"Let's go," I said, and Allison pushed off the lockers that were to the immediate left of mine. We fell in step, walking across the hall before going down two flights of stairs so would could get to Coach's class. Scott would've walked me to class, but he had been at the other side of the school, therefore unavailable to walk me anywhere; so the duty to walk me to class had been thrust upon Allison. It had been that way all day, either Isaac or Allison walking me to my classes when Scott couldn't. The little quote-unquote escort squad was a result of Mason's incredibly formal death threat and Scott being generally overprotective. He had picked the people with the best ability to protect me: Allison, with an array of weapons that could be cleverly hidden on her person or in her backpack and Isaac, with his claws and the fact that he could move quicker than me (which resulted in Stiles whining and complaining about not being chosen).
"So...how are things with you and Scott?" Allison asked, trying to go about it in the most not-awkward way possible. I knew about Scott and Allison, how they dated and fought evil while I was still in school (before dying made me no longer able to attend) and while I was still 100% human; there were a few pictures of them together around the McCall household and I'd heard fragments of conversation about them through various members of the pack. I knew she still had feeling for him, even if they were in a vaguely romantic sense.
"Good," I replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear before realizing that it was not, in fact, good. "Well," I added, "as good as dealing with a psychotic alpha gets."
.
"What are you raising your hand for?" Isaac said in a hushed tone that was somewhere in between a stage-whisper and an actual whisper, leaning forward unnecessarily. I mean, we both have werewolf hearing, so everything he just did was totally not needed. But hey, human habits are hard to shake when you've been doing them for most of your life.
"I have to pee, like now," I whispered back, starting to bounce my leg up and down. My bladder was going to explode if I didn't use the facilities right this minute, but I'd probably just grow a new bladder and have all that nasty pee-water swimming about in my abdomen, but that would be utterly disgusting. I really shouldn't have downed those two and a half water bottles at lunch in hindsight, since I would get hit by the urgent need to pee last hour. But I couldn't help it, I had mistakenly grabbed a spicy chicken patty when I meant to get a regular one but being the wimp I am I didn't do anything to alter the situation and just decided "why the heck not" and went ahead and ate that chicken patty. (In reality, the patty probably wasn't as incredibly spicy as I made it out to be, but I have a super low tolerance for spicy foods, okay? Don't even get my started on salsa.) But my mouth and throat had been on fire, what was I supposed to do? Okay, yeah, I know that drinking water helps like 0%, but when your mouth and throat feel like a mildly burning house fire you start to get desperate.
"Can it wait -" he glanced over to the clock hanging on the wall, "- like five minutes? Class will be over and I don't want you to get harassed while I'm stuck in here. Scott would kill me."
"Mr. Lahey," the teacher said, stopping mid-lecture and turning away from the chalkboard, "do you have something that needs to be told to the whole class?"
"No, sir."
"Then kindly keep your mouth shut." He looked from Isaac to me, my hand still up in the air. "Yes, Ms. King?"
"I, uh," I said, lowering my arm slowly, "I just couldn't see the what you'd written. I can see it just fine now." The teacher nodded and snatched up my pen, pretending to write some of what he'd written on the board on the corner of my notebook to make the lie look convincing. When I looked back up and nodded at him, he went back to his lecture and writing on the board. As soon as his back was turned, I dropped my pen and shoved my head into my arms, leg still bouncing.
In five minutes, I shot up, shoving my notebook and pen as fast as I could into my backpack and ran for the door. I could hear Isaac calling my name behind me, probably trapped behind the sea of students that were slowly making their way out of the classroom, but I didn't care. I had to pee like a goddamn racehorse.
"You didn't fall in, did you?" Isaac asked through the door.
"No, I didn't fall in," I yelled back. It takes time to empty a full bladder, something he obviously didn't understand. When I finished doing my business and washing my hands, drying my hands on my pants since this bathroom's paper towels were nowhere to be found, I went to pull open the door - but it didn't budge. I pulled again at the door, just thinking I didn't pull hard enough to open the door; sometimes they were hard to open when it got humid out
"C'mon Isaac, open the door," I said, banging my fist on the wooden door. There was no way he could of locked it, since there was about a 0% chance that he could have magically swiped the keys from the janitor in the time it took him to make his way down the hall to the bathroom. When there was no answer from him, I tried pulling on the door again with as much strength as I could muster. "This isn't funny, open the door."
Then there was growling. It was Isaac. I pounded my fist on the door, frantically this time. "Isaac, let me out!" There was no response, only more growling and the sound of footsteps. I pulled as hard I could at the door, trying to think of a way to get it open. I couldn't pull out the pins that held the door to the wall since the hinges were on the outside. I was about to give up until I heard the sound of a body smacking into the ground and floor tiles shattering. At that moment I backed up and started ramming against the door with my shoulder. The fourth attempt shattered the top half of the door into splinters, and I jumped out the opening, only to be grabbed by a pair of incredibly strong arms. The person was definitely not Isaac or Mason, considering that the latter was holding the earlier by the collar of his shirt, punching him across the face.
"LET GO OF ME!" I shouted, clawing furiously at the arms across that had places themselves across my chest. I wriggled and clawed at them, trying to get free and help Isaac, but they held steadfast.
Mason let go of Isaac's shirt and his head lolled back, hitting the smashed tiles under his head. Isaac groaned, head rolling to the side slightly. "Mason, plea -" I started pleading, but he flicked out his wrist, exposing a handful of claws. He pulled his arm back, and my eyes widened. "- no, don't. Mason, don't. Please, please, Mason -"
His arm swung forward and I flinched, turning my head away. The sound of tearing fabric was enough to make my skin crawl, but the sound of claws going through flesh made bile rise up in he back if my throat. As if to torture me - and it probably was - Mason continued to swing back as forth across Isaac's chest. "Please," I sobbed, "please stop." Mason paused mid-slash, glancing up at me.
"What was that?" he asked.
"Please stop Mason, you're killing him. Just stop."
"Only because I love hearing you beg," he replied, like he was baby-talking to a puppy. "Let her down." He motioned with his hand for the still-unidentified person dower lease me. "He'll be dead soon enough."
The unidentified person dropped me and I ran over to Isaac, dropping to my knees. I didn't even care that Mason was standing just a few feet away, probably walking away by now, because my focus was all on Isaac; his shirt was shredded and there were slashes littering his chest. I don't know how many times Mason raked his claws across Isaac's chest, but it was enough to leave exposed muscle tissue and to have him bleed profusely. I swore I could see the pinky-white of his rib cage. His face was beaded with sweat and his breathing was shallow.
"Oh my god," I mumbled, hands hovered, shaking, above his chest. "Isaac..." He was going to bleed out of the floor, or just die from overall shock, and it was all my fault. "Isaac - Isaac, stay with me," I said, shuffling around in my pocket with one hand, trying to grab my phone. "You're going to be okay, I'm going to call Scott -" I broke off, breaking into a sob, "- a-and we're going to get you to Deaton's, okay?" Why the hell couldn't I find my phone? Its not like my pants pockets were that goddamn big. "Scott's gonna get here and everything's going to be okay." I finally was able to find my phone and pull it out of my pocket. I held down the number 3 as well as I could with my shaking hand, trying to successfully use the speed-dial feature on my phone. As soon as the call started, I put it on speaker phone and set the phone on the ground.
"Nat? Where are you?" came the tinny voice of Scott from the phone.
"Scott," I choked out.
"What's wrong?"
"Scott, it's- Mason- he- he-"
"Where are you? I'm coming to get you right now."
"Th-third floor. E-end of the h-hallway."
.
Stiles opened the door for Scott and I as we carried Isaac into the clinic. Blood was soaking through the sweatshirt I had tied around his chest before Scott had arrived. Deaton quickly ushered us into the back room.
"Lay him on the table," he ordered, and we obeyed. "Scott, I'm going to need you to help me."
Scott nodded, reaching over and grabbed a mask and a pair of gloves from the small metal tray next to the operating table.
"Where's the bathroom?" I asked, feeling the urgent need to wash off the blood that had gotten into my hands from lifting and moving Isaac off. It made my skin crawl.
"Next room, down the hall," Scott said as he pulled the blue paper mask over his nose and mouth.
I nodded, following his directions to a small bathroom that had an all white interior. I turned the sink of full-blast, giving my hands a nice coating of foamy soap before beginning to scrub them furiously. When I finished removing Isaac's blood from my hands, I had about a millisecond to turn and get near the toilet because I was about to lose my lunch. I gripped the sides of the toilet seat with my still-wet hands, heaving the contents of my stomach into the bowl.
I didn't think he'd go through with it. I didn't think he'd really go after on of my pack. It was making me sick, literally.
When I finished donating my stomach contents to the porcelain throne, I finally dried my hands and exited the bathroom. When I reached the waiting room, Lydia and Allison were just walking into the clinic.
Apparently, Mason had sent his other beta after them, but Allison had been prepared. They ended up duking it out in the street after the beta - the unnamed girl - jumped out in front of Allison's car and punched her way through the windshield.
"Are you guys okay?" I asked.
"Yeah, we're fine," Lydia said.
"Just a few scratches," Allison added, rubbing her elbow, where a patch of road rash ran up her arm; there was one on her knee too. She had a few tiny scratches on her face and hands, which I assumed was from the shattered windshield. Lydia seemed unscathed, probably engaging in zero fighting whatsoever.
Then we were all silent. We knew we couldn't lighten up the situation with jokes or witty banter right now, since Isaac could be on the verge of no longer living. We each took a seat, sitting in the silence together.
An hour later, Deaton emerged from the doorway, Scott following behind him.
"Isaac will be fine," Deaton said. "He'll need a few days to heal, though."
.
"Maybe..." I trailed off, staring at my lap and playing with Scott's fingers, whose were laced with mine, before looking at him. "Maybe I shouldn't go to school tomorrow."
"That sounds like a good idea," he said, unlacing our fingers and wrapping his hands around mine.
A/N: HOLY COW IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME. Sorry for not updating for a while, but right now I've got parts written in the remaining chapters. I'm hoping to finish this story by the time I get out of school (June 6th) or the week after. That may or may not happen, since I am terrible at time management. LETS HOPE FOR THE BEST.
Also I'm sorry at the house fire part but I just cackled in class when I was writing it and I had to keep it even though it's a really bad metaphor sorry not sorry.