It seemed everything had been able to go right, for once. Or as right as things could go after a couple of deaths and disappearances of a few people months back; and Deaton's warning words about the Nemeton calling forth dark forces of evil had turned out to be nothing but a dire and pointless warning so far, for there had been no deaths in the usually dangerous town of Beacon Hills, Callifornia. Or at least not murders; there'd been at least four suicides in the last two months. It was sad; and looking at the faces of some of the family members of the deceased and disappeared, whether dead at some point during the Jennifer ordeal or the recent suicides, on a daily basis thanks to the deeply low population of the town remained as a constant reminder of what had happened. It almost made anyone feel guilty for feeling even a little happy.
Or, maybe not anyone, but one spastic boy called Stiles Stilinski. It had appeared, as he'd looked around the quiet classroom full of people writing down on a notebook, that he was the only uneasy and somewhat angry person in the room. The worst part was that he had absolutely no idea why he felt the way he did. Nothing. It seemed as if that day he had, as they say, woken up on the wrong side of the bed, for he had absolutely no reason to be angry. Things in Beacon Hills were perfectly fine, Scott had actually even started on working on getting his old girlfriend, Allison, back (whether it'd work or not, Stiles didn't know, but hearing about it would definitely be fun for him), and, well, Lydia was now his girlfriend; something he'd wanted since longer than he dared admit. Everything had almost felt like things were too good to be true… Yet he knew knew how that usually went: if things seemed to good to be true, they probably were. Yet, still; regardless of that mental reminder there was absolutely no reason for his anger. So why was it there? What exactly could be happening in his head to make the sort of rage bubble within him? What logic hid behind it?
And, of course, the constant tapping coming from behind against the leg of his chair made everything worse, and a deep frustrated sigh had left his lips. "Do you mind?" He'd asked with his own version of a quiet scream as he turned around to look at the startled girl who thankfully had stopped tapping her foot against his chair as soon as he'd turned around. Her legs uncrossed and she sat a little straighter. "Thank you." Stiles said with a movement of his head before turning to look toward his own notes again; forcing himself to focus on his work and truly unable to understand what had him so fired up; which only made him even more angry. See the problem?
Well, that day he'd woken up wondering when things would go wrong; something he only realized two days later whilst looking at brands of the many possible options of potato chips in one of the three local supermarkets. He realized that he'd been thinking about his fear for things taking a wrong turn prior to his supposedly inexplicable anger. And why should he do that instead of enjoying whatever time he was allowed to enjoy the very strange peace in the town and the wonderful girl she now called his girlfriend?
Yet, as his eyes lifted from the many brands on the stand, that moment of joyful realization turned into one of the instances in which guilt decided to eat at him; for the mother of one of the guys that had so horribly been sacrificed months back was standing close beside him. The sorrow of her face became clear the moment her eyes met his during the smallest moments in such an intensity that it nearly made a hole in his chest; he knew what losing someone close to him felt like, because he'd lost a couple of friends, and his mother, though she wasn't exactly dead, yet he couldn't come close to imagining what it was like to lose a son or daughter. With guilt singing in his eyes, they lowered; in pretense at attempting to continue finding the proper snack for the movie day he'd planned on having, but his mind wasn't thinking about the crunchy hopefully cheesy deliciousness before him, not for a bit.
His throat cleared and his eyes lifted once more, attempting to look in the direction of the sorrow-filed lady once again; but what he found instead was the empty spot where she had been standing, and his girlfriend, Lydia, looking at something on her right, while her hand rested on a magazine on a stand on her left near the checkout line. In a strange motion, the guilt almost instantly washed away from Stiles' system and got replaced by relief. The mere reminder of the relief he'd felt daily at remembering that Lydia and most of his friends had survived the whole Darach ordeal; and, of course, soon after, the joy at remembering that the strawberry blonde was his girlfriend. "Lydia!" He called, watching her head instantly whip in his direction, making her hair fly around her like a beautiful curtain, before his eyes fell shortly to the snacks in front of him; he settled on taking three different bags of chips he'd been unsure of which to choose from, before he looked in the girl's direction once again and walked forth to stand by her.
What Stiles didn't know was that the very girl he was walking towards was suffering of the same realizations. She shifted her weight onto one of her feet once she allowed the smallest of smiles to light up her features; small because she'd seen the same woman Stiles had seen, walking away with the same tortured expression. People had been sacrificed not long ago, and more people had committed suicide, and she was standing there looking at fashion magazines while waiting for her turn to pay for her items as if nothing at all had happened. Instantly, as if by a reaction to her thoughts, Lydia's hand lifted to touch her neck, where once upon a time there had been a bruise of a horrible red line across it, where Jennifer Blake had attempted to strangle her. She'd survived, and she felt guilty for it. A reverie of which she was broken off the moment she realized Stiles had asked her something. "Sorry." She said, forcing a smile onto her perfectly lip stick'd lips. "What did you say?"
In all honestly, Stiles would have felt offended, but what he guessed to be Lydia's unconscious movements added with the manner in which she'd been staring off in the direction opposite to what her hands had rested on, plus the expression that crossed her features in mirror of what he guessed to be his own previous grimace, had the young boy simply nodding in what he hoped to be understanding. "You too, huh?" He inquired with a soft shake of his head, his eyes shifting and his head turning in the direction Lydia had been looking off on and seeing nothing out of the ordinary before turning his head to look into Lydia's gentle eyes once again.
Stiles wasn't surprised when Lydia's head bobbed in a confirming nod. "Yeah." She admitted, looking away from her boyfriend to start placing her picked out items from the cart to the band for the cashier to check off. "I feel like I shouldn't be here right now. People died, and…" She frowned, looking up into Stiles' eyes once again before forcing herself to whisper. "All I have is the memory of that bruise around my neck." And she couldn't help it, at that moment, all she could feel was guilt over the thought of What would have happened if I just could have found the bodies before the people died?
"Hey, Lydia." Stiles called, his head shaking a couple of times while his hand reached to take Lydia's own from their position near her neck, that she hadn't realized she'd even done until he'd done that, and lacing their fingers together whilst forbidding his eyes to look away from hers. "Look, it'd be really stupid of me to tell you not to feel this way." Because I feel the exact same, he completed in his head. "But if you're set on thinking about the people who died, maybe you should try thinking about the ones that are alive because of what—… happened." He'd been close to saying because of what we did, but in all truthfulness, the cashier girl who was working on Lydia's items had already sent them a look; one he decided to be cautious of and ignore. "Who knows how many more people would have died otherwise." He finished, allowing the pad of the thumb of the hand that held hers graze against the skin of Lydia's own.
She solely nodded, squeezing his hand. "Yeah, you're right." She simply stated, quickly letting go of his hand so she could fish out the credit card she was supposed to use to pay off her items. And she remained quiet, the haunted look remained across her features, for as long as she gathered her bags and clearly stood near to wait for Stiles to finish his shopping; and while he observed her, he realized her demeanour screamed that she wasn't done speaking. So he paid, actually attempted a little polite smile toward the cashier girl, and then hurried on a stumble to Lydia's side; who, as soon as they were out of hearing shot and away from the store on route to the parking lot, decided to whisper in his direction once again. "I know we saved many people. But I can't help feeling like if I'd done something, if I knew how this whole... Banshee thing works, maybe we would have been able to save everyone."
Those words alone made Stiles' forehead adorn with a little frown; quite surprised at the sincerity of her words and suddenly catching her arm once again, gently as to not make her drop her bags, and making her stop somewhere near the first row of cars in the parking lot. "I think I've read many books and comics, watched many movies and shows, and lived through enough to be able to know that no matter what you do you can't save everyone." He simply confessed; watching the emotions play in Lydia's features, sadness, guilt, frustration even. "But we did try," he continued, watching as her eyes rolled shortly and she even attempted to turn away. "And I know that's not enough, trust me. I know it isn't. But it's going to have to do, because we can't go back in time and change things, so we're going to have to try to be okay with what we achieved." He paused before he attempted one of his shots at light humour to soften his girlfriend's mood. "Unfortunately Gallifray isn't real, so no time machines have been discovered yet." He spoke the words with the smallest of trying smiles in a very geeky attempt at making Lydia smile.
Which, by the momentary confusion that crossed her features that were followed by the smallest of wondering smiles, Stiles seemed to have accomplished. "Galli-what now?" She wondered, her head tilting shortly as if the explanation to her confusion were printed in his features and he could read it solely by looking at his face in a different angle.
Of course, Stiles sighed. He'd forever be disappointed in the many things his friends (and girlfriend) seemed to be absolutely in the dark about; awesome things. Things he liked. "It's from a TV show." He admitted, shaking his head shortly.
"Right." Lydia smiled, shaking her head and genuinely thinking Stiles was the most adorable thing... in a very hot way. Not that she'd tell him that; if she did she'd never hear the end of it. Instead, she decided to speak something else. "You're odd." She admitted with an affectionate tone. "But you're still right; we can't go back in time." And only then did she allow her eyes to look into his own. "So I guess I'll just have to live the 'right now'"
"That's right." Stiles nodded; regardless of the light weight against his chest. He instantly realised that what he'd spoken had been true: what would the people at Beacon Hills do but attempt to live their lives as best as they could for as long as they could? This time his eyes simply refused to move from hers. "And right now," he started with a grin, "I've got a movie day planned. Wanna join me?" He asked, making the one hand that held onto the bags with his purchased snacks shake a bit so the sound of the contents echoed around them both. "I've got snacks!"
Lydia's eyes rolled once again, yet the smile across her lips refused to dissipate before she simply shrugged. "Yeah, sure. That'd be nice." She agreed, finding her boyfriend's mood somewhat contagious the moment a huge elated smile crossed his kissable pink lips. "But no Star Wars." And then she turned around before she could see the somewhat disappointed features that shifted in his face at her words.
She may not have known it, but he'd been planning to watch all the Star Wars films in a row.
~A few hours later, in a house somewhere in Beacon Hills~
The pen tapped gently against the desk as Jordan Wright's eyes scanned the page in front of him; though he was a good student, or as good as he could be, he had never been good at Biology. Sure, he was a member of the Lacrosse team, and he played in the school orchestra, and he may or may not be the favourite of a few of his teachers, but that didn't mean his brain allowed him much room for uninteresting things like the reason behind the reproduction of cells; Or is that philosophy?
But he was good; mainly because he didn't exactly seem to find the point to school, so he flew past it and allowed his logical mind to get the best for, and of him; so he finished every school assignment because he had to, or replied and participated because it was what was expected of him so that he could get a sheet of paper that said Jordan was qualified enough to go to a valuable University, so he could get yet another paper that said he could work as a tax adviser and maybe make more money that he could count to be able to stop working and become able to open some sort of kitchen business he'd actually enjoy running.
So, naturally, there he was, sitting at home with his mum's NSYNC playing loudly from the speakers downstairs as she occupied herself with her latest hobby; the words to "Bye, Bye" weren't helping Jordan's concentration any, and the reality of atoms and cells simply flew past him in words that he simply couldn't understand, nor focus on. "MOM?" He called loudly with a blank expression, staring at the text book in front of him as if that alone were to give him the answers he searched for. "MOOOOOOOOOOOOM!" He called again, this time raising his eyes from the words on the textbook to look toward the door of his room. The volume of the music lowered, and Jordan nearly sighed in relief.
"YOU CALLED?!" Came his mother's voice from downstairs in a tone more happy and amused than annoyed. Something that almost confused Jordan.
"YEAH, COULD YOU PLEASE KEEP IT DOWN?" He wondered; and it had been as if the blank tone of his words hadn't helped his case, because not even a minute later, his mother's voice was tooting loudly in reply.
"NO." Oh, okay. He thought while sighing in frustration and dropping the pen in the middle of his open text book the moment the volume of the music rose once again.
"Oh my god." Jordan's eyes rolled, and with no other choice, he stood up from the chair that, in his opinion, was bound to make his ass look like a Tylenol pill if he continued to sit there for as long as it had been. Yet, as he made his way toward the closed door, another loud sound echoed in the room, right behind him: his window opening. His hand paused on the door knob and his whole body turned to look at the now ajar window, a brow lifting in confusion as he looked around his room. There was no wind; and even if there had been, his window had a handle that was locked, or had been locked. "How the hell...?" He whispered in confusion.
Annoyed, Jordan walked toward the open nuisance with a determined pace; his head poked out of the window in search of the source of it's opening, yet, when he found nothing, his eyes decided to roll once again. One of his hands lifted once his frame stood upright so he could close the window once again in order for the slightly chilly winter air to not make his room any colder than it already was; and since the music was still playing as loudly as his mother dared make it without bothering the neighbours (but apparently she was okay with bothering him), Jordan decided to turn around again to try to talk some sense into his mother so she would let him do his homework in a silent peace. Yet, when he was about to turn around and away from the window, he noticed a strange grey and black blob of... something near his reflection on the now closed glass. "What the hell?" He heard himself saying before he turned quick to face the source of the strange reflection. It was smoke. And it hovered in front of the young man for a couple of curious seconds.
And then it charged in his direction.
The last thing Jordan could remember was the sound of his own scream being muffled with the sounds of his own throat gagging and reacting to the smoke's intake to his body before everything went black.
To Be Continued.