The Escort and the Cage
chapter two
He had brown eyes. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Allison knew that it didn't mean anything; millions of pre-teens had brown eyes. It was the most common eye color. And yet…and yet.
This boy had brown eyes.
She recognized them. She swore she did. But trying to place them was like trying to recall a half-forgotten dream.
They were wide and bloodshot – she could see it even from where she was.
It was so familiar she hated it, and it wasn't just his eyes. The square jaw, the nose. He looked like he could be her cousin, or even a brother.
He looked like family.
There was something in his tearful gaze that scared her. Those big, brown eyes.
She felt like she was halfway between backing up and inching closer when he spoke, his voice hoarse and full of some unnamed emotion.
"Mom?"
She froze. Blinked. Then she decided that the boy was just confused.
"What's your name?" She ventured to ask, taking a half-step closer to him. If he jumped up she would have just enough time to roll away, assuming he wasn't a werewolf – or at least as fast as one.
He just looked at her, then seemed to realize something. With some new-found determination he started to push himself up on his elbows and knees. She watched him silently until he managed to push himself up into a sitting position, and then start to try and stand.
"Woah, stop right there." She commanded. Oddly enough he listened. He stopped struggling and looked at her.
She studied him for a long moment. Wherever he had come from, he had been left with nothing, not even clothes. Something about that made her pity him. And the way he was looking at her made her want to run and hold him, comfort and help him.
There was some sort of connection to this boy that she shared; she could feel it to the very tips of her fingers. She recognized it, but she tried to ignore it.
"Who are you?" She kept her face as stony as possible. It was hard not to sway on her feet, but she fought through the pain and dizziness as best she could. Still, she knew her adrenaline was wearing off; she'd have to rest, soon.
The boy didn't seem to notice that she had asked him a question. He just studied her intensely from head to toe. She couldn't tell if he was looking for something, or evaluating just how wounded she was. It wasn't her best night, but he was dead wrong if he thought that she couldn't still put up a fight. She shifted so that her free hand was closer to the concealed knife in her other boot.
He didn't move – not one way or the other. He just sat there, halfway standing on his knees. There was something in his expression that made her think that he was about to cry.
"My name is Nicholas," the tears were unmistakable in his voice.
She frowned. "Nicholas?"
The boy nodded. "Yeah. It's my name."
"Ok," she nodded slowly.
"My mom named me," he added hurriedly, then seemed to think better of it. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
She didn't really know what to say to that, so she just ignored it. How old was this boy?
"Nicholas," she started, wincing as she breathed in too sharply, "how did you survive what just happened?"
"What do you mean?" He wrapped his arms around himself, visibly self-conscious about his nakedness. That made her feel a little bad for him.
"The big…thing that was just here. Ibarely escaped it. How did you?"
He looked genuinely concerned. "Are you ok?" He asked, starting to try and rise again.
The reassertion of her knife stopped him. "I'm fine," she snapped, "but you're right in the center of where it was, and there's not a scratch on you. So what are you?"
"I'm just me," he looked a little confused. Then he got it. "I'm only a human," he rushed out, as if he was relieved that that was all she was asking. "I mean, yeah, I'm human."
She raised an eyebrow. "Then how are you not hurt?"
That he looked less eager to divulge. "Well," he rubbed the back of his ear. She found the motion familiar, somehow. As if she had dreamed about it. "I guess it didn't hurt me…because I was in it." He said it like a question.
"You were in that thing?" She scoffed.
"Well – sort of. More like it brought me here, I don't know." He shrugged. "I've never been on the other side of it before."
"That makes no sense."
He shrugged a little. "I don't know how else to answer you."
She was fed up with it. His answers were infuriatingly vague and not helpful, but he didn't seem to be a threat. And her body couldn't really afford to keep treating him like one.
"Wait there," she let her arm drop and replaced the dagger in her boot. Then she began the process of limping back over her car, which had moved several feet from where she had parked it. She heard Nicholas ask if she needed any help, but she ignored him.
She had a blanket in the backseat. It wasn't much, but it would be enough.
Allison unfolded the blanket as she returned to him. She approached him warily, holding the blanket outstretched in her hands. He kept his eyes on her the entire time, his worried expression slowly being replace by a more distant look that told her that he was probably going to pass out in another minute.
"Here," she haphazardly draped the blanket over his shoulders. She meant to put some distance between them again, but she found herself staying where she was. Her insides felt like they were on fire.
"Thanks," the boy bundled the blanket around himself.
She still stood right next to him, admittedly a little uneasy on her feet. "You should come with me," she said.
He looked up at her. "You're going to help me?"
She considered not answering him. "I don't know yet," she admitted, "but we can't stay here."
"Okay," he nodded and stood up. He was shorter than her, and up close he looked no older than thirteen or fourteen. She avoided looking in his eyes.
She started to return to her car.
"Are you okay?"
"What?" She turned, irritated.
Nicholas halted in his tracks as if he had just realized what he said. His hand peaked out from around the blanket, gesturing in her general direction. "You look a little hurt, are you okay?"
She stared at him. "In fine,"
"Okay. Sorry."
He walked over to her car and opened the door unprompted. She would've raised an eyebrow, but she really didn't care. He looked back at her like he was looking for permission, and she nodded. He climbed in the passenger side and shut the door.
She needed to call Scott. Her phone was thankfully still in her pocket even after the beating she had just taken. She punched in the speed dial and leaned against her car door.
It rang and rang, but he didn't pick up. She tried to call again, but still he didn't pick up.
There shouldn't have been a reason why he wouldn't pick up. Had something happened? He would've told her if there was something going on. She quickly checked her text messages, but her inbox was empty.
With a sigh of frustration, she sent him a quick text.
'Call me'
Getting into her car was way more painful than she had thought it would be. She held her breath as she forced her body to bend into the seat.
Nicholas watched her silently.
Her hand hovered over her keys. She needed to take him somewhere. They still used Derek's loft as a safe house, but she didn't want to take him there in case she was wrong about him and he was actually dangerous. But where did that leave her? Her house. Deaton's clinic, maybe. Definitely not Scott's house.
She definitely wasn't going to be able to check on Lydia.
In the end she decided to take him back to her place, mostly because she needed to patch herself up. She tried to call Scott again on the way, but it just went to voicemail. She even tried Stiles' phone once, but he wasn't answering, either.
She tried not to worry about it. There was nothing she could do, even if something had gone wrong. Not if she didn't know about it. But if–
"Woah!" Nicholas jumped in his seat as she served hard to avoid a collision with another car. He gave her a wide-eyed look. "Are you sure you're okay to drive?"
She shot him a quick glare. "I'm fine."
"I can drive, if you want-"
"That's not going to happen," she scoffed, "and there's no way you're old enough to drive." There was a heaviness behind her eyes that she tried to blink away.
He frowned, but it was more of a pout. She used to make a similar expression when she was little, or so her father always said. It must be a kid thing, she thought.
"Almost," he insisted, "I'm fourteen."
It was the most normal, teenager-y thing he'd said yet. Nothing else Nicholas was saying made much sense, but she had given up on trying to figure him out for the moment. All of her attention was turned towards driving home without causing them to crash.
"I'm not going to drive us somewhere crazy," he promised, and when she didn't respond he continued, "just tell me where we're going and I can-"
"I'm driving." She snapped.
He didn't look very convinced, but he didn't say anything else.
The drive to her and her dad's apartment building took a long time. She was really starting to feel her injuries, plus she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with Scott and everyone else. When they parked she almost forgot to pull the keys out of the ignition.
It had occurred to her that maybe she should've blindfolded Nicholas so that he didn't know where she had taken him, but it was too late for that.
He seemed to be somewhat familiar with the area anyway, judging by how he went straight to the stairs when they went in.
"What are you doing?" She asked as he started to climb them two at a time, making sure to keep the blanket wrapped around himself.
He paused and looked down at her. "Don't you take the stairs?"
She stared at him, then turned towards the elevator.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him come back down the stairs and stand by her. She tried not to wince as she felt around her ribs, trying to assess the extent of the crack in her ribs.
"You got hurt when I came here, didn't you?"
The tone of his voice made her look over at him. He sounded – well not depressed, but something close to it. A little miserable, maybe. She didn't know how to respond to that.
She didn't know this boy at all, so why did he act like he knew her? And he kept glancing at her, like…she didn't know what, but it was unnerving.
And he looked so much like her.
All she wanted to do was reach Scott, see if Lydia was ok, and patch herself up. But she also wanted to know about Nicholas. That one she tried to repress, because she didn't have it in her to try and help anyone else. She wasn't even capable at keeping the others in the pack safe, and-
-And why was she even thinking about helping him?
They rode the elevator in silence. He was fiddling with the edge of the blanket. She leaned against the elevator wall, trying not to breathe too deeply.
The apartment was dark, but she didn't bother to turn on any lights until she got to the kitchen.
"Sit there, I'll be back with some clothes." She didn't look to see what he did, just headed straight to her dad's bedroom. He was decidedly bigger than Nicholas, but she tried to find something that wouldn't drown him. Eventually she gave up and picked out a plain grey t-shirt and a pair of draw-string sweat pants. Good enough.
Nicholas was seated at the counter when she returned to the kitchen. She barely paused to toss him the clothes before she continued to the bathroom where they kept their medical kit.
She locked the door behind her and began to unbutton her shirt. It was a small mercy that she wouldn't have to lift her arms very much to take it off. The mirror gave her a clear view of the major bruises that had already formed along her shoulders, back, and the left side of her rib cage. There were smaller bruises riddled over her arms and legs. Her clothing had protected her from cuts, so that wasn't so bad overall. The cuts on hers hands had dried somewhat, but they went reopening whenever she moved her hands too much. Her knees were scraped up. She had cut her head open, which she hadn't realized before.
She reached up and touched her head. The blood was still a little a sticky, but head wounds were always deceptively bloody. But there was question that she had a concussion.
It was moments like those where she cursed herself for being so fragile. Just a human with paper-thin skin and an increasingly short lifespan.
Cleaning herself up didn't take too long, but it hurt. She took a quick shower, just enough to wash off the blood so she could clean herself properly. When she got out she just put on the same old clothes and got out the hydrogen peroxide. She watched as it foamed on her cuts. It stung.
She didn't bother bandaging anything but the cuts on her knees. Her hands would be fine, and there wasn't much that she could do for her cracked rib.
The cut on her head started bleeding again, but it wasn't much, so she just held a bandage to her head as she unlocked the door and went back to the kitchen.
Nicholas was exactly where she had left him, only he had put her dad's clothes on. She had been right, they were way too big on him. But for his part, he just seemed happy to have some actual clothes to wear. He had folded the blanket and held it in his lap.
His eyes flickered to the wound on her head, and she felt her irritation shoot up when she thought that he'd mention it. But he didn't. He just got weird look on his face that she couldn't help but think she'd seen before.
"These are your dad's clothes, right?" He asked.
She nodded.
"They're kind of big," he commented with a little smile.
"He's bigger than you," is all she said.
He didn't say anything else. She opened a cabinet and pulled out a glass. After filling it with tap water, she placed it in front of him.
Why had she done that, she had no idea.
Nicholas didn't seem to overthink it; he gulped down almost the entire glass in one take. He set it back on the counter with a clink that reverberated off the walls.
He smiled at her, and she tried very hard not to react. He had dimples. She felt that weird tug again, and she tried not to look like she was running away when she backed up against the counter on the far side of the kitchen.
He said something, but she didn't really hear him.
"What?" She adjusted the bandage against her hair.
"I said thanks, I was really thirsty." He kept smiling at her. She nodded and averted her eyes.
Scott and the others returned to her mind. She pulled out her phone, but still there was nothing new. She sent the same text to Scott, Malia, and Stiles.
'Is everything ok?'
After a moment of thought, she sent one to Lydia, as well. Just in case she had her phone.
'Hope the surgery went well.
Gonna visit you as soon as I can.
I'll bring you some clothes'
Not being able to see her best friend was still gnawing at her, but even worse was the sinking feeling she got at the fact that she was getting radio silence from everyone else.
Nicholas cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. He was shifting around in his seat, smoothing out the blanket in his lap.
"What is it?" She set her phone down on the counter.
He rubbed the back of his ear. "If I tell you something, will you promise not to get mad or think I'm evil, or anything?"
How was she supposed to respond to that?
She narrowed her eyes, her posture straightening. "Are you?"
He blinked. "Am I what?"
"Evil."
She felt a little stupid staying it, but he looked totally serious when he said, "no. I'm not evil. And I'm not a threat. I know that you've probably been…really on edge, or something, but I swear to you. I'm just me," he sighed, looked at the ground. Then he added, "I want to help you. You and –"
Allison's phone started buzzing. Without a second thought she snatched it up and answered it, not even looking at the caller ID.
"Hello?"
"Hey, sorry," it was Scott's voice on the other side. She breathed a sigh of relief, although it didn't last long when he went on to tell her about a boy in the hospital who had been poisoned with unnaturally concentrated scorpion venom, and about what went down at Sinema with Liam and Mason. He told her about how the scorpion-boy died. Then he told her that the alarm at Deaton's clinic had been tripped, and that someone had taken Tracy's body.
Her fingers were sore from the cuts as she held the phone to her ear. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," came the reply, "nothing big. Are you okay? Is Lydia okay?"
"I didn't make it to the hospital," she said, peering over at Nicholas. He was openly staring.
"What? Allison, what happened?"
"The disturbance that we talked to Deaton about? It got worse. When I went by Derek's loft, it was," she shook her head, "bad. I don't know what it was, but it exploded, and-"
"It exploded?" She knew the face he was making on the other side of the phone.
"Yeah. But after that...It's too hard to explain," she sighed, "can you come over?"
The reply was immediate. "I'll be right over. But you're okay, right?"
She nodded, glancing over at Nicholas one more time before turning away.
"Yeah, I'm okay."
By the time Scott got to her apartment, Allison's head wound had stopped bleeding. She threw away the bandage on the way to let him in.
He looked only a little disheveled, his smile a little tired. She hadn't even opened her mouth to speak yet when he stepped forward.
"You've been bleeding," he looked her over, his eyes sweeping from head to toe. She shrugged. He always worried about her too much.
"It's fine, that's not why I called you over." She shut the door behind him.
His eyes were already fixed over her shoulder. "Who are you?" He frowned.
Nicholas stood at the end of the hallway. Her dad's clothes made him look smaller than he was. He had rolled up the end of her dad's sweatpants, but it hasn't helped much.
"I'm Nicholas,"
Scott looked from him to her, and then back to him. "Is he family?" He asked.
She felt Nicholas' eyes on her as she shook her head. "No,"
He raised his eyebrows, looking back at Nicholas. "Really? But you guys look so much alike. Hey, I'm Scott," he nodded at the fourteen-year-old.
Nicholas returned the gesture, although he looked a little uncomfortable. "Hey," he said.
Scott turned his attention back to her. "Okay, now do you want to tell me what happened?"
She nodded and moved back towards the kitchen. Both the boys followed her; Nicholas returned to his perch on the stool, and Scott leaned his elbows on the island. Both of them watched as she leaned back against the counter like she had when she had been talking to Nicholas earlier. She didn't know how to describe the tear without making it sound crazy, so she just told him what she saw.
"There was this huge tear. it was like nothing we've ever seen before. Everything was just sucked into it – cars, lampposts, everything. It was all I could do not to get sucked in." She looked down at her hands, sore and still a little red from when she cleaned them. "I got tossed around a little." Then she looked Scott in the eye, "it ended up exploding, I'm pretty sure. I was tossed halfway across the parking lot."
And then she paused, long enough that Scott started to frown at her. Her eyes flickered over to Nicholas. "When I got up, Nicholas was there. Right where the explosion had been. He was totally unharmed."
Scott looked over at Nicholas. "You were in the explosion?"
Nicholas fidgeted in his seat. "Uh, sort of? Not really, but sort of." At the look on their faces he continued, "it's how I came here."
"How you came here," Scott echoed.
"Yeah," the boy nodded. He looked at Allison. "That's what I was going to tell you about. But…I guess I'll tell both of you," his eyes flicked briefly to Scott.
"That would be helpful," she said.
Nicholas pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. "Okay. This going to sound crazy, but here it goes," he paused. "Just don't say anything until the end, please?" He looked at her when he said that, as if the comment had been directed solely at her. None of this was making her comfortable, but she nodded anyway. Scott nodded, too.
"That explosion you were talking about? It wasn't really an explosion. It was a portal, and it's how I got here. I know," he quickly held up his hands, "it sounds crazy-"
"Yes it does." Allison crossed her arms. "He obviously hit his head, or something," she directed the last bit at Scott.
But the werewolf just looked at her and lifted a shoulder. "Let's just hear him out, okay?"
Nicholas was looking back and forth between them, clearly unhappy. Scott gave him a gentle nudge. "Go on, Nicholas."
For a long moment he didn't say anything else; he just looked a around the room with a frown. When he finally looked at her, he blurted out, "you're my mom."
The words came out of his mouth, but they didn't make any sense. Allison blinked.
"What?"
It was Scott who spoke, but Nicholas spoke over him, the words coming out in a frantic rush. "I mean, where I come from you're my mom. I'm from another dimension." He broke off abruptly, and a far-off look grew in his eyes. He broke eye contact and looked down at his hands. They twisted themselves in the fabric of his sweatpants, clenching and unclenching with each breath. When he spoke again, it was quieter than before, like he had just realized what he was saying.
"There, you were older, and dad was older, and then – you died and everything went to hell," he paused, and his eyes flickered up. They were glassy and bright with emotion. "And then it got really bad for dad, and you died," he shot a glance at Scott, pressing his lips into a line. He sighed and rubbed his head. It made his brown hair stick out in odd ways. "But then I figured out how I could fix it. It all made sense – even dad said it made sense – but he told me not to try it. But then he died and didn't have a say in it anymore." He sounded only a little bitter.
"But it didn't work like I thought," he continued, "because it just took me to different versions of things, where sometimes things were better and sometimes...they were worse."
Then he looked her in the eye again; his cheeks were wet and flushed. "My mom and dad are gone. But it doesn't matter, because you're still you. No matter what, you're still my mom, and – and I have to save you, and dad, too." He finally finished and took a ragged breath. He looked a little frazzled with his mussed hair and raw eyes, but it was like some burden had been lifted from his chest. He lifted his head high.
No one said anything.
What was she supposed to say? He was obviously insane. He was crazy. No one would believe that story. As far as she could tell, there were only two options: either he was just some poor, deranged boy – maybe an escapee from Eichen House – or he was trying to get them to lower their guard by telling them some outrageous story about-
-about alternate dimensions.
What the hell.
And he had said that she was his mother.
What the hell.
But no one with more than two brain cells would tell such a crazy story just to distract them or catch them unawares. If she was honest, she could admit that she'd lowered her guard since she had brought him home. Before that, even. She'd have to call Eichen House, see if there were any recent escapees.
No one had talked yet. Scott was the first to make any movement at all, straightening from where he had been leaning his forearms on the island counter. His facial expression was entirely unreadable.
She caught his eye briefly, but then he turned towards the crazy boy sitting on her stool.
"Why does Allison need saving?" Is all he asked.
Her mouth dropped open. "I don't," she cut in before Nicholas could say anything. "You can't believe this, Scott."
"Allison," he gave her a meaningful look, "during that entire time, his heart rate didn't change once. It was steady." He paused, looked back at Nicholas, "yeah, I believe him."
She marched over and grabbed his arm, dragging him out of the room with her. He came without protest. She shoved him in her room and locked the door behind her.
"Allison-"
She spun on him. "No, don't 'Allison' me. That kid out there just called me his mother. His mother. Do you know how old he is?" She crossed her arms.
He shook his head. "Fourteen," She told him, "I'm only a couple of years older than him."
"Allison-"
"I didn't have a baby when I was four-"
"Allison, shut up." Scott snapped. She shut her mouth. "It doesn't make much sense, I know, but does anything make much sense in our lives anymore? These crazy…people come to town and start experimenting on supernaturals, and then kill them – and then someone else is taking the bodies."
When she didn't say anything, he continued, "People are dying, and this kid comes from a very weird disturbance that we both saw and says that you're in danger. I don't care whatever else he said – whether you're really his mom or not – because I do believe him when he says that something might happen to you, and I won't let that happen."
She averted her eyes. He was doing it, again. That alpha thing, that Scott thing.
He was trying to protect her.
"You shouldn't," she whispered.
That brought a look of confusion. "I shouldn't what?"
"Try and protect me," she looked at him. "That's not your job."
He laughed, but it was harsh and colder than she ever remembered hearing it. She hardly recognized it at all. "Yes, it is. I'm your alpha."
"I can take care of myself."
"No, you can't."
So that was it. He couldn't trust her to keep herself alive. She couldn't blame him, not when she had cost him Kira. And not when she had gotten Isaac killed. But the anger still rose in her, quick and cold as ice. The old mantra I'm not weak, shot through her like lightening.
Scott deflated a little. He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again.
She raised her chin. "I can handle whatever's out there." She kept her tone quiet and controlled; biting. "You can't believe Nicholas' crazy theories just because you're afraid of what might happen to me." She wanted to lash out. She wanted to hurt him – she did. But this was Scott. He could never deserve it.
So she swallowed her pride and kept her mouth shut.
"He does look like you," Scott said after a moment, morose but sincere, "he looks just like you."
There was nothing to say to that; she knew he was right. And she knew that there was a connection – Scott couldn't possibly know it, but she felt it. Still, there was no way.
"Alternate realities don't exist," she said.
The corner of his mouth lifted just the tiniest bit.
"Neither do werewolves."
Scott ended up taking Nicholas back to Derek's loft, where he said he could stay until they got things sorted out; the fourteen-year-old didn't look happy about it, but he didn't object. Allison had offered to go with him, but Scott didn't let her.
"Get some sleep," he had said.
She didn't want sleep. What she wanted was for things to make sense again. For anything to make sense.
Lydia had sent her a text saying that she had already been released from the hospital. That was one good thing.
But then she got a call from Malia, who had apparently found some book that she thought would help In their search for the masked men – men that were called the 'Dread Doctors,' according to the book. Allison absent-mindedly agreed to make copies of the book so that they all could read it.
"Thanks, I can't figure out those stupid copiers," the other girl said.
"No problem," Allison stared at her hand, flexing it open and closed. She focused on the small discomfort of stretching her cuts. They hurt, but they didn't reopen.
A thought occurred to her. "Why did you call me first about this?" She asked before Malia could hang up.
"I didn't. I tried to call Stiles, but he didn't answer; Scott said I should call you."
She wondered if Scott was trying to make it up to her for their fight; it didn't matter. She wanted to say he was wrong, but the body count attached to her life said enough. She said goodbye to Malia and hung up.
Her sleep was fitful, like always.
It was somewhat easier to pretend that things were at least a little normal the next day at school, mostly because Lydia was back. Despite her recent surgery, her best friend was mostly acting herself. As for herself, Allison spent her entire free period making copies of the little paperback Malia had handed her at the beginning of the day.
The Dread Doctors.
Despite its cheesy cover, the book was a little creepy. She skipped the cover page when she made the copies.
When Lydia had taken a more thorough look at it, she had declared that she knew who they needed to talk to: Doctor Valack, currently residing at Eichen House. As a patient.
Allison had never been to Eichen House before, but she knew the stories, so she was just about as excited as everyone else at the prospect of visiting a patient there. She knew about what he had done to Deaton when he had gone to visit the doctor. But there was strength in numbers, and they really didn't have any other options.
So she set it aside in her mind and didn't think about it.
What she wanted to do was talk to Lydia about everything that had happened the night before. About Nicholas. It wasn't that she wanted to vent, exactly, but she needed to tell someone who'd understand. Surely she'd think it was crazy, and brush it off as some deranged boy who needed professional help. Surely.
But when she got her chance, when they sat in history together and when they had lunch together, Allison found that she still hadn't said anything.
Part of it was that she really didn't want to talk about it. The night's events had been stressful enough without having to rehash it – even to her best friend.
And she was afraid.
What if Lydia…
But Lydia seemed to be having her own problems; she hardly said anything in between classes, and when their last class got out, she just started walking towards her car, a worried Allison tagging along behind her.
She wanted to say something, but Lydia climbed into her car before she got the chance.
"I'll text you before I leave," she promised, then peeled out of the parking lot.
Scott was across the parking lot next to his bike with his helmet in hand. They made eye contact. She looked away first.
It was already getting dark by the time they got to Eichen house. Despite Lydia's objections, Stiles had driven them all in his jeep. Allison was the last to get out, having been crammed in the back with Lydia. She straightened her shirt as she took in the mental asylum looming over them.
Lydia walked over and buzzed the entrance . She glanced over at Stiles and asked him again if he was sure about coming, but Allison didn't pay it much attention.
"What is it?" Scott caught her gaze.
She shook her head and turned away from the building. "I've never been here before, is all." Then she walked over to Lydia.
"Are you okay?"
Lydia gave her a look. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
Allison smiled a little. "Because none of us are, really."
Her friend didn't say anything for a moment, just studied her in that extremely intelligent way that made Allison want to squirm. "Are you okay, Allison?" She asked slowly.
"Yeah, I'm okay."
Lydia raised her brow and opened her mouth to say something, but the gate buzzed and opened, stopping them all in what they were doing.
The gate closed on them before they had even finished climbing the stairs up to the front door.
"I hate this place," Stiles muttered.
Allison met his eyes. She was beginning to have a feeling that she would hate the place, too. Stiles looked away.
The inside of Eichen was just about as welcoming as the outside promised. Sterility on par with a surgical room in a hospital permeated the air, but there was something else, too. Something like sweat and fear. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on-end, and she was beginning to regret not bringing a real weapon. Not that she thought that she'd need it, but it would've helped put her more at ease.
Not that it mattered either way, because the orderly behind the visitors' counter required to empty out their pockets onto the tray that he held out.
"All visitors are required to empty out their pockets." The orderly looked them over individually. His eyes looked sharp and dead, and she had the distinct feeling that he didn't like visitors.
She and Lydia exchanged glances before turning to Scott. His eyes flickered to both of them, then at Stiles, who gave a small nod. Allison arched an eyebrow, but dug into her pockets.
All she had was a vanilla-flavored chapstick and some change, but that was just her pockets. Her booties were too short to hide knives in, but she had one tucked into her belt loop. It was covered by the back of her shirt, and she had no intention of removing it if she could get away with it.
But she had no such luck. Either the orderly saw something in her face, or – more likely – noticed how Scott glanced over at her.
"Something else to add?" There was something condescending in his tone that she didn't like. He gave the tray a little shake. "Come on, we don't have all day."
He turned his gaze back to Lydia, who looked unnerved.
Both Scott and Stiles gave her a look, although Scott's was much heavier. With a roll of her eyes, Allison yanked out her knife and dropped it in the tray.
"There."
The orderly finally looked away from Lydia. "Great," he said with the enthusiasm of someone on death-row, "don't stay too long."
That wasn't going to be a problem.
The orderly led them down several hallways and then down a set of stairs. Many of the patients were out and about, but they also passed by shut doors that Allison knew held some of the more unstable patients. Everything was closed-off and vacant. The main stairwell was a looming spiral littered with curious patients, their eyes tracking them the entire way. She tried to keep her gaze fixed ahead.
It wasn't as if she expected every one of the patients to be dangerous or demented, but she had heard the stories of this place. She knew that most of them weren't normal mental patients. She could feel it.
Eichen had its own oppressive energy, and she felt as if she'd been drowning in it ever since she had passed through the front doors.
She could only imagine how bad it was for Lydia.
Dr. Conrad Fenris met them at the bottom of the stairs. He looked just about as happy to see them as the orderly, only with less of a sociopathic vibe.
"I'm only doing this as a favor to Deaton," was the first thing he said. The orderly turned around an went back the way he came without another word.
Scott accepted it with a nod. "Okay. Thanks for doing this,"
Fenris shook his head. "This isn't a good idea."
"We don't have any other choice," Scott admitted flatly. He exchanged a look with Lydia, who pressed her lips together and nodded.
"Speaking of which," Stiles spoke up from beside Lydia, "how do we do this? I mean, do we look him the eye? The third eye?"
Fenris paused and looked back over his shoulder. "I would recommend not making eye-contact with any of the patients."
Stiles made a face, but didn't say anything else. Fenris turned down another corridor and descended another flight of stairs. They were definitely underground now. The five of them walked down another hallway in silence, until they came to another corridor. There, Scott stopped suddenly.
Allison halted in her tracks. "What is it?" She asked. Everyone else stopped, as well.
Scott looked around the floor and walls in confusion. "Mountain ash,"
Fenris nodded. "The walls are thick with it down here. You'll just have to wait here." Lydia shot him a look, but he just shrugged.
"It's ok," Scott nodded, "you guys go ahead. I'll wait here for you guys."
After exchanging glances, the three of them nodded. The presence of so much mountain ash didn't bode well for the types of patients that would be down there, Allison knew. She really didn't like the idea of leaving Scott by himself.
It didn't matter, she told herself; they'd question Doctor Valack and then get out of there. They'd just make it quick.
Judging from the expression on both Stiles' and Lydia's face, they were having the same thought. Her friend looked the more unsettled of the two, but Allison didn't say anything. She couldn't think of anything halfway comforting to say.
All of the cells had bars, and each one contained dangerous-looking creatures; some she had seen before, some she hadn't. There was a kanima in one of the cells. An intimidating figure with studded purple skin in the next. A woman with a disfigured face. She did as Fenris had suggested and kept her gaze mixed forward, no different than what she'd been doing the entire walk there.
Doctor Valack's cell was at the end of the corridor, right in the center. A glass wall separated him from the world. She saw Lydia move closer to Stiles out of the corner of her eye.
Fenris hung back when they neared the doctor's cell. For his part, Valack seemed entirely unsurprised to have visitors; he looked a little smug. But the first words out of his mouth surprised her.
"Tell me, what did you see?"
He had his eyes fixed on Stiles, and both the girls looked at him. He looked uncomfortable, and distinctly unhappy at being the center of attention. But before he could reply, Valack went on.
"You see, the creature in the cell beside me is a Sluagh. According to the myth, they can take on the form of lost souls that have become inextricably bound to it." He tilted his head a little. "Tell me, did you see any lost souls?"
Stiles' jaw was set. "Everyone here is a lost soul."
The corner of Valack's mouth twitched up at that. "Oh, come on, don't give up on us yet. After all, we're all just works in progress."
Lydia's attention snapped to him. "That sounds familiar. Where'd you hear it?" Allison noticed that Stiles gave a lingering look at the cell that supposedly contained the so-called Sluagh. She hadn't seen what was in it in passing, and she was glad about that. Who would she have seen – someone she knew, or an unfamiliar face? Would it be the face of the dead?
She didn't want to think about it.
Valack shrugged. "Just some wise words from a fellow cell mate."
Allison had had enough of the small talk. "We're here to talk to you about a book-"
"The Dread Doctors?" He interrupted her like it was nothing. "Of course you are." His gaze stayed fixed on hers for a moment, and she tried to resist the urge to pick at the hem of her shirt. "I wrote it."
"But the author is listed as-"
He scoffed, interrupting her again. She was getting pissed off about that. "Well of course I used an alias; I had to protect my professional reputation. Publishing that second-rate piece of trash would've caused the ruination of my career."
"And look where you ended up, anyway." Lydia pointed out, but he ignored her.
"They're back, aren't they?" He leaned in so close to the glass that his breath fogged it up. He turned his eyes to Stiles. "The Dread Doctors are here in Beacon Hills."
"They've been here before?" Stiles crossed his arms.
Valack shook his head. "No, not here; didn't you read my book?"
"But they've done this before."
The doctor looked back at Allison. "Yes, obviously."
Allison pressed her lips together, trying to control her irritation. Valack's lips quirked up when he turned his attention back to Lydia, but only for a moment. "I doubt that they're human anymore."
"Anymore?" Stiles echoed.
"Yes," the doctor nodded, "they were scientists, once. They worshipped the supernatural, tried to find the links between it and the natural world. If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration." He began to pace, hands clasped behind his back. "They use the electromagnetic forces of the universe to do unnatural things. It prolongs their lives, allows them to exist on a plane inaccessible to most living things, and," he stopped pacing, "makes you forget that you ever saw them."
He leaned in close to the glass, his voice dropping. "That's why I wrote the book. It opens your eyes."
Allison tried to remember; had she seen the Dread Doctors before? She hadn't read the book yet, so apparently she wouldn't know. That thought didn't sit well with her at all.
The lights flickered a little.
Valack smiled. It was cold and calculating, and it made Allison feel like they were about to get dissected. "If you want to know more," he said, "then I want something in return."
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. What do you want?"
The doctor only had eyes for Lydia. "I want a scream."
"No," Allison and Stiles snapped simultaneously.
"Then you won't get anything else out of me," Valack shrugged.
They had already gotten enough, Allison wanted to snap, but the prospect that there could be significantly more information that Valack was withholding kept her mouth shut. The doctor wasn't stupid; he wouldn't reveal any truly vital information without getting something in return. She had no idea what he'd do with a banshee scream, but she knew she wouldn't like it.
"Guys," Lydia pulled them several steps away, "maybe we should give him what he wants."
"Are you kidding?" Stiles scoffed.
Allison shook her head. "Lydia, this isn't a good idea."
"Yeah," Stiles agreed, "the guy's a total nut job – who knows what he'd do with a banshee scream."
"How many are dead so far?" Valack spoke up, calm as ever. "Do you want to know how many died the first time the Dread Doctors came here?"
Allison worked her jaw, but didn't say anything. She was struck by how much she wished Scott was there. If he had been, he probably would've found a way to get more information out of Valack without giving him what he wanted. He just had that way about him – if he asked for your help, you wanted to help him.
Valack tilted his head. "It's happened before, and now it's all happening again – because a few teenagers who never even considered the consequences decided to reignite a supernatural force they barely understand."
The three of them stood stock-still. Stiles' and Allison's eyes met briefly, but they both looked away.
That night. The aching fear in her chest that she might not ever see her dad again; the resolve that she wouldn't let that happen. If she concentrated, she could still feel the silver bullet clutched in her fingers, the ice water like needles against her skin. It had taken them so long to get used to the change that it had brought; the darkness that had found a home in each of them. They were each on their own with their darkness. For some it had been overwhelming.
Her eyes flickered back to Stiles.
She wondered if that meant something; if the strength of their darkness wasn't random. It wasn't the first time she had thought about it. Why did the nogistune choose him? Was it random, or convenient, or did it see some sort of potential? Deep down, she wondered what Stiles' darkness really looked like. The darkness that he'd had before-
"You're talking about the Nemeton," Lydia's voice tore her from her thoughts. She snapped her attention back to the doctor.
"How would you even know about that?" Stiles frowned at him. Allison vaguely wondered what thoughts were going through his head.
Valack's lips quirked up into an insufferable smirk. "Because I saw it," he said. Reaching his hands up, he unwrapped the white gauze that covered his head. Beneath it, there was a grotesque hole in the middle of his forehead. It looked unnatural, but skin had grown around the edges as if it had developed naturally. And beyond it, just visible from where she stood, was his third eye, squirming and open. She fought the urge to cringe at the sight.
The lights flickered again, and Allison was just able to tear her gaze away from the eye as she looked around. She knew there wasn't a storm or anything outside, there should be no reason for power fluctuations.
"It's because of the boy,"
Allison spun back towards the doctor. "What did you say?"
One of the overhead lights at the end of the corridor exploded, sending sparks in all directions.
Valack pointed at her, a snear on his face. "Your boy. His arrival has changed things, created cracks in the world like a hammer striking glass. Cracks that have allowed them to slip past the defenses."
"Eichen uses more than just mountain ash for protection," the doctor continued, "it uses electromagnetic energy; it was built on a convergence of Telluric Currents."
Almost all of the lights were sparking, and the patients were shouting from within their cells. The hairs on the back of Allison's neck stood on-end, and every fiber of her being told her to get out of there.
"That's how they've always kept out certain supernaturals." It looked as though even Valack was becoming slightly frazzled at the charged feeling in the air. "But now that that boy's destroyed the natural flow of energies, the Dread Doctors are going to be able to break through Eichen's defenses. All they needed was a crack."
He looked at her as if it was somehow her fault. "They're going to walk right in."
Author's Notes:
OK, so first off: Merry Christmas! (to those who celebrate it) consider this my holiday gift to the internet. It's not great, but it's here.
This chapter just kept getting longer and longer. At first, I had projected that it would end up falling somewhere around 5,00 words, but we all see how that turned out. At 7,000 words in I had to split up the chapter, mostly because I don't want to set some amazing president for myself and then fail to live up to it for the rest of the time. Also, I mean mild cliffhangers are good, right?
On that note, sorry for the heavily canon-compliant stuff at the end. In some ways it's nice (for me) that this story interweaves a bit with season 5, but at the same time I end up rehashing things that we've all seen in the show. Hopefully I've been able mix some of it up so that it's not too boring. Plus, I mean, Allison's there, so that makes it a little more interesting - at least to me!
And that brings me to my biggest piece of original work in here so far: Nicholas. Ugh, I cannot express how much I've been writing and rewriting - and re-rewriting - his scenes. As an OC, I know many people are probably going to be inclined not to like him at all, but I wanted to give him a fair shot, as his creative mother. Flaws, complex thoughts, first impressions. And he's a fourteen-year-old. I've struggled to find his voice, one that is unique and (hopefully) at least a little likable. That being said, I want your honest opinions. Not flames, mind you, but your honest opinion as a reader. I know that he was only just introduced to the story, but hopefully you'll give him a chance even if you didn't connect to him right away. He's important to the story, and I will for sure be putting a lot of effort into his character as this continues.
As I believe I've mentioned, we're going to be solely in Allison's POV, at least for a while. But sometimes I wish I could just communicate what some of the other characters are really thinking without her natural biases. I really hope that Scott didn't come off as too harsh, or condescending, or gullible, or just majorly OOC in any way. He has his reasons for everything he says - as do all the characters - and I promise that I've thought through it all, even if Allison doesn't ever get it. That's the disadvantage of being stuck in one person's head.
Which reminds me: how is Allison? This is sort of a dark AU, so some of the characters (Stiles, for instance) might seem worse than they actually are on the show, angst-wise. But we're in Allison's head, and I'm constantly worried about how she comes off. Again, honest opinions! (also again, no flames)
As a last note to this second insanely long A/N, I hope you liked the (super) tiny bit of interaction that I put in between Stiles and Allison. It was small, I know, but at first Stiles wasn't going to appear in this chapter at all, so I think it's pretty good. And just in case you were wondering, Stiles' confrontation with Donovan happens around the time that Allison has Nicholas in her kitchen.
So, the next chapter will pick up right where I left off. I've already started working on it, although no promises for when it'll be finished. I hope you enjoyed this, and again, Happy Holidays!