Sorry if the middle section is a bit confusing. It has been changed already, but it might still be a bit disjointed. Either way, here is the start of the TW side of things.
CHAPTER 2 - TIMELESS
The clock ticks slowly, and as the second hand passes the large twelve, the minute hand jerks slightly. The sharp, black numbers are bold against the creamy white, and the flare from the hospital lights makes the number three vanish into a sharp glow.
"I swear we'll be fine…"
Melissa McCall tears her gaze from the slowly ticking clock face, ducking her head so she can hiss sharply into the phone presses to her ear. "It's not that I don't trust you," she begins, tone serious, "And you know I'm a hand off parent, but the thought of you two boys out in the woods where lately there has been everything from killer lizards to evil English teachers. I don't like the thought of you two out there."
On the other end of the line there is a sigh and Scott shifts the phone in his hand, "Mom, I'm an alpha now…"
"You two might be supernatural teenagers but while you still live in my house young man…" she threatens, leaving Scott hanging, "I expect your homework done."
Her son gives a huff of amusement, "It's done. I swear, nothing is going to go wrong this time. And I've got my grades up already, I can keep them there."
Melissa hums sceptically, "So I expect no late nights sneaking off to visit girls." She continues.
Scott's embarrassed now, and she wonders if Isaac is around, listening in, "I don't have a girlfriend," he almost whines at her, and for a moment she thinks about how much like an embarrassed puppy her sounds.
She wants to pry, she's curious about how Scott's finally stepped away from Allison (and Isaac had stepped in just as easily) but she wouldn't do that to her son. So she changes the subject, "You're okay, right? After the alpha pack…?" she remembers what they had gone through in that root cellar, the storm, and she remembers what the three had to sacrifice to get there in time.
There's a pause. "Everything's good." And he actually sounds calm, "I think everything is going to be great." And she can hear the smile in his words.
"Good," she says, her breath hitching, "Leave dinner in the fridge," she tells him, "I'll eat it when my shift ends in…" another glance at the clock. "Three hours. You boys have fun. Take…"
"Care, yeah, I know."
She smiles despite herself and the doors open, heavy footsteps approaching her desk. "I've got to go," she tells him.
"Bye," Scott can't seem to hang up fast enough, and she hears him already moving when the call cuts. She slides her phone into a pocket, looking up over the desk at the people who have just arrived.
They're teenagers, the same age as her own son with one girl slightly younger. There are two girls with a boy sprawled out between them, his arms draped over their shoulders as they stagger towards her. It's lopsided, the girl on the right with long blonde hair is shorter, younger than the other one.
They look like sisters, the same coloured hair and the same sharp cheekbones. They also have the same look in their eyes as they slow to a halt and she moves to meet them.
The older girl's eyes fall on her in relief, "We need to get our friend some help," she begins, "He… he just collapsed, and I don't know what's wrong. He knocked his head and he… he just collapsed… I thought he'd stopped breathing and I couldn't hear his heartbeat…" her words tumble over each other, an endless babble of panic and worry and stress. Her face is dirty, as if she had fallen over, and her arms look like they've been scrubbed raw, but there is still odd patches of dark brown that Melissa recognises with horror is blood.
"I need someone over here!" she calls, "Doctor Osmodai!" she calls, spotting the doctor in relief. She steps towards the girl, prying her fingers away from where they are tangled in her friend's jacket. She untangles them gently and moves the girl back towards a chair.
The girl stares desperately as the doctor and other nurses tend to the boy. His limbs are limp and lifeless but she can see the faint rise and fall of his chest. It's weak, the girl is right, and on occasions he seems to skip seconds without breathing.
The younger girl makes an abortive movement to follow after him as they wheel him away to the emergency room, and her hand clutches at thin air before she stumbles back.
"Lexi," the older girl mumbles, and the younger one goes to her instinctively, pressing against the sister. The two don't even seem to realise that they're squashed into one chair, curling up around each other and seeming to gain comfort from the close proximity of each other's bodies.
Melissa offers a weak smile to the young assistant offering her a clipboard, and she takes it, fishing a pen from her pocket. "He'll be okay," she reassures the girls first. "The doctor is new here, but I've seen him work. Your friend is in safe hands."
She reaches out, grasping the older girl's arm gently. The girl flinches away, blinking at her, and she knows the youngster isn't really seeing her. "I'm Melissa. I need to know what happened. What's your name?"
The older one is silent for a moment. "My name is Nate." She begins hesitantly, but gaining confidence as she continues. Melissa notes the British accents. "This is my younger sister Lexi. That boy is a friend… Jethro…" She stops suddenly, chest heaving as she sucks in a breath, trembling slightly. The younger girl presses herself closer to her sister.
"We were… camping." The younger one says, staring emphatically at Melissa, "And there was this cliff and Jethro thought it would be cool to try and climb up it."
"Climb down it," Nate corrects, idly, "He was trying to climb to the bottom and he slipped."
"That's right," Lexi keeps talking, "He fell. Of course. And he hits his head on the way down. And then he didn't get up, and so we knew something was wrong. Then we went down after him, which was stupid…"
"I cut my arms on the rock face," Nate interjects again, and Melissa looks at her, "That's where…" she waves one arm slightly, crusting with dried blood. It's wrapped in some fabric so she can't get a clear look at it.
Melissa makes a motion to reach for the girl's other arm, but the younger sister shifts, her body suddenly in the way.
"Where are your parents?" Melissa asks gently.
The older girl chokes but the younger one just smiles, but it's hollow and thin. "We… we're on holiday. From England…" which Melissa had guessed but now she shifts uncomfortably, wondering about where the health care money will come from. "They're down… south somewhere…" the girl frowns, staring over Melissa's shoulder. "And we came up to Beacon Hills for a few days camping. They let us. Obviously." She chews on her lip, staring with wide eyes at Melissa. "Will Jethro be okay?" she asks, "Can you check up on him?"
"Yes," the older girl nods, "Can we see him?" she stands, and from where she is crouched Melissa stands too, stepping away. The younger girl appears almost glued to her sister, pressed against her side and Nate has one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.
Melissa glances over her shoulder where the door is closed, beneath one of those generic hospital signs with directions to the various wards. "The doctor is with him now," she turns back to the pair, "But when he's taken a look at Jethro you can go in."
Lexi nods, blonde hair falling in her face but Nate glares. For a moment between one blink and another Melissa thinks she sees the girl's eyes flare an orange gold, but then she blinks and it's gone. She must have imagined it.
"Do you have contact information for your parents?" Melissa asks them. "And somewhere you can stay?"
The short haired blonde gives a sharp, short nod, her knuckles white. For a moment Melissa questions the validity of their story, a camping accident, but she sees their distraught faces and doesn't press. "I want to see him," Nate demands quietly, but with authority.
"I'll go and see how he is, okay?" Melissa pats the girl reassuringly on her shoulder and again she flinches slightly. "Just wait here."
She hurries off to where another nurse is grabbing files and hands the information sheet she filled out to her. She leans close, asking about the new arrival.
Above her the lights flicker, before resuming their usual bright glare. She steps back, turning towards where the two girls had stood, preparing to show them to a bed where they could lie down and she could see to the older sister's supposedly cut arm.
She pauses, examining the waiting room. She glanced around once more, but her initial assessment was correct.
The girls had gone.
Above her the lights flicker with a high pitched mechanical whine, and she is left there frowning
The lights continue to flare and dim.
The leaves crunch under his feet. Twigs snap and branches whistle past inches from his face. He ducks, eyes taking them all in and avoiding them seconds before one takes out his eyes. A laugh escapes him, feeling the thrill of the chase. The air whistles past him and soil slides under him as he takes a running jump, throwing himself through the air. For a moment he feels the earth fall away from under him, and then he slams down, fingers resting in the soft leaf little for a moment before he takes off again, feet pounding on the ground.
Above him the full moon hangs, fat and heavy in the still light sky. It's still early and they've got all night and a howl escapes him which somehow turns into a whoop of joy.
The air rushes out of him as something hard tackles into him. He tumbles down the bank, rolling in a tangle of limbs and playful growls.
He slows to a halt, shoving the warm body off him. The weight vanishes with a laugh, and then a yelp and Scott lazily glances to his left, to where the bank drops down a metre or so.
"You asshole!" Isaac shouts up at him, and it's guttural, and sounds like he's half wolfed out.
Scott pokes his head over the rise, grinning at his beta. They're not transformed yet, but their eyes are yellow and red respectively. The alpha just shrugs, unable to stop the grin from creeping onto his face. "You started it," he says, feeling childish, but with the moon pregnant above him he has all the reason to be.
Isaac growls at him, low in his throat, and Scott pushes himself up until he is standing. He backs away from the bank and then breaks out into a run, turning away. He doesn't see Isaac leap up over it, but he hears the beta give chase, their footsteps drumming into the forest floor as they race each other.
He can hear his heart beating in his chest, the rhythm steady and reassuring, calm and steady. The blood pounds through his veins and in the back of his mind the wolf howls its joy to be running free with his (admittedly small) pack.
The footsteps behind him increase and he chances a glance over his shoulder. Isaac is gaining on him, and with a silent snarl Scott blurs forwards faster, darting towards a break in the three.
He emerges out of the forest like a bullet, prepared to take the few long strides that will take him across the road and to the other side of the forest.
The concretre under his feet is hard and rough as he skids to a halt, arms flailing slightly to maintain his balance.
Isaac bursts out behind him, and he does the same thing but slower, knocking into Scott and sending them both stumbling forwards.
In his jeep, blocking the road, Stiles grins at them. "Sorry wolves," he shrugs, as if his inconvenient parking simply could not be helped. "Guess I win." He looks so damn smug that Scott wants to strangle him, but then he turns the key and his jeep splutters to life.
The damn vehicle should have died by now, but instead it hums steadily as Stiles switches gears, flooring the gas and with a screeching protest of tyres it starts off down the road.
Scott frowns, and exchanges a startled glance with Isaac. His beta is just grinning at him, eyes still alight. He shrugs. "Guess the race is on."
Scott whirls around, slipping back up onto the bank at the side of the road, Isaac starts of beside him but falls back as they manoeuvre the logs and piles of fallen leaves scattered along the road side. To their left the jeep picks up speed, and Scott increases his pace, full out racing the vehicle.
Normal kids spend their evenings playing video games and watching TV. Normal kids worry about girls and school.
Scott isn't normal. And for the first time he embraces this, as he races his friends down the road.
It's exhilarating, the pulse of the moon and the wolf instincts that howl to run and run and run forever. The missing part feels complete, because even if Stiles isn't a wolf, he's still pack.
He's also still an annoying jerk whose stupid jeep is driving faster than it has any rights to be. Stiles pulls ahead and Scott can hear his friend's whoop of joy, which is cut off suddenly as Stiles startles, the brakes crashing down.
The high pitched whine they make in protest has both Isaac and Scott wincing and slowing. They're travelling so fast that they overshoot where the jeep skids of the tarmac, and they stumble back, dropping back out of the woods to the road.
Looking about Scott frowns. There are no animals, no dead bodies anywhere, and no conceivable reason as to why his friend would brake so suddenly, so sharply. His jeep's tyres are smoking slightly in protest and there are skid marks on the road behind him. Stiles is gripping the wheel tightly with white knuckles and Scott makes his way in front of the car, walking around to the driver's door.
"Stiles?" he asks. "Stiles? Are you okay?"
His friend jumps, gaze flying to Scott and then to where Isaac lingers behind him. Scott takes another step forwards and then almost gets brained when the door slams open, and Stiles is scrambling out of the car, frowning as he walks around, ignoring Scott, heading to the front of the car.
"Did you hit something?" Isaac asks, leaning to one side as if to get a better view of whatever poor hapless animal fell afoul of Stiles' jeep.
Stiles stops in the middle of the road, staring down at the tarmac. "Where did they do?" he asks, glancing between the two wolves. He points down at his feet. "Where did they go?" he asks again.
Scott tilts his head to one side querying. Stiles rounds on him, desperately. Over his best friend's shoulder he sees Isaac shrugs and mouth a question at him.
"What's wrong with him?"
Scott ignores Isaac's unhelpful comment and grabs Stiles by the shoulder, shaking his friend. "Where did what go?" he asks, forcing Stiles to meet his gaze.
The human opens and closes his mouth for a few seconds. Then he glances back at the tarmac. "You… you didn't see anything?" he asks, hesitantly.
"No." Scott replies, "Stiles, what did you see?"
Stiles gestures to the ground, "There were… symbols… in white drawn all over the road." He waves about with his arms, and then begins pacing in a circle, "A big sphere, with lots of little circles and lines in it. Like some sort of Gallifreyan shit."
"Galli-what?" Isaac asks. Scott shrugs.
Stiles waves a hand dismissively. "Satanic shit," he says instead. "Pentagrams and Time Lord writing all mashed together. But now…" he stops, crouching down as if to look at it from a different angle. "There's nothing." He sighs. "I must have… Maybe I'm tired…" he sounds slightly defeated.
"Or maybe," and there are times Scott wishes Isaac would just shut up. "Maybe it's that sacrifice near death thing you went through, and it's still messing with you."
Stiles presses his lips together in a thin line. "I… yeah," he says, weakly. "Forget it. I was just… seeing things." He seems like he doesn't like admitting it.
He heads back to his car and Scott jogs over to the forest edge as his friend's vehicle starts up.
Just out of reach of the tree line beyond their view, in a clearing surrounding a tree trunk, there is a circle of dead life. A bird flies too close, wings flapping happily. When it hits the circle though, marked out by the dried brown grass and wilted flowers, the avian drops dead, heart stopping instantly. It falls on top of a pile of varying other dead life, their corpses rotting, yet strangely without smell.
Around the tree trunk black smoke drifts.
"Get up!" his mom calls at him. His alarm is shouting at him, and he slams his hand down on it.
He shakes his head, but the sound still rings in his ears, shouting at him. It rings and the world vibrates.
"Scott! School!" his mom calls, but it's in the background, indistinct and vague.
He stands, pushing the covers from him and moving over to the window. The light pooling through a gap in the curtains pulses, and in his ears there is a high pitched ringing.
The whole world tilts. He thinks he must have some sort of fever, or he's really sick (and then he remembers that he doesn't get sick any more.
Is it possible to get wolf moon fever?
Someone calls his name and he turns, looking for them, but finding his room empty in the sharp, clean light of the morning. There's another shout and then a scream and his head snaps around again.
He cautiously brushes open his curtains, but it's like he's opened a door and turned up the volume as the sounds grow in strength. He can hear everything, from his mom banging open cupboards downstairs, the stove heating up with regular clicks.
It's loud, and it's too much. He clenches his eyes closed and drops to his knees, hands over his ears. The television is playing three houses down. Cars race down the road and a bird is singing some repetitive song, over and over and…
There is whispering. Words layered over words and sounding like a babbling brook.
He wants it to shut up. He wants to turn whatever it is in him that has magnified all his senses off.
He's never felt like this before, after a full moon. Maybe it was typical for all alphas…
Someone screams. The whispers rise in volume. It's an indistinguishable murmur of words, roaring over each other in a crescendo. He picks up bits and pieces, all jumbled together. It's like a radio badly out of tune, static crackling in his ears.
He tries to focus on one sound, one noise. Scott finds it in a heartbeat, stuttering out a regular, pounding pulse.
It takes him longer than it should to realise it's his own heart.
A loud click echoes through Scott's head, and he blinks his eyes open, to find Stiles staring at him.
What the hell was Stiles doing at his house so early?
"And coach is crazy!" Stiles tells him, and Scott has no idea what he is talking about. "He must have been dropped on his head one too many times as a baby, because there is no way…" His gaze drifts past his friend, and there is light streaming in through an open door, and reflecting off the bright flint of the locker that Stiles is standing by, pulling out books and stuffing them into his bag, and Scott stares, blinking again.
What the hell?
"Dude are you even listening?"
He ignores Stiles, reaching out and pressing his hands to the cold metal. It's real. It doesn't give way under his skin.
But… he was at his house. He was standing by the window with his senses freaking out.
And now…
He looks around, the usual smell of school assaulting his sense of smell. Cheap cleaner, books, dust and people all mingled together. There is quiet chatter in the corridor, as people hurry between classes without worry.
He looks the other way, where he can see Allison and Lydia in the distance, giggling over something. Further down one of the twins is chatting up Danny, making it assumedly Ethan.
Scott glances down at himself, fully clothed and bag slung over one shoulder. He doesn't remember grabbing it… doesn't remember getting dressed or getting to school.
How did he even get there?
One moment he was at home and the next…
"Hey! Wolfie! You zoning out on me?"
"I…" Scott stutters, "I was at home. In bed. Then I was here."
Stiles arches one eyebrow. "Yeah, class is boring for me too." He replies.
Scott falls silent, glancing at his watch. The digital watch is usually reassuring with its soft glow, but now it's got numbers of eleven and forty-five and he's missing time. It's been eaten, destroyed, and seven went and turned into an eleven without him realising it.
The bell rings, and the sound is jarringly loud. For a moment it rings longer than it should in his ears, and he half expects it to go on and for him to wake up, back at home in bed, but then Stiles shoves his shoulder, directing him towards his next lesson. "Come on," his friend sighs, muttering, "This is what I get for babysitting a werewolf day after the full moon."
Scott trails behind him pinching himself. He's dreaming maybe. Or potentially he's just losing his mind.
It was probably just a wolf thing. He should shrug it off, but there's something about the whole 'I don't know what I did in the last three hours' that rubs him the wrong way. Scott staggers into class and takes a seat at his desk. The new history teacher is writing down notes on the black board, and with a sigh Scott shakes his head, and pulls out his book.
He's already been granted a free pass to two lessons already. He's not going to be so lucky as to miss another.
He doesn't know what happened between that morning and now, and some part of his is completely terrified. Did he wolf out? Did he hurt someone? Or did he just have his mind on other things?
Then there's the part of Scott that seems to recognise the fact that it's wrong, and not normal and holy crap there is no way that's English.
His breath catches as he looks at the first page. He is expecting letters, small and neatly printed, but instead it's been replaced by some sort of strange hieroglyphics that sprawl across the page. He puts his hands on the smooth glossy page, tracing the harsh, jarring lines of an unknown language.
Panic wells within him and he turns the page, finding more of the strange language. He keeps turning, page after page trying valiantly to find a word of English amongst the chaotic symbols that mar every page.
The book slams shut and he looks up, breathing heavily.
"Dude are you… okay?" Stiles is staring at him. The whole class if staring at him and he flinches, standing suddenly.
He glances back down at the book and it's in English. He hesitantly opens it to a page somewhere in the middle.
It's all English. There are no strange symbols, no strange language.
The room is suddenly too small, and he grabs his bag and shoves his chair backwards. It makes a grating squeak and he stammers some sort of apology to the teacher and makes for the door.
"Scott!?" he hears Stiles call, confused, but then he is through the door and out into the corridor. He slings his bag onto his back, pacing down the hallway and away from the class room. His breathing is shallow, weak, and his hands are trembling.
He pauses by a window and drops his back, spinning around and walking a few steps back down the corridor before turning angrily and walking back. He feels better, near the light, able to see the outside from here, the forest in the distance, and the wolf in hi, relaxes.
He paces up and down the corridor, hands running through his hair. The wolf at the back of his mind whines and for a moment he doubles over, hands fisting in his hair and his eyes clenched closed as he tries to stop it from emerging.
He stands, eyes opening and he slows his breathing, listening to his heartbeat. It's stifling in the school, which makes no sense for late winter, but regardless he steps towards a window, unlocking it and opening it, breathing in the fresh air.
He spots her then, at the far end of the car park. He doesn't take much notice, turning away and closing his eyes, suddenly aware of how tired he is from the full moon the previous night.
Then he looks up at on the wall in front of him is a giant symbol, marked out in black spray paint like graffiti. He steps towards it, one hand reaching out towards it. It's a triangle, pointing down. The lines extend and then flick outwards, passing through a large V, like the Roman numeral for five.
He presses his hand to the black line, and the image wavers, and he steps away sharply as the black image blurs, seeping off the walls and weeping. It runs down dripping like tears and blurs into posters and school work that's been pinned to the walls.
There is no symbol there.
Scott whirls around; refusing to face the face he might be losing his mind. Again his eyes fall on the girl lingering on the corner outside. She's unnaturally still, and he frowns, because she was about his age, and should probably be in school.
He steps closer to the window, peering at her, and she glances around nervously, as if sensing his gaze. He takes another step forwards, and beneath his feet a mop bucket tips and he stumbles, grabbing onto it to try and stop it from falling over and spilling everywhere. He looks up, trying to find the girl again, but when his eyes spot the corner where she had been lingering there is no-one there.
"What you looking at?" Lydia asks from behind him.
"I… there was a girl… hanging around outside."
She steps past him, moving daintily over to the window. She tilts her head, looking out and down the street to the car park. "Where?" she asks, glancing back at him, "I don't see anyone."
He steps forwards; navigating the mop bucket some careless janitor had probably left there just to spite a student like him. "She was right there," he points. Again Lydia follows his gaze.
"Scott…" she begins hesitantly. "There… there was nobody there."