrill screams of the sirens faded into nothing, the sobs of Scott and Allison trickled away until they were but a whisper in the wind - though the wind seemed to dissipate itself. All that was there was the body carefully covered by a thick leather coat. The coat, however, just barely managed to cover the corpse's torso, leaving the stomach and legs for all to see - but there wasn't really much to see. Flesh was shredded completely, blood seeping out and pooling around the body - postmortem. Dark slacks were heavy with soaked blood, though it seemed like there weren't really any pants but rather strips of fabric stretched across the only unharmed flesh. The light standard issued police shirt was shredded down the center, leaving it to spread open revealing the gashes left by bites and claws.
A werewolf had done this. A wild and untamed werewolf - an Omega. I felt my hands curl into fists and his shoulders trembled as the sobs threatened to control my movements once more. I could feel myself climbing to my feet, pushing past one of the deputies and stalking towards my best-friend and his girlfriend. I felt a fist raise and I felt the burning ache that followed it as the fist flew through the air, connecting with the underside of Scott McCall's jaw. I didn't care that Derek had shouted my name or the way Allison gasped in surprise. I didn't care that Scott's tear-filled eyes widened in surprise or the way he staggered back. I just rose the fist and swung again. After another two hits, Scott shoved me back. His amber orbs narrowed at me. "What the hell man?" He demanded. I just sneered and swung one last time. The fist connected with the right side of his forehead. A set of muscled arms wrapped firmly around my waist from behind, pulling me carefully away from the werewolf. Derek appeared in front of me, checking over his snarling Beta before crimson laced emerald orbs fell on me, confused as to what just happened.
Farther and farther my thrashing body was carried away. My captor carried me past the deputies and past a fumbling Melissa McCall. He carried me past the cruisers and the wreck of a jeep I owned. He carried me past Scott's dirtbike and Derek's Camaro. He carried me past Allison's little car and Jackson's Porsche. He carried me until we reached a familiar black SUV and even then he didn't let me go. Chris Argent stood tall and firm, arms secured around me. His hold reminded me of my father's - firm and warm, not uncomfortable in the slightest, despite the fact that the arms were tight. "Stiles I -"
"Don't," I snapped, voice raw and tight from the tears, "don't you dare say it. Don't you dare! H... It's not real! This is just a nightmare! He's not dead!" I was being a petulant child - no one had to tell me that. I fell limp in those arms, knowing full well that they could hold my weight. I felt the sigh more than I could hear it - the slight puff of warm air that hit the top of my head and the way his chest heaved just so slightly. The way his arms tightened just a bit before returning to the previous holding form. The door to the vehicle was pulled open and I was lifted carefully onto the grey leather seats. The car was cleaner than I'd have expected - though in those few moments that I really looked, I didn't truthfully care. The course grey belt slid across my chest and around my waist before snapping closed and the door clicked shut. A few moments later the Driver's side door opened and Chris pulled himself into the SUV. "He's not dead," I whispered. I could feel Chris' eyes on me, and I didn't need to look to see that there was no pity in his eyes.
"Stiles, I need you to listen to me." The gravely voice was unexpectedly soft, warm despite the tragedy that we'd all just seen. Tragedy, ha. What happened was tragic indeed, but to Chris Argent and the others, it wasn't something uncommon. The death of a person was a common occurrence - the only reason anyone was truly upset by the death was because of who it was. I didn't want to listen to the Hunter. I didn't want to hear his reasonings or the speech that would say I'd be okay. "I know it hurts, Stiles. But you need to be strong, just a bit longer. I need you to tell me what happened." What happened? Why did it matter what happened? It was over.. It was done... It didn't matter at all. "Stiles, I know it hurts... but I need you to try. I need to know what happened." He tried again, I just gazed out the window in the direction of Scott and the others.
"It's all his fault," I responded, voice barely above a whisper.
The crescent moon hung high in the sky, dangling carelessly in the colorless canvas of a sky. Glittering stars shimmered beautifully, and yet the night was ugly. It hadn't started out that way - oh no, at first it was a beautiful night. The kind of night where Stiles wished he'd never been drug into the world of Supernatural Things - it was the kind of night Stiles wished he was able to spend star gazing with his father, just like they use to do. But no, that wasn't what would happen - oh no, Stiles wasn't going to have such an easy night ever again he felt.