Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.
An: Yeah. So I'm going to apologize for my lack of posting these past two days! But I've been caught up writing little bits and pieces of other chapters. I have some high hopes for future chapters and keep getting these little snippets I've had the end of this written since yesterday. And Im sorry to say that Crave will be on hiatus, because its just gotten off. But you guys and your reviews? I'm not worthy! Oh my Lovecraft! Y'all make me blush. Language and violence coming up. Enjoy.
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Stiles cringed, eating dirt as Jackson swiped his legs out from under him. Again. At least he was aiming above the waist now. He dug his fingers into the dirt, causing tracks as he glared up at the other boy. Jackson stared down from behind the grate of his helmet, his chest heaving and his eyes angry. Everyone on the feild had gone still, waiting for the boy on the ground to stand. To see if he would after getting knocked down for the ninteenth time. Stiles did, tearing his helmet off and throwing it down. "What the hell is going on with you man!" He shouted, stepping forward. Fifty yards be damned, whatever was wrong with Jackson he was ruining his practice. Stiles had enough to deal with today. He didn't need Jackson's angry teenage dream ass on him too.
Jackson tore his own helmet off, throwing it far too hard. It left a crack in the plastic. Kanima took a step back, his eyes searching out Scott in the crowd of on lookers. If Jackson grew scales, the world would know. They couldn't hide it. "How long you think she'll keep fucking you?" Jackson hissed, stepping forward as Stiles stepped back again. His hands were shaking. Jackson was sweating. Hard. Not practice hard, beyond it. Drenching. "Huh? A week? A month? How long do most whores stay?" He spat, his whole body was shaking now.
Stiles growled, shaking his head. He took off his gloves, his hands shaking now. "Don't talk about her like that." He warned, stepping forward. His jaw was tight and something dark was in his eyes. "I won't let you."
Jackson gave harsh bark of a laugh, a crazed noise as he stepped chest to chest with the other boy. "Talk about her how? Like she's a whore? That's what she is, don't you see? She's a manipulative little whore who's only using you." He shook his head, that asshole grin on his face. Stiles saw red. "And what are you gonna do, Stiles? You're just too weak to do anything. You gonna have Scott fight me?" He snorted, watching as Stiles flicked his eyes to Scott.
It wasn't in fear though. It was in warning.
"No." Stiles told him, popping his jaw. "No. I'm gonna kick your ass myself."
This first blow thrown was quick, Stiles landing a solid blow to the center of Jackson's face. He felt his nose crunch below his fist, Jackson's head snapping back from the force. The second blow wasn't quick enough, Jackson recovering and giving a wide swung left hook to the right side of his face. It went numb, then bloomed. Pain radiating from his eye. Stiles managed another swing, colliding with Jackson's jaw before Scott tackled and pinned him to the ground.
"Enough! Stiles!" Scott shouted, holding him down the same way Danny was holding Jackson. By the shoulders with a heavy knee on then center of his chest. The other boy's eyes flashed and Scott and Stiles froze. After a long second they returned to normal, Jackson shouting threats as Danny held him down.
Coach Flinstock threw his clip board down between them, taking in Jackson's pouring nose and Stiles's swelling face. He pointed an angry finger. "Biles! McCall! Leave the damn field!" He swore, waving his hands wildly. "Son of a bi- go back to practice the rest of you, Danny get Jackson somewhere else to bleed. I don't care. Go!" He turned his head, "And whoever tells the principal about this is off the damn team! I don't need any more damn trouble!"
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...
Scott drove, his car staying at school and Stiles holding a bag of ice from the Quick Stop to his bruising face. "That was stupid, you know that right?" The Were asked, slowing down as they entered the suburbs. "What if he had gone kanima on you? He's strong, Stiles." He sounded worried and Stiles felt miserable. It had been stupid. For once Scott was right. He sunk lower in the seat at the thought. Hadn't Scott just fought Jackson? Like, yesterday?
The bruised boy shifted the ice on his face, "Yeah. I know." He muttered, watching the houses go by and keeping Scott in the corner of his eye. "But I couldn't let him talk about her. Not like that." He didn't regret hitting the other boy, he did however regret getting hit by him. And taking his gloves off to hit him. His knuckles were bruised and swelling, they hurt. Bad. He weakly held up his hand to Scott. "Any chance you can like, lick this better?" He asked, waving his fingers imploring the other boy.
Scott mock gagged as the scent of blood hit his nose, knocking his friend's hand away with his elbow as he kept both hands on wheel. "Gross dude. I'm not gonna lick your wounds like a dog." He told him, not even shocked that his boundary stepping friend had asked. Stiles let his hand drop pitifully. Scott laughed at the downed look on his face.
"Come on man, at least try." He moaned pitifully. They really hurt. The bruises were beginning to turn, from red to purple. Swelling large and painful, he tried to wiggle them but couldn't. He laid the ice on them. "I'll never play the harp again." He mourned, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. Scott didn't even care. He just laughed.
He stopped at a red sign, watching a couple on a bike pass. Two cars. Silver. Red. "Find someone else to slobber on your hands." He threw at his friend. Something hit him "And you can't play the harp, dumbass." The harp? Really? The harp?
Stiles three his fine hand up, shaking it. "And now I never will! Oh the things I have lost!" He sank back down in his seat dramatically, covering his face with his hand. Scott kept his eyes on the high class suburb road, refusing to laugh and further encourage his friend. Suddenly Stiles looked through the fingers on his face. "You think Alpha spit would work better? For wound healing?"
Scott almost drove off the road, nearly taking out a mailbox that was a replica of the house it was for. He bet that was expensive. He watched Stiles out the corner of his eye. "I will give you everything I own if you ask Derek Hale to lick your wounds." He said seriously, imagining the man's face if his best friend offered him the wounds. It would be worth loosing a limb. "I think Jackson knocked something loose in there." He told him, watching the darkening bruise form on Stiles's eye and brow. The ice and aspirin had contained the swelling but nothing could stop the bruise that was coloring dark under his flesh.
Stiles poked at his face, sucking in a breath at the sharp pain it caused. That was gonna be a bitch later. How was he going to explain this to his Dad? "Yeah. Probably." He agreed absently, trying not to prode at his wound. He turned to Scott, trying not to raise his brow. "Who knew monsters with supernatural strength hit so hard?" He snarked, knowing they were nearing their destination. "Let's not tell Lydia that Jackson did this." He told his friend.
Scott agreed, wholeheartedly. His hands tightened on the wheel. "Let's just turn around, go home, and not tell Lydia anything. Ever." He suggested, wanting to pull a u-turn and turn back. He knew this great reveal wouldn't go well. It was going to be a disaster. His was a very dangerous secret. It didn't help anyone that knew. It only made things worse.
Stiles joking mood dissolved as he rubbed a hand down the side of his unbruised face. He shook his head, disagreeing with his best friend. "No man. We've got to tell her. She needs to know." He said, his voice down and his shoulders hunched. Lydia's face ran through his mind. Tear stained. Panicked. Unconscious. Wide eyed. He had to tell her. She had to know. It wasn't fair to lie to her like this. To let her think that there was even the slightest possibility that Peter Hale could get her. Because he couldn't.
Scott sighed, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he took a curve. "Why are you pushing for this?" He asked, but he already knew the answer. Because she was Lydia. Because Stiles had loved her since the third grade and he couldn't stand for her to not get what she wanted. Scott knew he'd stood up to Peter for her. And just fifteen minutes ago, he'd stood up to Jackson. He was in stupid-love with Lydia, but Scott couldn't say anything. Dating an Argent in secret as he was.
Stiles shrugged under his lacrosse practice jersey, Danny had thrown them their things while he nursed Jackson's broken nose. They hadn't had time to shower or change. Changing in a locker room together was one thing, changing in the backseat? That was a new level of friendship. One that Stiles hadn't given them a chance to reach, demand he get to
Lydia's. And some ice and aspirin. Definitely ice first. Then Lydia. "Cause, she's sick and us keeping this all a secret isn't helping her mind." He didn't say more. He didn't want to betray her anymore than he had to. Her secrets were hers, Scott didn't need to know about her crying. It wouldn't be fair to her. She'd trusted him with that, even knowing he wasn't completely honest with her. He wasn't throwing that away. Ever.
Scott frowned at this, it wasn't the answer he was expecting. He was expecting some nonsense excuse. Not this. "And you think telling her about monsters is going to help?" He asked, they were close now. To Lydia's. He wanted to turn around. Something in his gut screamed that he should. It was dangerous. He'd already made a deal with one devil, he didn't want a second one in the mix. He'd sold his soul once already.
Stiles looked at him nervously, mirroring his feelings. "Okay, maybe we don't use the word 'monster'?" He suggested, scrunching his nose. He had blood on his shirt. A smear of it on the white of his shirt. Great. He was going to the girl he loved to talk about werewolves, sweaty, bruised and bloody. "Maybe we say you turn into a puppy. A nice Labrador retriever. A poodle. A shih tzuh." He offered.
Scott pulled into Lydia's driveway. He saw Allison's car on the side. The garage door slid open and he pulled in. He turned to his friend with a grin. "And Jackson turns into the Giaco Gecko."
Stiles opened his door, "In fifteen minutes or less."
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...
Lydia stared at the trio that sat on her couch. Scott and Stiles looking down, Allison looking beyond her shoulder. Lydia waited. "I didn't invite you here to give my couch grass stains." She raised a brow, sitting across from them all in her arm chair. Allison jumped at the sound of her voice, as if she'd forgotten where she was. She looked up with wide brown eyes.
"It wasn't really an invitation." Stiles told her, nervously licking his lips. He shrugged, "It was more of a demand."
Lydia frowned, looking at him for a long moment. "What happened to your head?" She asked, looking at the bruises getting darker even now. He looked like he'd been bashed a good one, his hands hidden together.
"My Father dropped me when I was young." He answered seriously. Lydia hm'd nodding as if it weren't a surprise at all. Scott looked at him for a long second.
"The best way to start a story is from the beginning." Lydia offered, growing tired of the waiting. She tucked her legs under her in the chair, her heels before her on the floor. She mint as well get comfortable if they were going to make her wait for a decade. She didn't think I would be this hard once she got them here. She was a patient girl, but this was beyond it.
Scott looked around, scrubbing a hand on the back of his neck. It was his job to spill it. After all, he was the wolf here. Shouldn't he be a little more courageous here? He was a werewolf. She was a girl. Tiny. Five foot three. He looked up to meet her eyes and remembered who she was. Lydia Martin. Of course he was turning into the cowardly lion. "Awhile back, me and Stiles...we were in the woods, at night...around the Preserve." He started, nervous. His mouth was dry. Stiles was lax beside him, but Allison radiated tension.
Lydia filled the silence he created, twirling her hair around her finger. "What were you doing?" She asked, raising a brow. She couldn't take the silence, it hurt her ears, her hands clenching the arms of the couch in a white knuckles grip that almost hurt.
Stiles answered her, looking up from his knees to meet her eyes. Finally someone was looking at her When they spoke. "Looking for a dead body." He said, noticing the edge in her eyes. Allison looked over at him, obviously she didn't know the full story either. He shrugged at Lydia's blank look. Like she couldn't possibly imagine traipsing in the woods...looking for half a dead body...okay, maybe it was a little off he admitted. "I had heard that the police had found half a dead body in the woods, I figured me and Scott should go see it. We didn't find it, but my Dad found me. Scott was able to hide." He told her looking at his friend to pass the story torch. It was his turn again.
Scott frowned at the memory, fisting the material of his training shorts in his hands."But something else found me." He said quietly, remembering it with startling clarity. He knew why Lydia lost her mind after it attacked in the rental store. It was terrifying. Heart stopping. He shook his head at the thought, trying to clear it of images he'd rather forget. "I was attacked by something. The same thing that you saw. The 'mountain lion'." He spat spitefully, if only it had been some random animal. If only. He'd take the scar to save the pain this mess caused. "It bit me."
Lydia stayed quite during the pause, but her face fell white. Her eyes wide and her breath catching. Stiles watched her carefully, waiting for any sign that they should stop. Any sign that she couldn't take anymore. Scott continued. "After that, weird things started happening. I was stronger, faster. I could hear and smell things..." He still could, he could hear the quickening of the beat of her heart. He could smell the anxiety on Allison. The worry on Stiles. "That night, me and Stiles went back to the woods. I'd lost my inhaler the night before."
Lydia looked at him, confused. If he'd lost his inhaler... "Why didn't you use the one you have at Stiles?" She asked, it seemed a simple solution. Why go back to the scene of your attack if you didn't have to? She would have suffocated first. She still didn't like the field.
Scott looked over at his friend in confusion, Allison just looked at Lydia. An unreadable expression on her face. Lydia met it with one of her own. "Yeah. I've still got it." Stiles defended, wondering what else Lydia had seen in his cabinet. But maybe it wasn't so foolish to keep, not after the Kanima had caused Erica to relapse into her epilepsy. What would they do if Scott stopped breathing because of the poison? It was a good thing to keep on him. He continued the story, blindly staring forward as he thought about that night. "We didn't find it," he said, "but we did find Derek Hale. That's how all this started. His family. The fire that killed most of them. Allison's family and her connection."
Scott leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He remembered Stiles talking about Derek. Explaining who he was. "Peter Hale was the one that bit me in the woods that night." He told Lydia, watching as she closed her eyes and turned away. It hit too hard for her. Too close to home. Peter had caused a lot of pain in search for his revenge. "He's also the one that killed Laura Hale, in an effort to draw Derek in. Back home. It also drew in the hunters. The Argent's." Lydia looked over at Allison, it was her turn to turn away. To close her eyes from the story. But here came the hard part. "The Hales...they're werewolves. Peter Hale bit me and it turned me into a werewolf."
Lydia felt her face fall as Scott finished his little story, told his last line. He must have thought her stupid. Crazy. Crazy Lydia. She writes backwards and believes in anything. "A werewolf? Like The Wolf Man? Teen Wolf?" She mocked, shaking her head. The three of them were looking at her now as she gave a bitter laugh. Stiles knew this would happen. That she wouldn't believe it. Of course she wouldn't. How could she? It was crazy. Werewolves. "And you want me to believe this?" She challenged, Scott nodded. He had kind of...expected her to. Just come out and accept it. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. He couldn't catch a break. "Prove it." Lydia demanded.
Scott frowned. He couldn't really control the change, he couldn't bring it on like Derek could. He could change his eyes, barely. That wouldn't be enough. He couldn't force it though. But he had to try. He thought about changing. He thought about how he looked...he thought about Allison. He thought about Allison screaming, that night at Isaac's. The kanima staring her down. He thought about Jackson, attacking her. Her heart pounding fast. The sound of it echoing in his ears.
He could still smell the fear.
No, no. That wasn't Allison's...it was Lydia's.
It was filling the space, thick and harsh. Of course she was afraid. Terrified. He was a monster.
Those teeth. Lydia had seen the chang happeninge. His face shifting. Pulling. His eyes lighting up in some animal gold, differen, strange. His nails, long claws cutting through his fingers. Fur. Hair. Thick. Covering his face. But it was his teeth. Those teeth. That made her heart stall. Her face go white as fear crawled through her. They weren't his teeth, the crooked sharp stakes that cut through her skin, but they were close. Straighter. Not as sharp. But different, monstrous. It made it all real. Too real. Monsters were real. They were here. They could get her. He was a monster.
Stiles watched the fear was over Lydia's face. Watch as her bottom lip trembled and she moved back in the chair. Her back ridged. He elbowed Scott, waving a hand over his face. Scott got the picture. Allison slipped her hand in his, careful of his claws against her hand. Lydia kept watching. Unable to look away as the hair on Scott's face moved back and those horrible teeth turned back to normal. His eyes flashed back and she met them. There was worry in his. Worry about the fear in hers. Stiles mirrored that, he wanted to go to her. Hold her hand. Tell her it was alright...
But it wasn't alright. As hard as he tried he couldn't lie. It wasn't okay and he didn't know how long it was going to be until it was. They were trying, but they were failing.
Lydia kept her eyes in Scott, waiting for him to turn back. To change into that monster again. "The Argent's...they hunt you?" She asked, studying Allison. The other girl kept her eyes down, watching her hands. It explained a lot. The bow and arrow mainly. The crazy Aunt burning down a family home. How strange her mother is. She shook her head, Allison wasn't really answering anytime soon it seemed. She just kept her hand in Scott's. Lydia rolled her eyes, "Whatever." It was stupid they were even together now that she thought about it. She shook her head. She couldn't focus on that. On werewolves. She could get down to the bits later, now she only wanted the bullet points. Before she lost it. "Peter Hale, you were hunting him..." she trailed off. If there were hunters then maybe...maybe they'd caught him
Scott shook his head, "They didn't catch him. We tried, I knew that if...That if I killed him...I wouldn't be this." But he still was. He was still a werewolf. Lydia's face fell, he was still out there. "I didn't get the chance to, neither did the Argents. Derek Hale killed him."
Lydia sunk back in her chair, sighing. Peter Hale was dead. Dead. Dead. Oh God. "Is Jackson... Jackson is the kanima." Lydia froze. "The kanima." She echoed softly, remembering what she had translated. He was a monster. It was fitting she assumed. Cold murderous. His chance to be a normal monster spoiled by the fact that he couldn't let go. That he was so angry. That he was bitter and evil. Yes, she nodded. It was fitting that Jackson turned into this evil reptile monster. She bet he went for it too. The bite. She bet he searched it out. I'm cutting out the dead weight. Yes. He went for the change, she knew he did.
"But he can be turned back to a werewolf, changed to normal...we've just got to catch him and find out who's controlling him." Scott spoke, but she wasn't listening anymore.
She stood, staring at the trio down her nose. They all looked up at her, worried still. "I think you should go now." She said coldly, watching as Allison opened her mouth to argue. Lydia silenced her with a raised hand. "All of you." She spat, turning to walk out.
Scott turned to his friend, "She took that well." He muttered, Watching his friend rise from the couch.
"Give me a minute." He told the pair, knowing they wouldn't really argue With the chance to be alone. He followed Lydia's path, walking up the stairs. He remembered where her bedroom was.
She changed her bedding. A dark purple.
He watched as she picked up the familiar orange bottle from its spot nestled in the arms of her stuffed giraffe. Not a mountain lion. She shook three out of the bottle, shifting them into her palm. She took them dry, a practiced swallow.
"Lydia. Understand, we didn't tell you to protect you." He watched as she opened her dresser, grabbing at clothes and throwing them on the bed behind her. She didn't look at him, or even acknowledge that She'd heard him. Just went about her business, taking off her jewelry. Placing it in a little box. Emptying her pockets. "Lydia...please."
She turned, but didn't look at him. Just hummed, walking to the bed. She started to shrug out of her cardigan. When she pulled her dress over her head in one smooth move, Stiles turned to face the wall. She threw her cardigan at his back, pulling her night dress over her head. She felt the anger finally rise. "What I understand is that you lied to me." She spat, glaring at his back. She thought about kicking him. "Peter Hale was dead this whole time and no one bothered to tell me!" She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. It was all too much. Just too much. God, it was so much to take.
Stiles spun to her, his face hurt. He didn't want to lie to her. But he had to. He had to because he couldn't think if any other answer. "How was I supposed to explain this?" He asked, throwing his hand up in the air. How could he? Sometimes he woke up, hardly believing it himself. "Any of this?" He shook his head slowly. "I didn't want to tell you, but we had to. You had to know that Peter was dead. I couldn't let you believe that he could get you."
Lydia frowned, the anger leeching out of her. How could she when he was looking at her like that? She thought about slapping him. But the bruises on his face stopped her, that black eye. "Who hit you?" She asked quietly, watching his face. Shock filtered over that unrecognizable look he always had. She stepped forward, closer to him. Watching his eyes. She grabbed his hand, holding up the battered knuckles. The cuts matched hers, the wounds she'd gotten from smashing her mirror. The battered knuckles. He'd fought back. Good.
His face fell, cringing as she dragged her nails between the knuckles of his swelling hand. But she was touching him, he didn't pull away. "Jackson." He answered, hissing as she hit a particularly harsh spot.
Lydia looked up at him from under her lashes, raising a brow. "Why?" She asked, already guessing the answer. She knew. Of course she knew. Jackson was jealous. She'm hadn't expected him to hit Stiles though, he hadn't hit Scott. Or even questioned her smeared lipstick. Just a silent accusation.
Stiles held her gaze, his heart beating a million miles an hour. She looked so perfect, his stomach soured as he replayed what Jackson had said about her. Had called her. "He said something I didn't like." He admitted, leaving out the rest. He didn't want her to know. Let her think they disagreed over anything else.
Lydia took another step forward, cupping his cheek. Stiles felt his eyes flutter, fighting the urge to lean into her hand. "It was about me, wasn't it?" She smiled, running the back of her hand against his bruise. The blackened center of it, Stiles licked his lips. Nervous. "I told him I was in your bed last night." She whispered, watching as his eyes flashed open. She smirked.
Stiles frowned, "You were in my bed last night." He told her, not connecting it. He was proud of himself for not stuttering as her nails scraped his temple. Light. She was acting strange.
Lydia leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper."He thinks I slept with you. He said I smell like you." She shared, grinning. Her eyes sparkled.
Stiles suddenly remembered why she had been in his bed last night. How frail she'd been. Scared. He grabbed her hand, pulling it away from his face."Lydia. I never wanted you to get hurt. I never want you to hurt. Its why I didn't tell you." He said, watching as the grin slipped from her face. She didn't frown though. Just watched. "In the hospital, you were so...I was so worried. I thought if you knew about all this, I didn't even think about Peter. Just you." He let go of her hand, rubbing his brow. He could feel a migraine coming on. "It was stupid." He admitted.
Lydia watched him, watched the conflicting emotions behind his pretty eyes. And they were so pretty. They sparkled. She licked her lips, processing what he was saying. "I'd do anything to keep you safe." He looked so honest when he spoke. So real. She watched the way he kept her gaze, his hands by his side. She turned her head, committing the sincerity of his face to memory. Had she every really looked at him? Really looked at him? Had she ever had anyone look at her like that? That weird look in his eyes that she really couldn't name. She slid her arms fall around his neck, her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating fast in his chest. Jackson's heart had never beat that fast, had it? No. She held tighter and he put his hands on her waist, a light hold. Unsure. She felt them shake. Nervous.
"L-lydia?" Stiles stuttered, looking down at the top of her head. He knew the pills didn't kick in the fast. He didn't know what was going on. She was acting strange, off. Like maybe...maybe she liked...
Lydia cut his through his thought, pulling back. She scratched a finger nail at a stain in his chest. Feeling the hammering in his chest. She smiled, soft. Stiles frowned. "Thanks for defending my honor, Stiles." She looked up, meeting his eyes. She stepped back, smiling still. "Now, get out." She turned back to her dresser, grabbing her keys from it. "Pick it up for me, will you." It wasn't a
request. She winked, shoving the keys in his pocket.
Stiles went wide eyed, his mouth twitching as he tried to think of something, anything, to say as she pulled her hand from his pocket. He coughed, "W-will you be fine alone?" He asked, looking over her shoulder at the orange bottle on her night stand. He remembered the way she'd been the last time she took a dose of those. Loopy. Dry mouthed. Gone.
Lydia spun away, collapsing back onto the bed. She smiled up at him, her head on the pillow. She waved her fingers in goodbye. "I'm always fine." She promised.
Stiles did not disagree.
.
...
She was running. Hard. As fast as she could go. Her legs ached, but something was chasing her. It was fast. So fast. She couldn't out run it. She wasn't fast enough. Her feet couldn't move that fast. Her feet...she was barefoot.
She was in the woods. Why was she in the woods? Her bare feet hurt, they bled and stung. But she couldn't stop. If she stopped, he could catch her. He'd get her if she stopped. She could feel the breath on the back of her neck. Hot. So hot it burned. She was sweating. She couldn't breathe. It was so hot.
Why was it so hot?
The was a house, a clearing. It was burned, ruined. But it was shelter. She could hide. Hide from what ever was chasing her. It couldn't get her if she could hide. She could hide. She could crawl somewhere where it couldn't find her. Where he couldn't find her.
She hit the door, slamming it behind her. The knob, it was hot. On fire. Red with heated metal. It burned her fingers as she laced the locks, twisting them. Why were they so hot? Why was it so hot? She heard screams, men, women, and children.
She heard howls. They shook the broken windows in their panes and outside the thing chasing her, it howled back. Mournful. Sad. Broken.
The fire was everywhere. She could smell the smoke, burning flesh and hair. She was choking on it, trying to crawl low. Under the smoke like they'd taught her in school. She scrambled, backing herself into a corner. God, the screams. The howls. They were so loud. So loud. It hurt her ears. She screamed, wrapping her arms around her head. She couldn't stop. She couldn't breathe. The fire...it was going to get her. It was so close.
It...it was raining. Water drenched her and she tumbled away from it, slipping and sliding against something slick. Hard. She wasn't in the house anymore, she was in the bathroom of the hospital. Curled in the corner of the shower. The water beating down on her warm like blood.
He was at the door, beating on it. Scratching. Calling her name. Drawing it out like a purr. Lydia. Lydia. Lyyydiaaahh. He was screaming it. So loud it hurt her ears. Louder than the screams. The howls. The door shook on its hinges and she tried to scream. She couldn't. She couldn't scream anymore. She couldn't open her mouth. She turned to the mirror, scrambling to it as she slid against the slick floor. Blood. Their was blood on the floor. It was everywhere. It was on her. It covered her. She tried to scream again. She looked in the mirror. Barbed wire. Rusted and bloodied it filled her mouth, dark blood crusting over and she choked on the metallic tang of it. Salt and pennies. She pulled at it, tugging it through her mouth. Chunks of flesh pulling. It hurt. It kept coming. More and more. Where was it coming from? The pile grew, filling the sink. Spilling over. So much blood. Everywhere. It pulled free and she finally got to scream. Her teeth. Her...her teeth. His teeth. They were his teeth. Sharp like daggers, crooked and deadly. The scars on her shoulder opened, bleeding freely. She screamed. Screamed. Screamed for anyone who would listen. Please. Please. Please. Why aren't you helping me? Where is everyone? Why weren't they coming for her? Why couldn't anyone hear her? Please. Please. No one was coming. No one was there. No one could hear her. He laughed from behind the door, a crazed crackled that filled her ears. She clapped her hands over her mouth, hiding those teeth as the cut her mouth, collapsing on the floor as she screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
"You can't be here! You aren't real anymore!" She sobbed shaking her head wildly. Blood was in her hair, it speckled the walls as she shook. "You're dead! He killed you! You're not real! You're not alive!" The room flickered.
The field.
The hospital.
The house, empty and beautiful.
The house, burned and screaming.
The woods.
He was everywhere. A monster. A man. Everywhere. She couldn't escape. She couldn't escape. She screamed, blood choking her mouth. Filling her nose. She couldn't breathe. She was drowning.
He laughed on the other side of the door. The sound of nails scraping on the metal. Harsh. Painful. "Oh Lydia. Don't you see? You keep me alive." Peter's voice filled the space, echoing along with her screams. "You'll always keep me alive."
She was being shook, the world coming back to her. She was in her room, her mother looking down at her. Sweat was pouring. She fought her blanket, her mother helping. "Lydia honey, you were screaming." Her mother watched her, worry in her eyes. She pushed the hair back from her daughter's face. "You were screaming, sweetheart." She muttered. She'd never been more terrified, looking up to hear her daughter suddenly screaming like someone was butchering her. Her heart had stopped. She didn't know she could run up stairs that fast.
Lydia breathed heavy, leaning against her headboard. She rubbed her fingers against her mouth, tracing her teeth. Nothing. Just dryness and her own teeth. "I had a nightmare..." she muttered, rubbing a hand over her pounding chest. "Just a nightmare." Her mouth felt like sand.
Her mother patted her free hand, giving her a pitying look. "Its a side effect of the sedative you took." She explained, looking over at the half empty bottle of pills. She'd need a refill soon. A refill meant a doctor's appointment. That meant Lydia pouring and angry in the passenger seat during an hour long car ride. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." Lydia nodded, trying to lick her lips with a wooden tongue. It was dry. Sand paper. "I'm fine. Always." She muttered, smilin at her own little joke. Her eyes unfocused on the floor as she played his face over in her mind. Prada paced nervously and she patted her hand on the bed, the dog hopped up. She smiled weakly as Prada curled up at her feet.
Her Mother sat something down on the nightstand, next to her bottles and giraffe. Her car keys. "A boy dropped your car off." Her mother said with a gentle smile, watching her daughter carefully. "The Stiles boy." She clarified. "He asked about you." She said, standing up and straightening things around her daughter's room.
Lydia sat up straighter, blinking rapidly to focus her eyes. "He did?" She asked, wondering why she was shocked. Of course he did. Why wouldn't he? Because Jackson had never. That's why. She frowned.
Her Mother straightened her perfumes, moving a hairbrush. "Mhm. Are you hungry?" She asked. Lydia scowled. She didn't want food. She wanted to know what Stiles had asked about. If he had said anything. Why he hadn't checked in her himself. She crossed her arms, pouting. Why hadn't he?
"Not really." Lydia muttered, not catching her Mother's little smile as she picked up her daughter's jacket. Hanging it on a door post. Lydia tried to like her lips again. Nothing. Sand. "Can you get me something to drink?" She rasped, looking up to her mother as she curled back in the bed with Prada at her chest.
Her mother grinned, pulling something off the dresser. "Actually..." she trailed off, holding up a bottle of sweet tea and a package of Reeses'. "The Stiles boy left this. For you." He'd dropped them on her dresser, leaving as he saw she was still passed out. Mrs. Martin had to smile at it all.
Lydia took a sip, toying with the candy. "He...he did?" She asked, not looking up. She didn't know why, but she was blushing. Her mother smiling over at her like she knew some grand secret.
Mrs. Martin leaned against the door jam, smiling. "Mhm." She said, watching her daughter. She had no idea. Her smart girl, so oblivious.
Lydia pulled the wrapper away, tugging out a candy."Oh. That's..." she trailed off, biting into her Reeses'. She didn't really know what it was.
"Sweet?" Mrs. Martin offered, when Lydia looked up to glare, she was already down the hall. Humming.
.
...
An: That nightmare took a lot out of me. I hope I nailed it. Tell me if I didn't. I answer ALL pms. If you've got any questions, send them in. Review, pm, flying paper Crane. Whatever. -Crick.
