AN: So yeah, I´m back ^^ don´t expect any updates soon, though, because I´m currently on an internship that has me working eight to nine hours from monday to friday. I barely have time for a personal live, let alone actually writing *sobs desperately* at least I get paid, so there´s that :D also, I signed up for the Marvey Secret Santa and honestly, why did I do that, from where should I take the time to write?!
i. animal one: crow
School was dragging. It felt as if someone had slowed time, the movement of the second hand on the clock hanging above the door slower than it should be, the air stale and warm, making the teenagers in the room yearn for a refreshing breeze. Through the windows they could look upon the parking lot, full of cars but empty of people; the cars gleaming underneath the sunlight like a sea of precious stones.
Well, nearly every car except for one, but Stiles thought that Roscoe´s character surely made up for the lack of shine. A Toyota Prius just didn't have that little extra that his baby possessed.
In front of the students Ms Blake continued to read out of some Shakespearean work (Stile was pretty sure that it was Hamlet, but he had long given up on following), one hand doing grandiose gestures to emphasise what she was reading out loud from the small book that she held in the other. A few kids in the first row where furiously scribbling in their notebooks, what Stiles didn't really know, because who the fuck took notes of a Shakespeare reading? One seat to his left Stiles could practically feel Scott making puppy eyes at Allison who sat in front of him. If it wasn't the heat, then the barely contained teenage angst that scintillated between them would have definitely made the lesson unbearable for Stiles.
Honestly, Stiles felt kind of torn on the whole Scallison issue (and yeah, that was how he called it in his head because 'Scott and Allison' was such a mouthful): On one hand he really wanted to see his brother in all but blood happy and content and Scott definitely had been when he had been together with Allison, but on the other, ever since their break-up ('Pause,' Scott would remind him. 'We´re pausing our relationship until we know where we stand.') Scott was more focused on the supernatural side of things and made good progress on his training. And maybe it made Stiles a bad friend, but he kind of liked that he had gotten his old, pre-Allison friend back.
Now, if he could only get Scott and Derek to stop trying to out-do each other in a barely concealed alpha male posturing contest his life would be a little bit closer to the right side of his 'apocalypse to barely managing' scale which he used to measure his life ever since he had become a werewolf.
Stiles mood soured when he took in the empty seat next to Jackson. Lydia wouldn't come back to school this week at last and it suited Stiles just fine because it meant that he didn't have to face her and all what her appearance brought with it. As long as she wasn't there to remind him of her tongue lashing he could live in his perfect world of illusions where said event never happened.
Stiles had always been a fan of ignoring a problem until it went away on its own. Even though a small voice in his head whispered that this problem wouldn't and that he should do some soul searching instead.
Maybe he would do that, but not during Shakespeare.
Up front Ms Blake had finished her rendition of Hamlet (By now Stiles was pretty sure that it was Hamlet, like 80 percent or something).
"What kind of a King is Claudius?" she wanted to know as she shut the book. "What evidence shows the kind of monarch he is and the kind of man he is? Is this his appearance, or is it his true character?" She het let her gaze wander over the class, expecting someone to lift their hand, but all she received where bored or panicked expressions. Taking pity on the poor teacher, Stiles lifted his hand. Relief shining in her eyes, Ms Blake called him up.
"The character Claudius is both the major antagonist of the piece and complex," Stiles started. "He is the villain of the piece, as he admits to himself but he´s also pretty self-aware and remorse he shows for his actions complicates his villain status, much like Macbeth…" Man, was he glad that he had the wits to read up on the play before the lesson.
He had a few more lines prepared, but Mike from second row interrupted him.
"Woah, look at that cloud!" he exclaimed and pointed out of the window. And indeed, when Stiles followed with his gaze to where Mike was pointing at there was an enormous black cloud that hovered on the horizon.
"That´s weird," Stacy commented. "Usually clouds don't appear like that."
"Is it growing bigger?" Allison asked, uneasiness evident in her voice.
"No," Stiles replied, realisation dawning on him. "It´s not growing bigger. It´s getting closer." By now the 'cloud' or whatever the hell it was, had doubled in size and was closing in faster and faster.
"Down!" Ms Blake screamed. "Everyone down! Down!" A mad scrambling ensured as everyone dived for cover. Stiles hid under his table, Scott under the one right next to him while Allison covered behind Ms Blake´s desk.
And then the cloud reached them.
Girls and boys alike screamed when the whole window front shattered into thousands of shards, showering the whole room with its sharp projectiles. Stiles covered his ears, trying to keep them out, but then the screeching started. It tore through his skull like a gun shot, as if the gates of Hell had opened up to release its screaming hordes of demons upon Earth. It was a sound of fear and unimaginable terror that it had Stiles bit on his tongue so hard that he could taste blood.
And then the cadavers started to drop.
At first Stiles thought it was some piece of clothing, but he recoiled when he recognised that it was a crow, its neck bent in an unnatural angle, its beak still open in a scream that could no longer be heard while its fathomless black eyes stared lifelessly at Stiles.
Around them crows were dropping like flies, flying against the wall and blackboard again and again until their necks finally snapped. There were blood stains on the wall – ugly red blobs on the white wallpaper – teenagers around him were whimpering as they witnessed the mindless destruction around them, and feathers floating through the air, gentle and silent, a stark contrast to the mayhem around them.
Stiles could feel his wolf rising to the surface of his mind, ready to take over and defend themselves, but the lack of an obvious culprit stayed his hands for they were in a room full of students. He could feel it, though, the power charging up underneath his skin, like electricity that was flowing through his whole body.
"Dude," Scott whispered furiously. "Your eyes…they´re glowing." The other boy looked around in panic, but the people around them had better things to do than watch them.
Stiles took a deep breath, trying to slow down his heart that was beating so fast that it felt like it was about to explode in his chest. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing – in and out, in and out – until the noise around him faded into the background and the only sound was the furious beating of his heart.
When he opened his eyes again and looked at Scott the other boy nodded at him.
By now the screeching of the crows had hushed, mainly because by now the floor was littered with dozens of lifeless cadavers, an eerie sight that made Stiles feel sick. A few of the birds still lived, barely clinging to their lives, their beaks opening and closing, but no sound coming out of them, like fish gaping on land. The whole ground was covered with corpse and feathers, as if some bizarre battle had occurred in the room and now they were witnessing the carnage left by it.
Stacy stood up, ran towards the trash can and threw up in it and from the expression of his fellow students there seemed to be quite a few that looked like they would follow her suit.
"Please leave the room and gather in the hallway," Ms Blake, visibly shaken, her skin pale, her eyes wide with fear, said as she stood up, brushing imaginary dirt off her skirt. "No one leaves the school without permission, is that clear?" Everyone nodded demurely and hushed out of the room, while Ms Blake stayed behind and took in the carnage that her classroom had become.
This day couldn't become any worse.
ii. animal two: spider
Did feeling more pity for the crows she had killed than for the girl whose throat she had slit make her a monster, Jennifer wondered as she looked upon the destructions she had wrought. Underneath her skin she could feel the power that the crows´ death had given her. It wasn't much compared to the death of the girl, for not even a murder of crow could compare to the might of an innocent human soul, but it was another step forward on her path to revenge.
For a short moment she had feared that the boy Alpha had discovered her when his eyes had started to blaze red; that he had felt the threads of power she had woven into the crows´ minds, but it had just been the panic that had made his inner wolf act up.
She would have been ready to put him down, then and there. Even his Alpha powers wouldn't have protected him from the magic she had readied in order to unleash it upon the boy should it prove necessary. She hadn't wanted to, though. She still saw the boy as kindred spirit – both of them either having suffered or going to suffer through Deucalion´s attention – and she didn't want to be the one to snuff out his light. Deucalion would be the one to do that, but she would be the one to take revenge.
To be honest, she would rather have sacrificed the crows somewhere else, but the panic and fear that had oozed from the children were another power boost she could use. Besides, young minds were much more resilient than they were given credit for, so they would be fine in a few days.
A small spark of life caught her attention. Jennifer looked down on her desk where a spider was hushing over the wood in a desperate attempt to reach cover. Disgust welling up, Jennifer send a small spark of magic towards the creature, which caused it to go up in flames.
A satisfied smirk curling on her face, Jennifer put back on the mask of a concerned and worried teacher. She had distressed students to calm down, after all.
iii. animal three: rat
Lydia´s return home was a sober affair. Her father didn't speak much, his hands gripping the steering wheel of the car as if the world would end if he just let go a little bit. Her mother was sitting next to him, her lips pressed into a thin line while every now and then she would steal a worried glance at Lydia, as if she would vanish every minute. Lydia didn't know if she should scream at the overbearing protectiveness or be touched by it. So, she decided to ignore it, instead she gazed out of the car´s windows, watching the unremarkable houses of Beacon Hill pass her by.
It would figure that the first time her parents were in the same room again after their separation was because of a parents-teacher conference the first and for their daughter being attacked the second time. Quality family bonding time.
She wasn't allowed to go back to school for at least another few days. The doctors hadn't been happy to let her go at all, but all of their tests had indicated that – physically at least – there was nothing wrong with her, so they had just ordered her parents to watch her for any signs of a mental break-down.
Lydia had wanted to scoff at that. She didn't do break-downs.
Yet, she couldn't quite shake off that feeling that she was being watched. Every now and then she could feel this tingle at the back of her neck, but when she turned around there would be nothing. Sometimes it felt as if there was something crawling underneath her skin, like thousands of insects eating her from within, but when she touched her skin it was as unblemished as it always had been.
It was disconcerting, but Lydia just pressed her lips together and forced the feelings to go away. She didn't have time for that.
"Your father will be staying with us until you can go back to school," her mother said, breaking the suffocating silence that hung over them like a thundercloud. "We don´t want you to be alone while you recover."
"I still think it´s completely unnecessary," Lydia replied. "It´s not like I´m suicidal. I´m recovering from physical wounds, there´s nothing to be concerned about, except declining standards in my Netflix queue the longer I have nothing to do."
"We´d still feel better if one of us was with you," her father spoke.
"If you say so," Lydia replied. 'As long as it makes you feel better about yourself.' She didn't voice that last thought out loud, though, for she knew how fragile the peace between her parents was. One unguarded word could very well spark another row between them.
There wasn't really bad blood between them. They were just…opinionated and didn't shy away from voicing their opinions. And sadly, a marriage couldn't survive two people that didn't do compromises. Lydia had made peace with that long ago.
The rest of the drive was spent in silence, only interrupted by her father cursing one red light and her mother sighing every now and then as if she was contemplating world peace or other such pressing matters, like how to get red wine stains out of white blouses.
When Lydia finally closed the door of her room (only after assuring her parents that she didn't need to lay down on the couch or wanted to drink some 'calming' green tea), she, too, let out a sigh of relief and let herself fall on her bed, staring at the white ceiling.
Something had changed. Not physically; no, her walls were still painted in the same shade of purple, her carpet, too, and the white butterflies above her bed still reflected the sunlight streaming through her window at the same angles. Her bed hadn't been touched since she had gone to prom, the nail polish and her make-up utensils were still strewn all over the silver bedside tables.
Yet, it didn't feel the same. Where once before Lydia had felt safe and secure, she now only felt restlessness, as if she didn't belong here anymore. The purple, once soothing and warm, now felt oppressing and overwhelming, making it feel as if the room was smaller than it actually was.
Lydia sat up and, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed and stared at her reflection in the mirror of her wardrobe. Most of the bruising and other wounds of the flesh had vanished already, leaving behind tender pink skin. She still looked the same – from the tips of her strawberry-red hair to the full lips and high cheek-bones.
It was the eyes, she decided after a while. They were no longer bright and full of innocence, like they had been before prom, when Lydia´s world still had been harmless, boring and bland. A new heaviness had settled behind the green colour, a secret knowledge that her world wasn't boring and bland. She tried to smile, but movement didn't reach her eyes; it was just a sad mockery of joy and happiness.
There was more to the attack than what everyone had told her, of that Lydia was sure. She didn't remember much, but she was certain that she hadn't been attacked by a feral mountain lion. What an abstruse explanation. Unfortunately, the only other person present when the attack happened had been Stilinski and Lydia was pretty sure that she had burnt down all bridges there.
He knew something, though, of that she was sure. After all, he did want to tell her something before she started to verbally flay him.
Letting out a frustrated huff, Lydia threw herself back on the bed. The stress of the previous days finally catching up on her, she fell asleep soon after.
Lydia didn't know how much time had passed, but when she woke up again she wasn't in her room anymore. She could hear the splashing sound of water and when she turned around she could see that she was standing in front of the local pool, its water glowing blue from the lights that were embedded in its foundation. On the other side of the pool, the neon lights above the changing rooms were flickering, but otherwise the scenery was subsumed in complete calmness.
Lydia clutched her arms around her chest as shivers wrecked her body. It may be still summer, but the nights were cold nevertheless and she was wearing nothing more than the light summer dress she had fallen asleep in. Gravel had dug into the soles of her feet, causing an uncomfortable itch.
Lydia swallowed, trying to keep the panic at bay that was rising. She was so afraid; she didn't know how she had gotten here, didn't know what had made her sleepwalk nearly one-and-a-half miles through the streets of Beacon Hills. She didn't know if it would happen again, didn't know if anyone was watching her, didn't know who was responsible.
She needed to get back home and forget that all this had ever happened. Her parents mustn't know that she had snuck out while sleepwalking; they would never let her leave the house again if they did. But just as she was about to turn around and walk back, she noticed a figure leaning against the high seat on which the pool attendant usually sat.
"Hello?!" Lydia stage-whispered. Hesitantly she took a few steps forward.
"Hello!?" she repeated, a little bit louder this time. Something wasn't right; the person – a girl, Lydia was dimly aware – didn't answer, didn't even react in the slightest to Lydia´s shouts. She just continued to stare onto the water of the pool.
Not daring to get closer, Lydia walked a wide circle around the girl until she could look her straight in the face.
And that was when Lydia finally saw why the girl wasn't answering. Soaking her white nightgown, her throat had been cut, an expression of confusion and fear etched on her face, as if she still couldn't comprehend what had happened to her. And on the edge of the pool of blood, two rats lapping up the red liquid.
Lydia screamed.
iv. animal four: wolf
The scream shot through Stiles' mind and tore him out of his sleep immediately. Without consciously doing it, his claws and fangs extended, his senses sharpening for the wolf within was as panicked as he was. There was nothing in his room, though, that warranted such an action: Papers and clothes were strewn all over the room, various pieces of newspapers and printed web-articles were pinned to the wall and all kinds of dirty dishes on his desk.
There was no danger and yet Stiles couldn't just close his eyes and go back to sleep. That scream had to have come from somewhere and from the feeling of it, Stiles would bet his collection of tortillas that looked a little bit like Jesus that it had been something supernatural. And unfortunately, anything even remotely magical fell under his purview these days. So, with a heavy sigh Stiles ran his fingers through his hair, stood up and picked up a pair of pants and a shirt from the ground.
He was struggling with getting into his jeans (apparently putting on muscle mass did make you fatter, too) when his phone rang. Diving for it, Stiles took a short moment to take in the to him unknown number before he accepted the call.
"Who´s there?" he asked.
"Stilinski?"
"Lydia?" Stiles jaw dropped and he nearly fell off the bed in surprise. Of all people that could have called him, even Jackson had been higher on his list than Lydia. After their fight Stiles had honestly thought that the girl would never talk to him again. "Are you alright?"
"I didn't know who to call," Lydia whispered frantically. "I didn't know who to call, but you´re somehow involved in all of this and I just need someone who won´t ask stupid question." She sobbed. "I need someone to help me. I didn't do it, I just found her and I don't know what to do…"
"Lydia, stop," Stiles interrupted her. "Where are you?"
"The public pool," she answered.
"What are you doing at the poll at –" Stiles glanced at his digital clock. "- three in the morning?"
"I don´t know!" Lydia hissed. "I just fell asleep and then I woke up here and there´s this corpse…"
"Wait, what?" Stiles exclaimed. "You found a corpse?!"
"Just come!" Lydia pleaded and then she had hung up. Bewildered, Stiles stared at his phone before he typed in the next number.
"Why are you calling me at 3am in the morning?" Derek´s voice sounded even more grumpy over the phone than it did in person.
"You remember Lydia, do you?" Stiles started blabbering. "The girl we found in your burnt down house who – upon us finding her – made us bleed from the ears with her screams?" Even though Derek was on the other end of the town, Stiles could practically feel him glowering at Stiles through the phone.
"What about her?" Derek asked.
"She just called me and told me that she found a corpse at the local pool," Stiles relayed what she had told him.
"Then she should call the police instead of you," Derek pointed out. Which – yeah – was the obvious choice, but Stiles kind of resented having his competence questioned like that.
"Yeah, well, it´s probably something supernatural, so maybe we should take a look before we call my dad?" Stiles suggested.
"Fine," Derek relented. "I´ll be there in ten minutes." And then he, too, just hung up on Stiles.
"Woah, rude."
v. animal five: human
The night sky was clear. Thousands of stars shone from the firmament, like a sea of precious diamonds. Only a few lonely clouds made their way across the sky, lonesome travellers on their way to God only knows where. The light of the moon and stars cast the trees of the Beacon Hill Preserve in a silver glow that made them appear as if they were part of a fairy tale, instead of belonging to the earthly plane of existence. Silence hung heavy over the area, naught a sound disrupting the calm and quiet. A picture that could have come straight out of a children's tale; a beautiful haunted forest in which the princess would find her hero and save the day.
But then a gun shot rang through the air, destroying the picturesque peace and slicing through the silence like a hot knife through butter. Crows could be heard cawing in the distance and then there was – first barely audible, but slowly getting louder – the sound of footsteps on the foliage. Someone was running through the forest, their breathing fast and irregular, their heart beating so fast that it rang through the silence like canon shots. From one moment to the next, the air was charged with fear and terror. Something was coming.
Suddenly a man broke through the shrubbery, not caring of the thorns and branches that tore into his already shabby clothing, not feeling the thin lines of blood they drew over his exposed skin. There was a maniac glint in his eyes, full of panic, hurt and also a little rage. He moved with an inhuman grace that seemed so alien on a person who looked like he had spent the better part of his life living under a bridge, but it was there, nevertheless.
A second shot rang through the air. A loud thud and then the man was falling to the ground, hissing in pain. He tried to get back on his feet, but it seemed that he was no longer in control of his movements and so he just flailed and wailed on the ground.
Around him the undergrowth parted and gave way to a group of men wearing nothing but black, military-style clothing. Machine guns were holstered over their backs while electricity crackled around the black rods that each of them were holding in their hands.
All but one of the men were wearing black ski masks. The one man who did regard the man lying on the ground with nothing but disgust and hate in his eyes.
"You're not from here, are you? Are you?!" he questioned, his voice forceful and full of malice.
"No. No," the man on the ground stammered. "I came..I came looking for the Alpha. I heard he was here. That's all. Look, I didn't do anything. I didn't hurt anyone. No one living. He wasn't, I swear."
"Gentlemen! Take a look at a rare sight. You wanna tell them what we've caught?" the older man exclaimed, extending his arms as if he was presenting something marvellous to an enraptured audience. It was a sickening spectacle.
"An Omega," on the masked men answered.
"The lone wolf! Possibly kicked out of his own pack," the old man spoke, glee obvious in his voice. He revelled in the other man´s suffering, in his sorry state. "Or the survivor of a pack that was hunted down. Maybe even murdered. And possibly alone by his own choice. Certainly not a wise choice. Because, as I am about to demonstrate, an Omega rarely survives on his own." He nodded towards one of the men who stepped forward and handed him a long object, wrapped in black cloth. Carefully, the old man unwrapped whatever laid underneath it and uncovered a sword, its blade shimmering underneath the faint moon light.
"Sir, but he hasn't broken the Code," one man objected, hesitation evident in his voice.
"Not when they murder my daughter!" the old man spit, his voice filled with venom and hate. "No code. Not anymore. From now on, these things are just bodies waiting to be cut in half. Are you listening? Because I don't care if they're wounded and weak. Or seemingly harmless - begging for their life with the promise that they will never, ever hurt anyone. Or some desperate, lost soul with no idea what they're getting into. We find them. We kill them. We kill them all!" The last words were screamed with a vehemence that the man who had voiced his objection quivered in fear. Then, in one long-drawn arc, the sword soared through the air and was brought down on the werewolf, cutting him in half.
"One down, hundreds still to go."
The night sky was clear. Thousands of stars shone from the firmament, like a sea of precious diamonds. Nobody would ever know that they had just witnessed the start of a war.
