ii - cheap coffee
chapter one
cheap coffee
Beacon Hills, California. February 16, 2012.
04x?
TW: MENTIONS OF PAST INJURIES AND CHARACTER DEATH
Her skin was rapidly paling, crimson blood slipping out of her back. It slipped through his fingers, staining the ground in its dark color. The sharp, metallic smell of blood hit his nose so forcefully that his mouth ran dry and his eyes began to water.
She was going to die.
Her eyes were filled with tears as well, but despite the fact she was staring death in the face, she still smiled. His shaking hands brushed her hair away from her face in a silent attempt to soothe her worries. He gripped her hand tightly, as if, by some miracle, he would be able to lessen her burdens one last time.
But nothing changed.
"I can't," his voice was soft, but ragged with pain, "I can't take your pain..."
"Because it doesn't hurt."
The soft glow of the moon casted a heavenly light on her rapidly paling skin in a form of morbid beauty. Her eyes, her big, bright brown eyes, were somehow filled with love and pain, as if it was some last gruesome joke from the universe. The realization of what was happening settled in quickly and he felt something cold and hard settle in the pit of his stomach.
If he focused his hearing, he would've heard a banshee screaming.
"No," he said, shaking his head in denial. His throat was rapidly closing, almost like he was having an asthma attack. His free hand pressed against her wound in her back, the blood quickly staining his shaking hand as his breathing became more ragged. This couldn't be real, this couldn't be happening... not to her, not to anyone.
It wasn't supposed to end this way.
"It's okay," she whispered. Her head tilted to the side, resting on his arm as she stared up at him in adoration. The light was beginning to leave from her eyes, slowly dripping away like water from a leaking faucet. She was an angel, he decided, she was an angel and God was calling her back to heaven.
He wanted her to stay, just like the selfish person he is.
"Allison," he sobbed and she watched through dying eyes. His heart was slowly fracturing, little pieces breaking off and falling to the bottom of his chest. They formed a little pile, a pile that would only get bigger the longer she suffered. She didn't seem scared, she seemed content, as if she wasn't bleeding to death in his arms, as if her whole world wasn't being turned on its head.
Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just him.
"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay." Her voice was shaky, like it was taking every once of her fading will power to speak. Blood dribbled past her mouth, staining her teeth and lips crimson. A single tear slipped past her eye.
"It's perfect." She wheezed, "I'm in the arms of my first love. The first person I ever loved. The person I'll always love. I love you. Scott." Her hand drifted upward, slowly reaching up to cup his cheek. "Scott McCall."
"Don't, please, don't. Allison don't, please." His sobs were coming out sharp and broken, his pleads not much different. He leaned into the touch, his eyes never leaving hers. While her hands were rapidly losing warmth, her touch seemed to burn, searing itself into his memory. She was growing heavy in his arms, her strength nearly gone. She was close to death, nearly as close as the time they sacrificed themselves to find the Nemeton.
Only this time, she wasn't coming back.
"My dad," she gasped, looking up at him with desperate eyes. Her voice was a sad, broken whisper, getting softer and softer the more she spoke. But, as weak as she was, she tried to speak louder. "You have to tell my dad. You have to tell my dad. Tell him... tell him..."
He nodded rapidly, giving her his undivided attention as she struggled to get the words out. Her hand fell from his face at the movement, sliding downward until it reached the collar of his shirt. The touch had his mind reeling, sending him back to the time when they were together and would sneak away from prying eyes just to be themselves. Her touch seemed to make him hyper focused, noticing every little detail around him until he allowed himself to get lost with her.
He didn't like what he was noticing.
The grip she had on his shirt was strong, stronger than a person's grip should be if they had been stabbed. She was almost using it as leverage, as a way to pull herself up if the need arose. The bleeding in her back didn't seem to be slowing, if anything, it was growing faster. Her heartbeat was still steady and strong.
Something wasn't right.
"Allison?"
In a fluid motion, he was pinned to the ground, Allison above him.
"Tell him," she seethed, "that it was your fault."
Her tears were soon replaced with blood, blood that began to leak out of her nose and ears. Her teeth were coated in blood as she gave him a bloody grin and blood dripped off of her face, falling onto his. He squirmed under her grip.
"What's the matter, Scott?" She purred, leaning closer to his face, "Can't own up to what you did?"
Allison's grip became impossibly tight, sure enough to leave bruises. Her brown hair fell from its tightened position, ticking his face as they brushed over his cheeks. The metallic smell of blood was thick in the air, like smoke after a forest fire, but there was no fire there.
There was only a murder.
More blood fell from her eyes in a morbid form of tears, each and every one of them falling onto his face. Tears of his own slipped past his eyes, but instead of smelling like iron, he only smelt salt. There was a sick twist in his gut and he wondered if crying blood only happened to dead people. Or maybe he caused her this pain when he killed her.
Despite the fact she was only using one hand to hold him down, he couldn't break free from her grasp. His super strength was useless against her, even if he could throw her off and try to escape, she would have him back on his knees with just a single word.
A single guilt and he would crumble all over again.
Her bleeding eyes never broke contact with Scott, her free hand reached behind her, pulling a chinese ring dagger out from its sheath. She tilted her head ever so slightly to the side before relinquishing her grip. A small whimper slipped past Scott's closed lips at the change in pressure. She straddled herself over his waist, legs spread wide enough to maintain her balance if she wished to lean closer to him.
She stayed where she was and her gaze finally shifted from Scott, coming to rest on the blade she was carefully running her fingers over. A little bit of moonlight reflected off the blade, casting a silver light on her brown eyes. She was an angel, he recalled from earlier, she was an angel.
But Lucifer was always said to be the prettiest before he fell.
Beautiful, he realized, a beautiful sin.
"'From dust we come, to dust we go,'" her voice was slow and melodious as she spoke. She slowly shifted her eyes back to him, her fingers never cease their slow and steady movements. "It's what God said back in the old testament, Genesis, if I remember correctly. He was talking to Adam when he said that, the first man, telling him he would become dust when he died. But," her head tilted to the side curiously, "what happens to a werewolf when they die?"
Lightning fast, her hand pinned his above his head while her other brought her dagger above her own. "Well, she said, and for a heart stopping moment, Scott was reminded of Kate, "Let's find out!"
"SCOTT!"
"Allison stop!" He shouted, his hands reflexively coming up to guard his face. He vaguely noted that the hand that was on his shoulder removed itself after the words left him. His heart was thundering in his ears and the sound nearly took him back to the night he was first bitten, where the deer nearly trampled him to death.
Where the mysterious girl had saved him...
"Scott? Hey, Scott? Can you hear me?"
Stiles spoke hesitantly and his fingers seemed to fiddle on their own accord, as if they had a mind of their own. His friend's concerned gaze didn't stray from his face as he did his best to compose himself. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, his sleeves picking up a few stray tears as he did his best to appear calm.
"Yeah, sorry," he could hardly bring himself to meet Stiles' gaze, too fresh from the nightmare, "Must have dozed off."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles open his mouth, most likely to call him on his bullshit, but he closed it at the last moment, focusing his attention back on the road, to which Scott couldn't be more grateful. A silence drifted over the two and he mindlessly rubbed the sleeve of his hoodie, the smooth motion the only thing anchoring him to the real world.
The only thing that kept him from getting lost in his head.
The window was cold against his forehead, his breath fogging the cool glass. It distracted him from the throbbing between his eyes, but it did little to soothe him. The rattling of the Jeep's engine was background noise to him, something he knew was there, but heard it so much he naturally tuned it out. It was a constant, a vibrating buzz in the back of his mind.
It was, until it wasn't.
The sound of keys jingling was almost unnoticeable, but they quickly replaced the sound of the Jeep's rattle. Scott blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by the sudden silence and turned to Stiles, who was moving to leave the car. He did his best to blink away his daze.
"What're we doin'?"
"Gotta get some gas, or else we won't be able to leave school."
Oh, Scott thought, that makes sense. His eyes drooped closed again, fatigue pulling down on them like weights. Sleep was close, nearly within his grasp, when something fell onto his lap. He flinched awake, finding Stiles had thrown his wallet at him.
"Yeah, no." Stiles snarked in disapproval, as if he wasn't nearly falling asleep at the wheel two minutes prior. "Do yourself a favor and go get some coffee. You'll fall asleep during class if you don't."
His friend's serious gaze cut through any sort of excuse he might have tried to make. His expression was void of the sarcastic humor it usually held. The lack of his usual bright smile only made the bags under his own eyes more pronounced, an indicator of his own sleepless nights, of his own nightmares and trauma. But he looked at Scott in concern, like his needs were more important than his own.
They were broken, Scott's foggy mind perceived, but they were broken together.
"Yeah, okay," Scott smiled sleepily, affection clear in his tone, "But I'm getting you one too, or else you'll end up crashing your crappy Jeep."
Stiles' caring attitude vanished into the wind and he scowled, waving the gas pump in Scott's direction. "Her name is Roscoe, you furry asshole, and if you insult her again you'll be walking to school."
"Like hell. You love me too much."
Stiles let loose a displeased grunt, tossing a hand over his shoulder in departure as Scott left the car. The cool January air nipped at the fabric of his hoodie, whipping it around wildly. The sudden change from the warm car to the cold breeze was welcomed. It woke him up just enough to be able to get he and Stiles from coffee.
The gas station (which was a little place called Grab and Dash) had a little bell over the door that rang when he pushed it open, announcing his presence to the employees and customers. The smell of coffee and breakfast pizza swirled around his sensitive nose, worsening his pounding headache. The employee behind the counter scoffed at his wince, mumbling something along the lines of 'weak stomach' under his breath as Scott passed.
Scott couldn't help but duck his head in shame. The sensibility of his nose had increased since Allison's death. Smells that were too strong, or smells that reminded him too much of that night were all that was needed to push him over the edge and have a meltdown.
The coffee machine was placed in the middle of the opposite wall, furthest from the entrance door that was placed in the corner of the room. While one employee ran the cash register, another worked on preparing the breakfast pizza and other foods. One blond boy dressed in a simple red jacket and a pair of jeans browsed through the packaged sweets, mumbling prices under his breath as he shopped.
The over powering smell of coffee nearly put him flat on his back. His stomach rolled rebelliously the closer he got, his nose practically screaming in protest. He blinked past his blurry vision as he grabbed two large cups, already mentally planning the order.
Stiles takes his black, he thought in a vain attempt to distract himself, he takes it black because any more sugars or creamers and he'll be bouncing off the walls. Then the sheriff will have to come to school and he doesn't need to come to the school because he's already busy trying to pay for the Eichen House and MRI bill and-
His hands swapped out the cups before Stiles' could overflow. He took advantage of the change as soon as it happened.
"I always put some creamer in mine," he mumbled. The new tactic brought momentarily relief to his senses, dispelling the overwhelming smell of coffee for a few, short, sweet moments. He continued with a new found strength. "I put creamers in mine because... because..."
Because my taste buds are always sensitive to bitter things, he thought vaguely, suddenly hyper aware of the rapid beating of his heart. He swallowed thickly. And because I might not be able to drink it now because I'm nauseous and everything makes me nauseous now and I haven't not been nauseous since the day Allison died and-!
His movements were extremely sharp, like if he moved quick enough he could escape his own thoughts. His hands rapidly threw lids on the cups while his mind was being funneled in a downward spiral, the end of it leading into memories he did not want to revisit. Ever.
His vision started spotting, taking away the brightly lit gas station and replacing it with the dark exterior of Eichen House. The sharp smell of blood entered his nose and the nausea in his stomach churned rapidly, nearly sending him to his knees. Allison's soft voice and faltering heart beat danced in his ears, pulling him back to the god awful place and it's so dark and cold and nononono don't please Allison don't go please don't go-!
He turned abruptly, dead set on forgetting the coffee and going straight to school when he hit someone, sending them both down to the ground.
Something seemed lodged in his throat as he stared at her dying form. Her breath kept hitching, like she couldn't get enough air and her gaze was shifting across his face wildly, trying to take in every single detail. His hand gripped hers tightly, as if, by some miracle, he would be able to lessen her burdens one last time before she passed.
But nothing happened.
"I can't," his voice was soft, but ragged with pain, "I can't take your pain..."
"Because I'm not hurt, you dumbass, get the hell off of me."
The smell of lavender and old books drifted across his nose, cutting through the vision of blood and death. As his vision cleared, the fluorescent lights of the gas station returned, followed by the person he knocked to the ground.
The frown gracing her face was the first thing he took note of, along with her stunning, bright blue eyes. Her golden blonde hair fell in soft curls off of her shoulder, coming to a rest near her mid-bicep. Her dark blue denim jeans went nicely with her white vans that she wore. Her top was a simple white shirt, with WAFFLES ARE PANCAKES WITH ABS in bold, black lettering. Beneath it was a little doodle of a sad pancake standing next to a waffle that was flexing its biceps.
It was a simple white shirt, which was now sporting a brown stain.
The sight of her sent his heart racing.
"Oh my god."
"Dude, let me up."
"I am so sorry."
"Honestly, it's fine, just let me up."
Her lightly accented words finally cut through the fog in his brain and he scrambled back to his feet, already offering her a hand in the process. She eyed him in distrust, almost like she thought he was going to push her to the ground again. He opened his mouth to convince her that he wasn't going to do that, she grabbed his hand and pulled herself up.
She shifted uncomfortable as the coffee stained shirt clung to her skin, grabbing some napkins to try and get as much of it off her shirt as she could. Scott sent her a guilty look. She scowled the minute she saw it.
"If you try to say you're sorry again, I will punch you.
His jaw closed with a loud snap and she couldn't help but snort in amusement.
The coffee was drying on her shirt, staining the once crisp white color a light brown and she frowned in disdain. There wasn't enough time to run home, change, and make it to school on time. She would either be late or she would have to go to school with a stained shirt. What a perfect start, she thought bitterly, perfect for the cursed family.
"I'm still sorry."
She sighed, "What did I say about apologizing?"
"I shouldn't have done that. I should have watched where I was going-"
"Have you never heard of an accident? And I should have made some noise, let you know I was there-"
"And now I ruined your shirt-"
"The shirt is fine, what about your coffee?"
"What?"
"Your coffee? It's on the ground."
She was right. The coffee was spilled across the floor, the cups sitting in them as the Grab and Dash logo starred up at him mockingly. The overworked and underpaid employee scowled at them from behind the counter before going into the back to get a mop. Scott sighed, throwing the useless cups in the trash and ran his fingers through his hair, "That was fun while it lasted."
His body moved ahead of his mind, hands already grabbing cups and feet steering themselves towards the coffee machine. Stiles takes his coffee black, he thought. A hand over his stopped his movements.
"Hey," the girl said, a sudden gentle look in her eyes, "Let me get that."
"But..?"
"Just go get the coffee sleeves for me, okay?"
Despite the fact that her voice held a gentle tone, he knew what she said wasn't a request. His heavy gaze met her concerned one and, for an unexplainable moment, neither broke eye contact. The staring went on for a few seconds before her gaze seemed to soften even more, sending him a gentle smile. "Please?"
The pleading look in her blue eyes had him halting in his tracks, his resolve crumbling in his chest. He sighed and gave a nod of confirmation as he grabbed the little cardboard sleeves. The employee scowled at him as they mopped up the spilt coffee, their distaste in the task was shown clearly on their face until the moment they left. The girl paid them no mind, filling up the new cups with an untroubled expression, like she didn't just have hot coffee spilt on the front of her shirt."I'm still sorry."
She sighed, sending him a slight exasperated look, "Didn't we establish that it was fine?"
"But your shirt-?"
She winced at the mention, looking down on the material in disdain. "It's fine," she said, her voice sounding oddly flat, "I'll just have to wash it out tonight after I get home from school."
"But shouldn't you go home and start soaking it, then you have the chance to change?"
"Can't." She said with a careless shrug, "Don't have time."
"But your shirt..."
"Will probably stain. I know."
"Then let me wash your shirt," he said, extending a hand in offering. "It's only fair, given that I'm the reason coffee is covering it."
Unbeknownst to him, his earnest expression was dialing up his puppy eyes factor to a ten, when it normally rested on a six. His brown eyes were dark, like a fine mixture of dark and light chocolate, and they were holding so much concern over a mundane thing that part of her hardened heart softened at the sight. She did her best to hide the effect he had on her.
"I don't know if you were aware," she snarked, "But every school's dress code is sexist as hell, and if I show up to school with just a bra on, I might just kill every Millennial and Boomer in the building. And I don't have time to change."
"Then take my hoodie," he said, his hands and mouth moving faster than his brain could process. By the time he realized what was happening, he was already handing her his hoodie. She gathered the warm material in her hands, looking nearly as shocked as he felt, before she sent him one last unsure look, "Are you-?"
"Yeah," he said. Despite the fact he barely knew her, he knew he meant what he was saying, "I'm sure. Go change and I'll get you a plastic bag to put your shirt in."
He was gone before she could give a proper answer, heading towards the front counter like this wasn't the most bizarre encounter he's ever had.
The two coffees were left on the counter, momentarily forgotten as she danced around the wet spot on the floor. Her brother was shopping in the next aisle over, browsing through the breakfast foods and comparing the prices before he finally settled on grabbing a honey bun. She couldn't help but chuckle at the childish way he had finally decided: a prolonged, overly-exaggerated match of eenie-meenie-miney-mo.
It almost seemed like he would never grow up.
The thought made her slightly upturned lips falter for a moment before she finally ducked into the bother. The door fell shut with a click of the lock and the smell of cleaning chemicals hit her full force in the nose. Rather than riding the bathroom of its odor, it only failed to over-powering the smell of a public restroom and succeeded in making her eyes water.
She pulled the shirt over her head, wincing as she felt the stickiness of the coffee cling to her skin. The stain was stark in contrast to the shirt, drawing her eye more to it rather than the image on the front. She ran her thumb over it, staring at it in disdain. She had really liked that shirt.
After folding it gently, and washing her stomach to get the leftover coffee residue off her skin, she gently slipped the hoodie over her head.
The hoodie was as soft as it was warm. The boy's body heat lingered in the fabric, his scent still clinging to the material. It came to a rest near her mid thigh, the red fabric stark and bold against her blue jeans. The sleeves became bunched up on her arms, otherwise she would end up with sweater paws. She turned slightly and she could see the words McCall and the number 11 staring boldly at her in the mirror. So McCall is his name, she noted vaguely.
She faced the mirror properly after a moment and tilted her head slightly, observing how she looked in the hoodie.
"I look kinda cute..."
A gentle knock came from the door, pulling her out of thoughts. Shirt in hand, she gently pushed open the door, coming face to face with the McCall guy from earlier, now with a plastic bag in his hand.
"I, uhh," he stammered, eyes traveling to the hoodie she was wearing momentarily before meeting her gaze again. "I got the plastic bag for your shirt. Do you... um... Do you need me to hold it open for you...?"
Her laughter interrupted him, though both of them seemed surprised by the sudden sound. Her lips curled in a gentle, teasing smile and her eyes twinkled with mirth. Scott returned the smile with a goofy grin of his own, her laugh and smile infectious. He suddenly couldn't remember why he had been so nervous in the first place.
She gently slid her shirt in the plastic bag, tying it up before handing it back to him with an uncertain look on her face, "Are you sure you-"
"I'll wash it," he affirmed, "Besides, it's my fault there is a stain on it, anyways."
He didn't look as tired as he did earlier, she noticed. When he had spilt his coffee on her, his eyes were sad and held a far away look to them, like he had been seeing something entirely instead of her on the floor. But now he gave no sign of being the same person he was ten minutes ago. Now he looked lively, his eyes wide and attentive while his dark pools were filled with guilt and apologizes. The sight made her heart clench, she never wanted anyone to look like that.
She never wanted anyone to wear the look she found herself wearing daily.
"Um, excuse me?"
The two teenagers were snapped out of their peaceful spell by the grumpy employee from earlier, who scowled at them. "Can you move," the employee grunted, "Other people need to get into the bathroom you know."
"Oh, uh, so sorry," Scott stuttered, gently pulling the blonde girl out of the way of the grumbling employee. He vaguely heard them mumble something about 'horny teenagers' before the door closed.
A light blush coated both of their cheeks.
"Um," the girl stammered over her words gesturing to the door over her shoulder. The boy he saw earlier stood next to the door, munching on his honey bun as he gazed in the girl's direction, clearly waiting for her to hurry. Were they siblings? Possibly, they both had the same blonde hair and blue eyes and had a similar face shape, but nothing else stood out to him. "I gotta... go."
"Oh," Scott stated with realization, releasing his loose grip from her wrist, "Do you need anything-?"
"Nope," she said, popping the p, "Totally fine. Don't need a thing. Be sure to check your coffee sleeves before you pay though. You might find something you need in them."
"Wha-?"
"Ah psshhh psshhh," she exclaimed, walking away, "Can't hear you. You're breaking up. Terrible service. Gotta hang up."
While most people would have viewed her response as rude, Scott couldn't help but laugh at her antics, "This is a verbal conversation-!"
"Psshhh bye!"
She grabbed the blond boy standing by the door and nearly pushed him out, the bell signaling their leave to the store. Scott could vaguely hear the boy shout, "Aah! Stop, I could've dropped my honey bun."
And for the first time in a while, Scott McCall gave a genuine laugh.