Emma's POV
Emma remained curled up into a tight ball on the floor, watching the light from the hallway wash over her bedroom as the door was struck open in haste.
"Emma?" The familiar voice coming from the boy she loved gave her a transcendent surge of relief. She leapt out of her position, slightly dizzy from her swift change in footing. She reached for Stiles, who was standing by the end of the bed, and threw her arms around him. He eagerly hugged her back, his warm breath smoothing down the back of her neck.
"Stiles... Stiles..." She pressed her body against his, embracing him as if it would be the last time.
"Hey," he consoled her, "Hey, you okay?" Emma felt herself trembling in his arms. It was indescribable... the feeling of being sure she was going to die within the next minute... then the relief of knowing she wasn't. She couldn't believe it. Emma dug her nose into Stiles' linen shirt, the soft scent of his sweat tickling her nose. She finally let out the pressure of her breath, feeling her lungs narrow in her chest as she exhaled. "Are you okay?" Emma looked up at him, the light from the hallway illuminating his features. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
"I thought... I don't... where is my dad? What happened? Where..." Emma choked on her shallow breaths, feeling Stiles' cool palms on her cheeks.
"Emma," he lowly said, "I don't know where he is." Emma's shuddered, a shaky breath slipping through her lips.
"No, no, he was just downstairs... how -how did you get here? Stiles, you could get hurt, what are you-"
"Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay," he consoled, his eyes boring into hers, "Listen, there's no one downstairs. It's okay, you're safe."
"But my dad... where is he? He was just downst-"
"I know, Emma, I know. Breathe, okay? We'll find him."
"Let's go," she stated, stepping out of his grasp.
"Wait," Stiles said, reaching for her wrist, "Please wait." Emma looked back at him, his hazel eyes gleaming. She looked at him with a grimace, realizing how frantic she was being. "Please, just try to relax first." Suddenly, she heard the clang of an object hitting the floor. She looked down to see that the sound came from her, thoughtlessly dropping the knife she didn't know she still had. She looked back up to see Stiles staring at it, his lips slightly parted.
"Stiles, there was something or someone or... it was in my house and it went after my dad and I don't know what to do, Stiles, I don't know where my dad is or if he's alive or if I -if I got in the way and he... he died because of me, and I don't -"
"Emma," he sternly interrupted. He stepped forward, taking her hands into his. His eyes were focused on hers as he spoke, "Please, just breathe for a second, okay? The police are here, it's going to be alright. Do you understand?" Emma quickly nodded and pressed her lips together. She attempted to slow down her breathing. Emma felt Stiles' calloused palms pressing against the backs of her hands.
She breathed deeply, "I need to find my dad... I need to find him, Stiles." Stiles nodded, but didn't let her out of his grip. "Stiles," she repeated, only to be answered in the same way.
Emma sighed, pulling her hands back to her sides. She attempted to step past him but fed into her impulse and quickly tightened her hands around the sides of his neck, kissing him hard. She pulled back from his lips as abruptly as she approached them, meeting her eyes with his.
"What are you going to do?" Stiles asked with a quick shake of his head and eyes swimming in pain.
"Find my dad." Stiles looked down and swallowed.
"I'm coming."
"Stiles, you can't-"
"Emma, go, you're wasting time." Emma choked on a sob and sprinted out of the bedroom, dashing down the stairs. She felt Stiles' presence following her like a ghost. Red and blue police lights flickered through the large living room window, reflecting against the walls, plunging the first floor of the house in and out of shadow. Emma tasted blood on the tip of her tongue, a result of the mindless chewing she'd been doing on her bottom lip the whole night. Emma snapped her head back to the front door, seeing it was still completely blocked off with heavy furniture. Confirming that the only people in the building were her and Stiles, Emma ran to the back of the house. As she slightly stumbled over the clutter, she finally reached the opened back door. A gust of wind traveled through the door frame into the house, pushing the hair out of her face. She stood in front of the door and felt Stiles' chest bump against her back.
Stiles' POV
All that Stiles could hear was the furious wind from outside, and when it ceased, the sound of his girlfriend's short breaths filled his ears. He stared out at the vacant backyard, only to soon find it wasn't empty. A figure came out from the small shadowed field, advancing towards them. Emma timidly jolted against Stiles as the stranger stepped into the house, the soft screech of rubber depressing on the floor echoing through the room. A flashlight's blinding glow suddenly bit into his eyes. Stiles quickly gripped Emma's arm, tightening his fingers around her forearm.
"Are you two alright?"a low-toned voice came from the stranger. Once his vision settled, Stiles realized it was a police officer who was speaking to them. The teenagers countered with silence. "Let's get you two some help," the man patiently said. Stiles realized his father was most likely close; outside, probably. What would he say if his dad asked him what he was doing there? Well, the truth. That Emma sounded upset over the phone and he decided to come over. But with Stiles' crime-scene crashing record, his father wouldn't believe it. No way. Stiles pushed the thought to the back of his mind. It didn't matter. All that mattered now was Emma.
"Okay," Emma softly choked, "Thank you." Stiles watched her shoulders rise as she took in a deep breath. Emma slowly traipsed forward, detaching her arm from Stiles' grip. Losing contact with her so suddenly cast an empty chill through his body. Emma quickly turned her head and looked at Stiles with distressed eyes. She extended her arm to him and bit on her swollen bottom lip, waiting for him to take her hand. Stiles fleetingly grazed her hand and slid his fingers in the spaces between hers. She clamped her hand, holding onto him as if she would lose him if she didn't.
They stepped outside into the brisk night as the officer led them around the house, flashlight pointed, hand over the gun in his holster. Turning the corner suddenly fused them with the swarm of people occupying the front yard and driveway. Stiles took in the sight of the hushed crowd, strengthening his hold on Emma's hand. The officer that was accompanying them held a tight smile and motioned to them to move forward. Stiles' father seemed to come out of thin air, looking at Emma warmly. He then noticed Stiles, then how his son's hand was intertwined with Emma's, a puzzled expression washing over the man's face. Stiles could practically hear his father thinking that he had to focus on the important part, the crime, the victim. The association of that word with Emma sent a pinch to his heart.
Another figure quickly appeared beside Emma, causing her to quiver once again. "The house is clear, sir," the officer said with haste. Stiles' father nodded and thanked him, then turned his attention back to the trembling girl.
"Miss. Landson, are you okay? Are you in need of any medical attention?" Stiles watched as Emma shook her head no, her brown eyes wide. "Alright, we're going to take you to the station, okay?"
"What about my dad? Do you know where he is? Where- where is he?" she asked with a shaky voice. The Sheriff looked at her with sympathetic eyes.
"We- we don't... what's most important now is that you are in a safe environment, okay?" A medic approached them, holding a brown wool blanket. She silently nodded to Emma with a smile. Emma replied with a nod back and the woman placed the blanket over Emma's shoulders. Stiles could see that Emma wanted to speak, she looked like she was about to burst, in fact, but she only acknowledged the Sheriff's statement with a quiet dip of her head. Her eyelids dropped as she stared at the ground, her urgent eyes suddenly turning somber. Tired. She looked so weak. So beaten.
"Thank you," she said, not being clear to who exactly she was speaking to. The utter powerlessness Stiles felt ate away at him. It seemed that all he ever did was watch the girl he loved suffer. He never stopped the pain. He just watched.
Emma detached her hand from Stiles' grasp and crossed her arms, looking up at the Sheriff.
"Alright," he softly said, putting his hand over her shoulder and leading her away from the house. Stiles dug his hands into his pockets, sharply taking in a breath, watching Emma being led into the backseat of a cop car. She bleakly sat down, pulling the blanket tighter against her body. The car door was shut, hiding her behind the tinted glass.
"Dad," Stiles called, jogging to his father, "Dad, let me go with her." He was met with steely eyes.
"Stiles, I don't- I don't even want to have this conversation right now. What the hell are you doing he- can you comprehend how bad this lo- no, we'll talk about this later. You go straight home and you stay there." His father's words were spat sharply and angrily. Frustrated, Stiles quickly shook his head.
"No, she can't just... she can't just be forced to go through all this alone," Stiles bickered. They looked at each other with serious expressions. They hadn't spoken like this to each other in ages. But this was important. Emma was alone and scared and she needed someone. Someone who'd hold her. His father only pointed a finger at him with clenched teeth.
"Go. Home."
Emma's POV
The adrenaline that had been surging through Emma's body took its toll, finally slipping away and putting her in a tired haze. She sat in the chilled vehicle looking through the window, the Sheriff's back facing her. She watched Stiles throw his arms up in frustration at his father. "No," she whispered to herself. She didn't want him to be so upset. She didn't want him to fight with his father. How did he even get there? When did the police get there? How long was that thing in her house? Where did her dad- Stop. Emma forced herself to shut out the thoughts. She watched her boyfriend's angular figure storm away, away from the house and out of her sight. Emma dug her face in her hands. What hell.
The drive to the police station seemed short, but Emma figured it was only because she kept dozing off in the backseat. Once she was sitting in one of the station's small offices and holding a paper cup of hot coffee in between her hands, the tiredness seemed to cease for a bit. The Sheriff sat in the chair across from her, a large oak desk separating them.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. Emma stared down at the russet beverage, her eyes stubbornly following the circle of where the coffee met the pearl inside of the paper cup. The tick-tock of the clock on the wall seemed to go slower than it was supposed to.
"Tired," Emma answered, her throat scratching with her words.
"I know you don't have any family nearby that you could stay with for the night, so you'll be in Victim Services tonight, after I take down your statement. Now, Victim Services is under strict surveillance at all times. It is secured. Alright?"
"Yes, thank you." Emma heard the rattle of a pen.
"Now, could you go through what happened before you placed the call."
"Okay," Emma sighed, feeling as if she'd be willing to do anything but that. She didn't want to relive it. "My dad... okay, me and my dad were in the dining room and there was just a really loud noise. I didn't- I didn't see what it was, or- who it was."
"Alright, then what happened?"
"Then, then my- my dad told me to run outside."
"Did your father look like he was expecting this? Did he seem prepared?" Emma snapped her head up to be met with the Sheriff's grey eyes.
"No, no. He was... I don't know, he just... I guess he knew something bad was happening and he wanted to protect me."
"Okay, so you ran outside and you called 9-1-1, am I correct?"
"Yes."
"And then?" Emma felt her heart quicken its pace. God, she had to lie to a police officer now. A Sheriff. Her boyfriend's father. He was trained to be able to tell when people were lying. Hell, even Emma knew how to tell when someone's being deceitful. Her father taught her that kind of stuff. He said it was good to know. The sudden image of her father's face in her mind sent a pang of anxiety through her body. She then thought of how she saw the ghost of her mother in her bedroom. The sudden rush of images and feelings caused Emma's throat to tighten, refusing her any air. She struggled through short breaths and looked down again, tears welling in her eyes. "Take your time," the Sherrif's voice sounded so loud. So, so loud. Emma stared down at the coffee again, tapping the cup with her fingernail.
"Then," Emma continued, "I'm sorry, I don't quite remember. I'm so, so tired."
"Okay, Emma, I'm going to ask you once more... and if you really feel like you're too tired right now, we can continue this later. Okay? Now, breathe. Relax. Tell me what happened after you placed the call." Emma took a sip of the coffee, the liquid burning the bitten flesh of her lip. I ran back into my house and grabbed a knife and found my father fighting a werewolf and stabbed the werewolf in the back. She shook her head as if she was shaking her thoughts away.
"It... it all happened so quickly."
"The officer that helped you found you in the house. What were you doing in there? Why didn't you stay outside?"
"Um... I think... I don't know, I didn't want to stay in the backyard... I felt like I needed to help my dad, I guess."
"And what happened when you went back into the house?"
"I, um... I stayed in the kitchen. I heard a lot of... a lot of stumbling and, and things moving, from the living room, I think. But... I stayed in the kitchen. And, and eventually the noise just stopped."
"Alright," the Sheriff said calmly, "And you didn't see anyone after you made the call? Not your father or any intruders?"
"Right," Emma said quickly.
"Okay," he replied after a few seconds of silence. Emma looked back up to see him closing the file, which relieved Emma. It was over. At least for now. "I'm going to take you down to Victim Services so you can get some sleep, alright?"
Emma was soon lying on an firm spring mattress, curled up in crisp, new pajamas and covered with a scratchy blanket. She wished she could just be home, but then again, she didn't really have a home anymore. Not a safe one. Not a happy one. As Emma laid in the dark, her tears moistened the pillow. Every drop that rolled across her face hit the cushion with a tap. Emma tried to keep her crying quiet. But her thoughts were ruthless. Just when she thought she'd be okay, her life had collapsed once more. It was official. As Emma gave into her heavy eyelids, she realized she was never going to have a normal, happy life.