AAAH I'm sorry this took so long. I've been struggling so hard with this story. Hopefully it will start getting better soon. I'm sorry if the end of this is rushed and abrupt, I just didn't want to make you guys wait any longer! Please review as it's great motivation to update quicker. I love to hear what you think/what you would like to happen. Thank you poppets! (p.s I haven't proof read this so please forgive any mistakes)
"Stiles. Give me your hands. I think I can..."
Awkwardly, Lydia pulled Stiles bound hands into her lap and started scratching at the tape around his wrists using whatever mobility she'd been left with to get him free. She couldn't move her fingers very much, but maybe, just maybe it was enough.
"Lydia, what are you doing?" Stiles voice was a weak rasp.
"What do you think I'm doing?"
"No." said Stiles. "What're you doing here?"
Lydia looked up, and Stiles looked back at her. Beneath the bruises, blood and lethargy, Lydia could see panic in his eyes, panic for her. It was something she hadn't seen in him since the sacrifice, when his father's life had been on the line. Though this time it was subdued by blood loss, hazed over by the disorientation that came with his obvious concussion. It was a look of desperation, fear, trepidation. It made guilt erupt within her.
"Like I said," she muttered. "I heard you."
Lydia set her concentration back upon the tape, clawing with hard determination until eventually she managed to peal it away. With a little of Stiles' help, she stripped the tape from his wrists entirely, having to shake it off onto the floor when it stuck to her own skin instead.
Stiles gazed sleepily down at his hands for a moment. A dazed look was on his face as if he'd never seen them before. Then Lydia watched as he pulled his less responsive arm towards his chest slowly, grimacing and releasing a pained sound with the movement. He held his breath as he leant forward and ripped the tape from his ankles with the hand he could actually use. When he sat back up, the breath juddered out. There seemed to be permanent lines on his forehead now.
Lydia felt him grab her wrists.
"Stiles, you don't have-"
"It's okay."
Soon Lydia was free of her bindings too. The second she had control over her arms, she wanted nothing more than to pull the boy before her into a tight embrace. One that would tell her he was real, that he wasn't going away. And as long as that was true then everything would be okay. But she knew it would only cause him more pain, and she couldn't bare the thought of that.
Confusion struck her when Stiles lifted his hand and gently moved the hair from her face, but then she noticed his eyes worriedly examining her forehead where the beserker had hit her.
"Are you okay?" he asked weakly.
Lydia grasped his hand, pushing it back into his lap.
"Am I okay?" she blurted out. "Look at you, Stiles. You need a hospital."
"It's not that bad."
"Yes it is."
Lydia couldn't help but notice the singes in his t-shirt surrounding the blackened wound less than an inch away from his lung. That wasn't what frightened her though. It was the once white material now dripping red with his blood that really made her stomach turn with dread.
"I'll get you some water. Pain killers. Bandages. Anything. Just stay here."
Lydia stood up quickly, desperately trying to hold it together.
"Where are you going?"
"Just stay here."
There was a door behind the sofa. Lydia felt Stiles' gaze following her as she hurried over to it before stepping into what appeared to be a small kitchen diner. There was a familiar quality about the room, one of bazaar normality. There were shelves with semi-rusted pots and pans upon them, cupboards sheeted with laminate, a musky silver sink put to shame by a glinting tap that looked to have been recently replaced, a small table with an empty mug left stranded upon it. Was this Kate's home? Surely not. It was strange to think of someone so monstrous residing somewhere so human.
Lydia rooted through drawers and cabinets, even the minuscule fridge, but all she found was an uneven scattering of dishes and cutlery, a few measly scraps of food that looked almost inedible anyway, and some dangerous looking gadgets that she knew nothing about. She could have slapped herself when she remembered that Kate was a .quick healing shape-shifter to whom first aid supplies would provide no use whatsoever. So abandoning her initial mission, she filled a glass with water, frustration tearing at her due to how pathetically ineffective she felt.
As she re-entered the other room, she saw Stiles. He was standing, then swaying, then falling.
"Stiles!"
Lydia pelted towards him, trying to maintain her hold on the water as she hooked her arms under his own to stop him from crashing to the floor. As delicately as she could manage, Lydia steadied him to the ground until his back came to rest against the foot of the couch. He blinked his eyes back into focus, seeming to search aimlessly with them until eventually they landed upon Lydia's face.
"Woah." he uttered.
"I told you to stay where you were."
Lydia perched herself on the carpet next to Stiles' legs. She put her hand against his forehead. Her breath hitched at the sheer heat that radiated from his skin.
"What? What is it?"
She knew the worry on her face was clear as day.
"You have a fever, Stiles."
"So?"
"Don't try to act like you don't know that's a bad sign."
Stiles swallowed and his eyes fluttered shut for a second. When he opened them again they fell upon the glass in Lydia's hand.
"Is that water?" he said, obviously trying to change the subject to something other than his blatant deterioration.
Lydia nodded and proceeded to help him take a sip. Their hands met upon the glass as he drank.
"You find any painkillers?" he said once he'd had enough.
Lydia had stopped crying a while ago, but she had to steady herself as tears threatened to swell again.
"I'm sorry." she said simply, hating how useless she was. Stiles' jaw clenched.
"It's alright." he said. "I doubt they'd do much anyway."
Then, to her right, something caught Lydia's eye.
She reached over and snatched up the bottle of whiskey that sat on the carpet, quickly checking if there was any left.
"There's this?"
Somehow in his state, Stiles still managed to look incredulous.
"Maybe I should at least stay a little lucid for when the time comes to get out of here." he said, though his words were hollow.
"Stiles, you're an idiot if you think you're walking out of here. You can't even stand up. The others will come. Besides, a couple sips won't hurt."
"Sounds like you're trying to get me drunk."
"Sounds like I'm trying to help you. So shut up and drink it."
Stiles looked at the bottle sceptically, but soon he was taking it in his hand and putting it to his lips. He took an uncertain mouthful before briefly coughing and screwing his face up at the taste.
"Oh God." he croaked.
Lydia pursed her lips.
"Here." she said, taking off her cardigan and pushing it against the punctures in his leg. Stiles hissed.
"Sorry, sorry." she sputtered. "We should keep pressure on it. Can you bend it?"
Stiles nodded and obeyed, allowing Lydia to wrap the cotton garment around his thigh once he'd lifted it from the floor. Eyes shut tight, Stiles' head fell back onto the sofa when she made a simple knot and pulled it as tight as she could manage. Thankfully the cardigan wasn't one she was particularly fond of. Once she was done, Stiles breathed out heavily.
"Thank you." he said.
Lydia gave a sad smile, her hand resting on the boy's uninjured leg. Stiles tried to return it, but something cold and heavy seemed to weigh his expression down. She could see it in the taught skin across his tensed jaw; in his eyes where speckles of glassy light pooled, like they'd been subjected to an omen that only Stiles understood.
He took another gulp of the golden brown liquid, and this time he breathed through what Lydia knew must taste like gasoline.
"Do you think they really found him?" Lydia asked. "The benefactor I mean."
"No? Maybe. I don't know." replied Stiles. "Doesn't matter. Kate's gonna kill me anyway."
"No she's not."
"Yes, she is." Stiles voice was stony and grim. "Look, maybe this doesn't have to be so bad. If Kate went to see the others, she probably took one of her beserkers, right?" He stopped to cough, a sick, broken sound. "That means there's only one left. What if I go out there and distract it? Then you might be able to run."
"Are you kidding me? Stiles, it would kill you."
"So?"
"So, it would kill you."
"But you could escape."
"Firstly, that would never work. And secondly, do you really think I'd want to do that without you?"
"No." said Stiles with a sigh. "That's the problem."
Frustration rose up within Lydia. She huffed, opening her mouth to say something rash and stupid, but then her eyes fell to the carpet.
"But you'd leave without me." she said quietly. Stiles frowned at her, confused.
"You're so willing to sacrifice yourself, aren't you? To leave me behind." she said. "Well I'm sick of being left behind. By you, by everyone. Ever since Allison died. So you're staying with me this time, okay? I don't care if that means we both get torn apart by beserkers, or if Kate comes back and kills us both. You're not leaving me."
Stiles stared at her, and seconds passed, seconds that were filled with an odd kind of tension,
"Okay." he rasped. "I'm not leaving you."
She arrived at the school forty minutes after the phone call had ended.
Derek, the sheriff and Chris stood in a line. The sky was in that eerie stage between night and morning, where pale grey to the East faded into thick black. They'd been waiting there for what seemed like an eternity when suddenly Derek tensed and turned his head, listening.
"What? What can you hear?" asked the sheriff nervously.
"Stiles' Jeep." replied Derek. "She's here."
Reaching into his pocket, the sheriff turned to Chris before pulling out a pair of handcuffs. Chris held out his hands without pause, and Stiles' father clicked them in place around the other man's wrists.
"You sure about this?" Derek addressed Argent.
The older man just nodded.
When the Jeep pulled into the area with Kate alone at the wheel, the three of them found themselves searching for any other signs of threat. Her beserkers were nowhere to be seen.
Kate stepped out of the vehicle, a large firearm dangling by her side. The sheriff's hands twitched at the sight of her, his face a picture of pure hatred.
Kate walked forward cautiously, until she stood about ten feet away from them. Her hair wavered in the tiny breeze; a chill crawled over the parking lot, across the sheriff's neck.
"I want to talk to him." she said.
"Where's my son?" blurted the sheriff, using every ounce of will power to resist rushing forward and throwing a punch.
"I said I want to talk to him." repeated Kate, her voice unchanging.
But Chris was already walking forward.
"So talk." he said, coming to a standstill in front of the armed woman. His face was indecipherable.
Kate's face was a plethora of emotion. Anger, confusion, distress. She stared at her brother, as if waiting for him to say something more, to explain. But when he failed to do so, she stepped backwards and lifted her gun until Chris was staring directly at its barrel.
"Why?" Kate said bitterly.
Argent's eyes were like stones, his body like marble.
"Tell me why." Kate repeated, shaking the gun slightly. It was action intended to demonstrate assertiveness, but all that really showed through was painful uncertainty.
"You're not going to shoot me Kate." said Argent, unwavering. "I'm the only real family you have left."
Kate's hand was shaking permanently now.
"Right back at you, big brother." she said, her voice something else entirely from the sly song they'd heard through the phone. "Yet you'd pay to have me killed. Your own flesh and blood. Explain that."
"We hunt those who hunt us. That'll never change, Kate. You of all people should understand that."
Kate's eyes went wide for moment, and if it weren't so dark, the beads of moisture forming there might have been visible. She stepped forward, pushing the gun closer, her finger pressing against the trigger. Derek's fingers curled into tense fists at the threat.
"Your own family. You'd kill your own family."
"I've done it before. I can do it again."
"Then why did you get caught." Kate said, more quietly this time. Despite the weapon inches from his head, Argent never once broke eye contact with his sister.
"I gave myself in." he said. "The teenagers you took are innocent. And we protect the innocent at all costs."
"Innocent?" Kate laughed, a cold, injured, spiteful sound. "He killed her, Chris! He killed your daughter. How can you call him anything less than a monster? Let alone innocent."
"You have me." said Chris, ignoring her frantic words. "It's time for you to let them go."
Kate's hand wavered. Her finger twitched. She shook her head.
"No."
The sheriff heaved in a deep, trembling breath. Chris frowned.
"And if you're telling the truth. If you're the benefactor." said Kate. "I'm sure everyone here will thank me for this."
Derek could sense it coming before Kate pulled the trigger. It seemed the sheriff could too. He pulled out his gun and followed as Derek sprinted forward, throwing Kate to the ground so that her weapon unloaded into the air rather than her brother's head. The sound was deafening.
Chris stared, seemingly in shock, but then he was snapping the handcuffs off in a heartbeat and pulling out his own pistol.
Claws tore across Derek's chest and then Kate was crawling out from beneath him, her face transformed into the creature she'd become. Chris lifted his gun with the intention to plant a wolfsbane loaded bullet in the were-jaguars leg, but a dizzying force connected with the side of his head and he crumpled to the ground in semi-consciousness.
That was when the beserker appeared.
It tossed the sheriff to the side with ease. He landed unconscious a few feet away, blood upon his temple. It preceded to throw Derek to the ground, stamping a heavy foot down upon his chest, pinning him there while he struggled relentlessly.
"You lied to me." Kate's words tore through her throat as she clambered to her feet. Chris tried desperately to make his limbs co-operate, but as he looked down at his arms, his vision darkening, it felt like they no longer belonged to him.
"You're not him, are you?" Kate addressed Chris, though her voice was distant and wrong. Somehow her gun was back in her hand and she pointed it at him again, though it was unlikely that she'd use it after her revelation.
"You're not the benefactor." It was hard to tell whether Kate was speaking out of anger or relief.
Suddenly, she stilled.
"Where's Scott?" she said, her eyes quickly surveying the parking lot as if maybe she'd missed him before. And then realisation hit her hard like a fist.
"You shouldn't have done this." she told them coldly. "You know who'll suffer for it."
Chris could only be thankful that the sheriff wasn't awake to hear Kate's promise.
"Make sure they don't follow me." Kate ordered the creature that still had Derek pinioned to the concrete ground. Kate took one last glance at Chris, whose arms buckled once again beneath him, before turning on her heel and stalking back to Stiles' Jeep.
"Derek," heaved Chris. "Now would be a good time to wolf out."
A short time later, Scott, Kira and Malia arrived at the edge of the forest.
"How long do you think they'll be able to stall her for?" asked Malia as the three of them jogged into the trees. Every step drew them nearer to the perimeter of the two mile radius the trace had shown, nearer to their friends.
"Long enough." replied Scott, though he knew his prediction was tainted with a naive sense of hopefulness. Especially now that Stiles' scent was plucking at his receptors in different ways: fresh and distant, old and near, both dirty with blood and something else. Something that smelled remarkably and terrifyingly, like death.