Hello everyone!
Thank you so much for all the positive responses to Flightless Bird part 2. I'm so glad you guys enjoyed it so much, it was a blast to write (can you tell I thrive off of angst?) Did you enjoy the angst? Ok good...because that was nothing compared to what awaits. I know technically I said last chapter was the last chapter of season 1, but really, this one is the last chapter to season 1. Meaning the events of season 2 start next chapter.
Big thanks to those of you who reviewed last chapter!: Princessdarkness12 (thank you for reading this again), Peachy48 (your reviews are the best omg), Demigoddauntless (we're just getting started!), Wildrecklessyouthinme (dude I love you), Thechosenpen (dude that liveread you did on tumblr! thank you!), Brooklynn (your review means the world, no joke), TW-addict (MEANS SO MUCH COMING FROM THE QUEEN OF ANGST OMG) Januarylily (your constant unwavering support amazes me, thank you so much!)
This chapter is short, you know I love keeping things short and sweet, but I hope you guys enjoy it just the same!
-paragraphs that have been italicized are flashbacks-
A cheerful melody of a whistle left Walter's lips to hang in the air. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet while the elevator descended. His hands were stuffed in his white coat pocket feeling the packs of pudding cups he stowed away for Peter. Getting his hands on hospital pudding was tasking, anyone with common sense and a decent taste pallet would pick chocolate pudding over lime green jello. It was a battle getting these, but it was the little things that made Peter happy. The elevator doors opened, Walter walked down the hall, to Peter's recovery room.
He didn't expect it to be vacant.
Walter blinked hard, confused by the empty bed before him. He withdrew his hands from his pockets, the pudding cups falling to the floor...but he didn't care. Walter's mind was fogged with confusion, he couldn't process the obvious picture before him... Until he approached the bed. Laying there was a clipboard, Walter picked it to see it was a discharge form for Peter Hale, Nurse Jennifer having signed off on it along with a forged signature of Walter's.
The clipboard slipped from his hand to land back on the bed. Realization was an ocean of fear, the undertow pulling Walter beneath the heavy currents. The need for him to get away from the clipboard caused him to stumble backwards, knocking over a chair and landing on his elbows. The Doctor sat up, his shaking hand coming to cover his mouth, eyes still locked onto the empty bed. He had been fooled, he had been blind, the Alpha was right in front of him all along.
A sudden breath escaped Walter when the hospital speakers went off with a shrill ring.
'Doctor Grace to the second floor, code Blue."
Calmly, a little too calmly, he got up to his feet. Every stride out the door feeling heavy; like someone had strapped weights to his ankles. Walter's fingers raked harshly through his dark midnight hair, nails scraping at his tender scalp. "It can't be Peter." He whispered to himself, hospital staff looking at him with peculiar gazes, for he was assuring himself repeatedly out loud. "It can't be, he's immobilized. He couldn't hurt- He would never hurt...Laura." Walter sinking deeper and deeper into denial, even though the truth lingered on the surface.
He found himself on the second floor, all recollections of ever taking the elevator lost upon him. His feet were moving, his body following, but his mind completely numb.
Walter's eyes widened at the horrifying sight before him. In his years of work he had become accustomed to blood, gore, fatalities even. This one in particular struck a heavy chord. Brody's scrubs already blood soaked as he assisted the gurney into the O.R, shouting instructions at a gaggle of terrified nurses. A girl of Nikita's age laid unconscious, three fresh claw marks torn across her stomach. With every stifled breath she took her blood would come pulsating out, drenching her pale formal dress.
"Walter!" Melissa's voice came in sharp, her hand wrapping harshly around his forearm, his girlfriend trying to shake him out of his daze. His mossy eyes were still transfixed on the victim, he had seen her before, he knew that fiery hair. Just then Sheriff Stilinski burst through the hospital door, Nikita's ex -Jackson Whittemore- following close behind. The Sheriff himself looked frantic, yelling orders into the walkie talkie attached to his jacket. He barrelled towards Walter, who was still stuck in a state of shock and denial.
" Animal attack, her boyfriend found her on the lacrosse field." The Sheriff informed Walter, who should have been scrubbing in by now.
Of course, the girl bleeding to death in the O.R was Lydia Martin, one of Nikita's friends.
"Where's my daughter?" Walter's voice, low, almost hushed, no one seemed to hear; or perhaps no really cared.
The Sheriff had heard and turned to look at Jackson Whittemore. "Did you see Nikita Grace at the dance at all?"
Jackson was looking rather nauseous, finding it hard to keep eye contact with either Walter or the Sheriff. " I saw her in the woods before the attack."
Jackson's words came to him like a bullet to the skull. Walter's stomach churning violently at the thought of his daughter alone in the middle of the woods. Melissa let out a gasp, both her hands coming to cover her mouth. Nikita wouldn't venture out into the woods like that, she had been told, warned countless times to stay away. The back of Walter's hand came to wipe at the specks of sweat on his forehead, he could have thrown up right there.
For a moment things faded and Walter blacked out, when he came to his fingers were wrapped around Jackson Whittemore's tie, trying to throttle the boy and screaming " YOU IMBECILE. YOU LEFT HER TO DIE!"
Melissa and a few other nurses were able to pry Walter off Jackson with some struggle, the Sheriff however seemed to care less for Jackson's current situation, finding Nikita's situation to be more pressing. He brought the walkie to his mouth. " Put out an APB for Nikita Grace, last seen in the woods surrounding Beacon Hills High. Teenager, Sixteen, hazel eyes, dark hair. Get out there NOW!"
- Stiles' POV-
Peter's claws tapped against the window of the Jeep, leaving ruby dots against the glass; Lydia Martin's blood. The headlights of passing cars illuminated the Alpha's face, whatever hint of remorse he held for Nikita had now begun to dissipate, it was evident behind his oceanic eyes. Instead he was gazing hard on the road ahead, vacant in mind, or perhaps deep in contemplation. They had just left Winter Formal, tracking Scott's phone in hopes of finding Derek Hale.
"Why did you do it?" Stiles' voice cutting through the terse silence to rattle at Peter. "Why did you go after Nikita? She cared for you, she visited you often, she thought highly of you, she-"
"She was supposed to be in my pack." Peter interrupted, eyes having yet to leave the road, hands now folded neatly together on his lap. "Yes, I wanted her close because she's like my family...She is family. I know how important family is...what little she has left matters to her. She's fiercely loyal."
"So you wanted to take advantage of her loyalty, inform her on the true culprit behind the fire-" Stiles started only to be cut off."
"THAT FIRE DECIMATED MY FAMILY!" Peter shouted with a snarl that bared his fangs, his red eyes burning into Stiles with a heavy gaze, the vein on his forehead throbbing with anger. "They took everything from me!"
"And you wanted to twist something so loving and loyal into something vengeful, hateful, and angry such as yourself." Stiles continued without flinching at Peter's anger, his fingers tightening over the steering wheel. " Once you told her about what Kate Argent did, you thought Nikita would avenge you and slaughter the Argents, didn't you? If not for you...for Cora."
Peter remained silent, the red in his eyes fading back to the color of the night sky. Stiles didn't need an answer from him anyways. "As well as I knew her-" The Alpha began. " I never expected her to jump. My Kiki, she's even gutsier than I remember."
"Where is Nikita? What did you do to her?"
"Drive." Peter's simple request grating at Stiles, acting as if he didn't care.
Orange and pink ribbon clouds painted the morning sky, neither Jackson nor Stiles had a second to rest. Peter was gone, Peter was done, as was Kate Argent. The dangerous Alpha had been snuffed out and another -Derek Hale- came to take his place, but the most important question remained unanswered.
Where was Nikita Grace?
Stiles' Jeep pulled up to the school parking lot, Nikita's car abandoned and alone, where she had left it. A handful of cops were busy taping off the lacrosse field where Lydia had been attacked the other night. Both he and Jackson got out of the car, making their way to his father who was standing off to the side of the school, the men and women of his precinct surrounding him. Every officer turned to look at Jackson, the last person to see Nikita.
A woman Stiles had never seen before walked up to them. Right away the two boys felt intimidated by her presence even with her much shorter stature. With every stride she walked like she was meant for the catwalk, her own wind machine coming in with the breeze, blowing her jet colored silky tresses back. Her hands brushing away invisible crumbs that rested on her grey power suit.
"Detective Hirst." She said so nonchalantly, as if Stiles and Jackson were already a nuisance to her. Sure enough she pulled out her badge, flashing her credentials in their face. Not even a smile or a hint of kindness crossed her youthful freckle speckled face. Stiles stared at his own baffled expression in the reflection of her blue aviator sunglasses. He had only heard of her name, he had always expected Detective Hirst to be a male. He had heard of Hirst's tough as nails ways, and how interrogation with Hirst was one of the most daunting things a person could go through.
"My job here is to find the girl-"
"Her name is Nikita Grace." Stiles mumbled to himself, going unnoticed amongst Jackson and Detective Hirst.
"-And bring her home safely." Hirst continued on. " So let's not fuck around here, boys. You two played an integral role in her disappearance."
Disappearance.
The word weighed so heavily on Stiles. It hadn't even been twenty four hours and they were already calling it a disappearance. He could feel a tremble starting at his fingertips, it would slowly radiate to take on his body. Peter had said Stiles would never see Nikita again, it could have meant many things if Stiles were in denial. But he knew, deep down he knew, Nikita was dead somewhere in the woods. Her body cold and lonely, only accompanied by the woodland creatures that were feasting on her, like they had with Laura Hale. Stiles quickly shut his eyes for a second trying to get the image of Laura out of his head, feeling the sting of tears. He had to gather his emotions quick, keep his mental state together, for these next few hours were deprimential.
Jackson shot Stiles a helpless look when Detective Hirst pulled out a notepad, ready to interrogate them then and there. Stiles' father wasn't making an effort to save them from this one, still busy instructing his crew; he must have given Hirst the okay on this.
"You were the last to see Nikita Grace." Hirst pointing the butt of her pen towards Jackson, who was starting to sweat at this point, shifting around in his place. The words 'guilty' and 'moron' should have been painted on his forehead, Jackson was such shit at keeping himself together.
"Why were you in the middle of the woods, why did you leave Nikita out there by herself."
"I-I" Jackson swallowing thickly. " I needed fresh air."
"So you went in the middle of the woods? Standing outside the door wasn't good enough for you?"
"No one can find me there." Jackson trying to keep up with her quick retort, blinking multiple times.
"Who were you hiding from?" Detective Hirst quick on the rebound, pen scrawling across the notepad.
"My girlfriend. She's clingy as hell."
"She's probably too good for you." Hirst's insult coming at Jackson so fast that it flew over his head, but Stiles caught it, the corner of his lips moving up an inch.
Detective Hirst ripped off her sunglasses, her dark obsidian almond shaped eyes falling upon Stiles. "And you were her date for the night?"
Stiles, unlike Jackson, knew how Detectives work. She wasn't looking for clues in their answers, she was looking for clues in how they spoke, their body language, their tone, their tell. Jackson was failing miserably, he would most likely end up in interrogation later strapped to a lie detector test. Luckily for Jackson, his father was a well known lawyer, so Jackson's spoiled ass was saved yet again.
"I was." Stiles answering carefully, crossing his arms over his chest.
He was growing anxious now, not because he was under the scope. Stiles wanted to get to Nikita, find her, hope there was a god and that she was alive. This session with Detective Hirst was wasting precious time they could have been utilizing. It seemed his father was on the same page as Stiles, calling the rest of them in.
Detective Hirst's eyes narrowed on Stiles as he walked past her to meet up with his father and the rest of the search party. Walter Grace was nowhere to be seen, Stiles suspected the poor man was at home, grieving.
Sheriff Stilinski brought the megaphone to his mouth."Alright everyone! Listen up! We're splitting into three groups. Those to the left of me take the West of the woods, those on my right take the East end! Detective Hirst, Stiles, Jackson, with me."
The groups went off, leaving the four of them, and a K-9 German Shepherd, the leash tight in Sheriff Stilinski's grip. "Jackson. Take us to where you saw Nikita last."
The four of them started their journey into the woods, Jackson and his father a few paces ahead. Detective Hirst silently rolled up her black latex gloves on, in hopes of finding evidence. She looked to Stiles again. "Where were you after the dance? Didn't you ever, at one point, stop and wonder where your date went off to?"
"Nikita and I had an awkward exchange. She left to clear her mind, I didn't want to overwhelm her by pursuing her." Stiles already had an arsenal of answers, Detective Hirst could barrage him with questions and she still wouldn't get a thing out of him.
She nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer. "That's pretty respectful of you. You seem like a decent guy, Stiles. Being the Sheriff's son and all." Hirst walking like she owned the woods, her boots gathering wet leaves. "Being the Sheriff's son has it's privileges, like being exempt from cases like this, being overlooked as a suspect in practically everything. I guess I'll just have to ask your fellow students about that night. Find out if you did go looking for Nikita or not." Her blush colored lips curling into a smile.
Hirst's voice dropped low and she stopped walking for a moment."Being the Sheriff's son doesn't get you a free pass."
Like a hawk she watched for his reaction.
The blood in Stiles' veins turned to ice, he wanted to stop in his place, yet his feet carried on. If Detective Hirst were to ask the wrong person, they would tell her how Stiles was frantically searching for Nikita the night of the dance. It would paint him as guilty or a possible suspect in Nikita's case.
A howl sounded before them, Stiles jumped believing it was a werewolf, when in fact it was the search dog. He and Hirst sped up to meet up with his father and Jackson, the two of them bent over an object in the dirt.
"My flask!" Jackson, delighted to be reunited with his expensive flask.
"I will rip out your fingernails one by one if you so much as touch that piece of evidence." Hirst's voice dripping with disdain. Usually threatening a minor was frowned upon, but in such situations Sheriff Stilinski let it slide.
Jackson backed away not wanting to test her, or perhaps he adored his manicured nails a bit too much. Sheriff Stilinski passed the dog leash to Jackson with haste, his eyes on the small woman before him. Detective Hirst picked up the flask with her gloved hand, it rested delicately there as she examined it. They could see the pink lipstick that stained the rim of the silver flask, no doubt the same lipstick Nikita wore the other night. Hirst slid the flask into a clear baggie labeled evidence, it would later be looked at and re-examined for fingerprints.
Bruno, the search dog began to tug in the other direction, leading them a few paces down to a pair of nude high heels sitting in the dirt. Stiles recalled her wearing those shoes, he recalled how angelic she looked that night, the smile she wore when he saw her standing at the top of the stairs. Detective Hirst carefully put down a yellow marker before the shoes, meaning she would come back for the evidence later.
"The problem here." Sheriff Stilinski started. "Is that it rained for a quick moment last night. The rain could have washed away her foot prints."
"Her shoes point North, so North we go." Detective Hirst added.
Stiles was starting to feel sick now, she had taken off her shoes in attempt to outrun Peter. Stiles knew, Nikita was smart enough to do so. But there was no outrunning a werewolf, no human could accomplish such a feat. He tried hard not to imagine her screams, her struggles to get away from an Alpha Peter. He had told Stiles she had put up a fight, did she put up a fight until the very end? Did that mean Peter had killed her for resisting?
The search dog did his best to find Nikita's prints, but couldn't pinpoint a scent. They were deep in the woods now, the search was starting to feel fruitless. Jackson had been rather quiet the entire time, guilt was probably eating away at him now. Stiles nudged at him with his elbow, drawing Jackson out of silence.
"Do you think those stories of Cora Hale's ghost are true?" His voice hushed so that Hirst and Sheriff Stilinski couldn't hear.
"That's what you're thinking about right now? Really?" Stiles could have strangled Jackson right there, his anger starting to fight to the surface.
"Well if werewolves are real-"
"You're telling me you believe in Cora Hale's ghost and Suicide Hill?"
Stiles stopped in his tracks, the palm of his hand going to hold Jackson back from walking any further. "Suicide Hill." He repeated. For a moment Stiles' thoughts drifted back to the car ride he shared with Peter. Clearly remembering the Alpha muttering 'I never expected her to jump." The words hadn't registered in Stiles' mind at first, even though they were so damn clear.
"Do you have a compass?"
Jackson looked at him with narrowed eyes, his nose scrunched up. "Do I look like I would carry one with me? Use your phone, dipshit."
He didn't need a compass, his surroundings becoming familiar to him. Of course he knew about Suicide Hill, every teenager knew of Suicide Hill, their small town urban legend. Stiles always sought out adventures in the boring town of Beacon Hills, haunted places like the Hale Home and Suicide Hill were a hit especially around Halloween. He and Scott had dared each other on a few occasions to get close to the edge of the world as possible. Was it possible Nikita had taken her own life?
Stiles took off, leaving Jackson there. He passed by Detective Hirst and his father, leaving them shouting for him to come back. All of them broke into a run, following Stiles. Finally his path crossed with where Nikita had run, her footprints clear in the mud, yet no sign of Peter's. He must have ran beside her, not behind her, herding Nikita like she were a sheep, guiding her towards where he wanted to corner her. His speed picked up, going the fastest he had ever gone. Stiles wasn't a runner, his stance lazy, his feet tired, his lungs burning. He had to find Nikita, he had to find her now.
The clearing came to view now, Stiles about to meet the drop off. He doubled over as he reached near his destination, a few feet away from the edge of Suicide Hill. His frantic breathing and pounding heart broke the eerie silence of the woods. Tears started to form in the corner of Stiles' eyes, none of this felt real until now. He held his breath as he took a cautious step towards the edge of the hill, not ready to see her broken and cold body, not ready to accept the fact he had messed up.
"Stiles!" his father's shouts echoed throughout preserves as he and Detective Hirst ran to his side.
Stiles' heart lodged itself to the back of his throat as he stared wide eyed at the empty ground at the bottom of Suicide Hill.
…Peter had lied.
Nikita was nowhere to be found.
His eyes squeezed shut and when he opened them he hoped somehow she would appear before him. His father was hunched over, hands placed on his knees trying to catch his breath.
"Why did you run, Stiles?"
"I thought- I." Stiles attempting to get a word out.
"There's an indent of a human at the bottom of the hill." Detective Hirst said so casually while standing over the edge like a gargoyle perched above a city. Both Stiles and his father exchanged glances as Detective Hirst started to scale down the hill, wasting no time. Sheriff Stilinski never questioned the detective, or the possible danger she was putting herself in. Stiles scaled down carefully as well, hoping to find answers and clues to Nikita's whereabouts. After a few minutes all three of them were at the bottom of the hill.
Stiles spotted Nikita's corsage in the mud right away, the beautiful white petals of the orchid sullied by the black dirt. He made a move to run towards it, only to feel his father grab hold of his shoulder. Everything around them was evidence, or possible clues as to Nikita's whereabouts.
Detective Hirst was crouched on the ground next to the indent. Her dark eyes dancing between the ground and the edge of Suicide Hill above them. Her gloved finger dug into the soft dirt, only to wipe it on a napkin, leaving a smear of red and brown. Stiles could have fallen to his knees then, nausea grabbing a hold on him.
"She hit her tailbone first then her head." Hirst pointed out. "Which means she is most likely paralyzed, severely injured, possible brain injuries. Her blood is in the soil."
"It looks like she got up and walked away." Sheriff Stilinski pointing to what appeared to be footprints in the dirt. "How does a paralytic girl walk away?"
Hirst examined them for a moment, holding out her pen as a reference of measurement. "Size seven and a half. Left prints are deeper, meaning her right leg is damaged. She couldn't have gotten far."
They had found a sliver of hope, following the faint footprints through the woods in hopes of finding Nikita Grace. She had gone over rocks, logs, and even crossed a stream until she came to a wide open main road. Then her footprints vanished amongst the pavement.
The Sheriff ran his fingers through his sandy hair "She could be anywhere…injured and alone." Stiles could hear his father's voice crack, and it hurt him, it broke his heart. Detective Hirst rolled off her gloves to place her hand gingerly on Sheriff's Stilinski's back. His father dialed in on their radios alerting the others; leaving Stiles alone with his thoughts.
Nikita survived Suicide Hill, but now she was missing and severely injured. All because he had a moment of weakness and let Peter trump his intelligence. Nikita was his weakness, moments with her strayed him from clarity, and he loved that so much.
This…This was his entire fault.
Detective Hirst approached him, the slight breeze blowing at her raven strands. "Care to tell me how you knew where to find her?"
"I just...everyone knows about Suicide Hill." His tongue becoming clumsy, forming a sentence was becoming too great of a task. Stiles could feel sweat building between the thick hairs of his eyebrows.
The teenager looked to his hands as though the lines of his palms could lead him to Nikita. How he wished it were that easy, but nothing came to him with ease. Nothing about Nikita's disappearance made sense. Where did Peter's footprints go? Why was it just Nikita's? Had Peter taken the time to cover his tracks? Stiles' vision started to grow hazy now, his body feeling rather light. He had felt this way before in the past, this effect much too familiar. An early sign he was about to have a panic attack, he used to get them often after his mother passed away.
Hirst crossed her arms, watching him break apart before her with stunted breaths. Yet she made no effort in calming him, instead she fanned the flames. Stiles was in a vulnerable place now, making it easy for her to crack him open and find all the contents he kept inside his mind.
"I'm going to be frank here. I don't like you." She said while taking a step towards him, Stiles stumbling back. "And I don't trust you. You know more than you lead on."
Stiles shook his head, a bad idea, making him feel even more dizzy. "I don't know anything-I-I-"
His father finally finished dialing in his comrades and noticed his son struggling. Stiles was pale as a ghost now. Sheriff Stilinski ran to his son's side, placing a hand on his chest which was rising and falling much too rapidly.
"Stiles, just breathe." His father's voice guiding him to a place of comfort, but his vision began to tunnel.
"We'll find Nikita, I promise, I will do everything to find her and bring her home."
It felt like a hollow promise. Stiles fighting to find his center of gravity.
Everything faded to black.
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! For my Derek lovers, he will be back in the next chapter. Season 2 will pick up where this left off.
to clear any confusion: The Gloaming (season 1&2 of Tw) The Gloaming part 2 (Season 3a)