A/N: Wow, the response to last chapter absolutely floored me. I guess you guys aren't bored after all, I'm extremely glad! I hope you like this chapter, and for those anticipating drama, you may have to wait just a tiny bit longer ;)
I'm deafened by the silence
Is it something that I've done?
I know that there are millions
I can't be the only one who's so disconnected
It's so different in my head.
Can anybody tell me why I'm lonely like a satellite?
Astronaut – Simple Plan
"Scott and Derek are werewolves."
"Yes," Stiles sighed exasperatedly, glancing down again at the board where he'd labelled each chess piece as one of the local supernatural.
"And Kate Argent, was a werewolf."
"Hunter," Stiles corrected quickly, holding up the assigned piece. "Purple's hunter."
"Along with Allison and her father," Cora spoke up from where she still sat on the bed. I stood behind Stiles, hands resting comfortingly on his broad shoulders.
"Yeah, and my friend Deaton, the veterinarian, is a...kanima?"
"What?" I asked bemusedly, where the hell had he pulled that one from?
"No, no," Stiles shook his head. "He's a druid...well, we think."
"...so who's the kanima?" he asked in honest confusion.
"Jackson."
"Jackson's a werewolf," Stiles corrected again. "He was the kanima first, and then Peter and Derek and killed him and then he came back to life as a werewolf, now he's in London."
"And what's Juliet?" he asked, pointing up at me. I had instantly noticed Stiles didn't put me on the board, and I still wasn't entirely sure what to make of that small action. Was he afraid of his father's reaction? Or worse, was he ashamed?
"Not important," Stiles shook his head. An unpleasant feeling curdled in my stomach and my hands slid from his shoulders, arms folding across my chest tensely.
John looked like he wanted to argue, but there were more pressing things to worry about. "Who's the Darach?"
"It's Darach."
"We don't know yet," Cora said tersely.
"But he was killed by werewolves?"
"Slashed up and left for dead."
"We think," Cora mumbled.
"Yeah, not altogether clear on that one," I added with pursed lips, clicking my tongue awkwardly when John's serious blue gaze met my own emerald green one.
I nodded, not sure why he would be looking to me for answers. Either way he seemed to accept my nod, sighing heavily and leaning back in his seat, once against observing the chess board. "Why was Jackson the kanima?"
"Because sometimes the shape that you take reflects the person that you are," Stiles said, scowling at the mere thought of the lizard.
"And what shape would an increasingly confused and angrier by the second father, take?"
I exhaled sharply. So he didn't believe us. Of course, I hadn't expected him to, not at first anyway. But I wasn't about to show him first hand, I wanted to prepare him for that first, lest he come at me with the full strength of the town's police force, I could only handle being attacked by pitchforks so many times before I got exasperated. Stiles stuttered a reply, swallowing thickly as his dad shot him a severely unimpressed look.
"Dad, look, I can prove it!" he said as his father stood from his chair, preparing to storm from the room. "She's one of them!" he told him, gesturing violently to Cora who was looking worse for wear.
"Stiles!" John snapped loudly and seriously. "That's enough."
"Dad, can you please just hold on?" Stiles begged, making John pause in the doorway, looking back at his desperate son. "Ready?" he asked Cora, who stood up shakily. "Okay dad, just watch this," he said, just as the youngest Hale collapsed to the floor.
I caught her before her head hit the carpet, holding her up with ease and gently patting her face. The sheriff raced forwards. "Call an ambulance," he ordered Stiles, who hesitated.
"She has a concussion, but it should have healed by now," I told the man, carefully monitoring her heartbeat as it raced.
"What do you mean, 'it should have healed by now'?" John demanded. "Stiles, what the hell are you doing? Call. An. Ambulance."
I placed my hand on his arm, stopping him. "We can't risk exposure," I told him gently. "The hospital's not an option."
"The hell it isn't," he responded tightly, completely ignoring me as he reached for his own cell, pulling it from his belt and dialling 911. Deciding to let the sheriff have his way, I allowed him to make the call, resolving that I would just stay beside her at all times and compel the memories away of anyone who noticed the abnormal DNA within her.
John said nothing except things to try and rouse Cora, completely ignoring his son and I as he focused on the girl on the floor, her head placed precariously in my lap.
They wouldn't let me ride in the ambulance with her, but I figured they wouldn't discover much in the short trip to the hospital, so I relented and let Stiles drive us instead. "We can't let them do blood tests, right?" he asked as we followed the ambulance, driving over the speed limit in it's wake.
"Right," I nodded, one ear focused on what was happening inside the van in front of us. "Because they'll find animal DNA."
"What would they find in yours?"
"Is this really the time for vampire biology 101?" I asked, more snappy than I intended to sound. He didn't respond other than to send me a look, one that instantly had me giving in. "An escalated white blood cell count, an impossibly small red blood cell count, lack of proteins and vitamins. Not to mention it doesn't flow through my veins like a human's does."
"Because your heart doesn't beat, right?" he asked with genuine curiosity.
I felt uncomfortable with the line of questioning it was leading to, I hated when the differences between our species were pointed out. "Why didn't you tell your dad about me?"
"Huh?" he hummed, caught off guard by the question.
"On the chess board?" I prompted him. "Why didn't you include me?"
He hesitated, heart stuttering in his chest, giving away his nerves. "I wasn't sure...I don't think my dad...not that he won't, but at first...I mean...at least, given time..."
"Full sentences, Stiles," I reminded him, and he swallowed loudly, nodding to himself as he pulled into the hospital parking lot.
"It...it was just a lot to tell him in one go, and I figured the part about you wasn't completely necessary to these killings, so I guessed it could wait. Telling my dad that my girlfriend was one of the living dead isn't at the top of the list of things I feel like doing."
It was fair enough, but I still felt a sting at his words. Deciding it was a better idea to say nothing at all, I merely hopped from the Jeep the moment it was idle, slipping through the lot and towards the door.
It wasn't hard to find Cora's room – I just followed the stench of wet dog – but was promptly shoved from the space, the nurses having none of my presence. I didn't particularly care, content to merely wait outside the room, keeping an ear trained on what was happening within.
"It's not guardians," Stiles said, appearing by my side. I turned to look at him lazily, raising an eyebrow to get him to continue. "Allison called Scott who called me," he explained quickly, glancing around as nurses and orderlies rushed by us, hardly paying us any attention. "It's not guardians as in law enforcement. It's philosophers as in teachers."
I nodded, "that does make more sense." I paused, considering something. "But Tara-"
"Used to teach middle school." We were silent, considering the new information. "They found another body," he told me softly. "The history teacher."
"Fantastic," I muttered sardonically, fingers twitching, eager to be holding a cigarette.
John walked by, catching Stiles' attention. He turned to follow, calling back to me over his shoulder, "call Derek! Tell him about Cora!"
"But he's gone MIA!" I argued with a scowl.
"Doesn't mean he isn't checking his voicemail!"
I huffed, irritated but resigned. "Call Derek, Juliet. Don't let Cora be exposed, Juliet. Don't tell dad what you are, Juliet," I muttered under my breath, punching the buttons harder than necessary as I rang the older Hale.
There was no personal recording, just an automated voice telling me to leave a message at the tone.
"Derek, your sister's in the hospital. Room 503. Hurry up and get your ass here before I get bored of watching over her like some fucked up half-dead guardian angel."
I ended the call roughly, shoving it back into my pocket and crossing my arms moodily, leaning back against the wall and closing my eyes.
I didn't want to admit how terrified I was about the Sheriff finding out the truth. Because I was; I was petrified. Not so much about the town coming after me with pitchforks and torches, that wouldn't be anything I hadn't handled before. But I was scared that the tentative relationship John and I had built would crumble.
I liked talking with Stiles' dad, I liked when he showed me baby pictures and told embarrassing stories from Stiles' childhood. I liked rolling my eyes with him every time Stiles went on one of his health-kick rants over dinner.
I cared about him, as loath as I was to admit it, and the thought of him hating me hurt like a stake to the gut.
"Is she okay?"
I opened my eyes, peering through the fluorescent overhead lighting at Derek, who was standing before me with wide, panicked eyes. "Took you long enough," I murmured, glancing at the clock on the far wall and noting it had been a half hour since I'd left the voicemail. "I don't know anything specific, but so far so good."
He went to walk in, and I reached out to grasp his arm.
"Visiting hours are over," I told him flatly. He looked about ready to bite my hand off, when a grin appeared on my face, one of great contrast to how I felt at the moment. "Good thing you're in with the local vampire population," I winked, hoping that my usual standard of banter would help the sinking feeling in my chest. "Excuse me, miss?" I called out, and a passing nurse looked at me, making the usually fatal mistake of meeting my gaze. "Cora Hale's brother can stay with her as long as he likes."
"He can stay as long as he likes," she parroted lifelessly, and I blinked to break the hold, grinning at her widely.
I let go of Derek, then made a show of shooing him into the hospital room. "You're welcome," I told him with a smirk, and he merely nodded stoically before ducking into the room.
"Juliet!" Stiles' familiar voice called, making a passing orderly shush him sharply as he approached. "Jules," he repeated, more quietly this time. "We have to get to the school, now. Like right now."
I took his arm, looping mine through his and letting him lead me towards the elevators. "What's the big emergency?" I asked softly, pressing the button and waiting impatiently as the chords behind the doors whirred.
"The recital," he told me severely. "It's going to take another philosopher sacrifice. Tonight."
I was silent as I pushed my way into the room, thankful the doors didn't squeak as they moved. Stiles crept in beside me, and it only took a second to locate Scott, who was standing near the back, keen eyes watching everything in the room.
"Anything?" I asked him from the corner of my mouth, my own eyes sweeping the hall, looking for anything out of place.
"Nothing yet," he responded.
"Well, did Lydia find – or sense – anything?" Stiles asked just as quietly.
"Lydia?" Scott asked, glancing over his shoulder at an empty space by the wall. "Lydia?"
"Lydia?" Stiles hissed frantically. "Where the hell is she?" he asked me, eyes wide as he realised something must have been wrong.
"How the hell am I supposed to know? Lydia-GPS isn't one of my vampiric abilities, Stiles," I snarled back at him sharply, irritated by his tone.
"Her scent leads this way," Scott interjected before things could escalate, turning on his heel and darting from the room. "Lydia?!" he yelled once we were out of the hall and encased in the crisp night air.
"Lydia?!" Stiles echoed loudly, sweeping the shadows as best as his weak human eyes could. I stepped further into the quad, vision cutting through the darkness as I searched for any sign of the girl, Scott doing the same on my right. "Anything?" my boyfriend asked worriedly, tapping away at his phone.
"Negative," I responded absently, sniffing the air, looking for (but hoping I wouldn't find) the scent of freshly spilled blood.
"She's not answering texts," Stiles muttered, heart stuttering in his chest. "What do we do?"
Scott's heat raced as he began to panic. I felt my handle of the situation slipping through my fingers. We were wasting time by doing nothing, but what was there to do? What move could I possibly make to solve things?
I figured we had to do something.
"Scott, we should-" before I could get the words out, a piercing scream cut through the night air. My face scrunched as my hands flew up to cover my ears, as though that would help stop the pain. The sound tore through my skull, my ears ached and burned hot at the same time, and my legs felt like jello.
I forced my eyes open, glancing at Stiles, but thankfully the kid seemed unaffected by the screech, merely staring at Scott and I in frantic concern. The teen wolf had even less tolerance for the sound than I did, knees buckling as he collapsed to the cement, groaning in pain.
I'd heard Lydia scream before, but this one was different, it hurt.
Only one being had ever elicited that kind of reaction from me before, and I knew instantly that my suspicions about the redheaded high school girl were correct.
But I didn't have time to focus on that particular jar of worms.
As soon as the sound was over I was released from the pain. I glanced up, scanning the surrounding area. The scream seemed to come from every corner of the school at once, making it impossible to determine where it was originating from. All I knew was that it was close, very close.
I spun around, grasping Scott by his arms and pulling him from the ground with ease. "You okay?" I asked him, watching as he blinked dazedly.
"What was that?" he asked breathlessly.
"No time," I replied stoically. My head snapped up as a breeze filtered through the quad, carrying on it a painfully familiar scent. My eyes widened, a split second reaction escaping before I smothered it with my usual glare. "I know where they are," I said darkly, barely glancing over my shoulder at Stiles as I continued. "Don't follow us."
I dragged Scott along behind me, the boy gaining strength as he recovered from Lydia's excruciating shriek. "You know he's going to follow us, right?" the wolf said, speaking just under his breath as I led him through the halls of the school.
"Of course," I murmured back as I turned sharply into a classroom. I left Scott to fend off the Darach – who was apparently our English teacher, which was good to know, but would have been nicer to know sooner – my priority was the sheriff. "John," I breathed as I knelt down beside the man, hands held up uncertainly as I surveyed the heavily bleeding wound on his chest and the dagger sticking out of it haphazardly. "You'll be okay," I assured him, though he was hardly paying attention, too focused on the image of Scott behind me, completely changed into his wolf form.
I heard the sounds of he and the Darach fighting behind me, but I paid them no mind, all of my attention on John. Scott could look after himself.
"John, focus on me," I said, trying to shift his awareness away from the battle behind me to myself and my voice.
"Jules!" Stiles' voice shouted from the hallway where I could hear him pounding desperately at the blocked door, but I couldn't spare him a moment, too focused on saving his father's life. I pressed my palms to the area around the wound, trying to determine what exactly it had damaged.
Before I could finish my examination, John's hand snapped out, and I glanced over to see a gun held in his shaking fingers. I would have done something, but the man had a gun aimed at the Darach, which was more than we'd accomplished all month, and I wasn't about to do a thing to stop him.
"There was a girl, years ago," John began, and my gaze slid to him in a glare.
"Shoot her," I growled even as I slid to my feet to glower at the Darach menacingly, fingers curled into makeshift claws and fangs fully descended.
"We found her in the woods," he continued, paying me no mind. "Her face and body slashed apart."
"John, now."
"That was you, wasn't it?"
The teacher smirked, though the expression was hollow. "Maybe I should have started with philosophers," she mused in a gentle tone that contradicted her very existence. "With knowledge and strategy."
"John!" I shouted forcefully, and finally the man pulled the trigger.
He may as well have shot a vampire for all the good it did. The wound healed instantly, and she merely gazed at him with a sneer. She paused, continuing to smirk down at the Sheriff, and I took the moment to attack. So a bullet wouldn't hurt her, but maybe I would be able to smash her skull in with my fist and have better luck.
She was strong, but she wasn't fast, not able to duck quickly enough as I sent my knuckles flying into her face. They landed on her cheekbone, but unfortunately, besides a grunt, she seemed unaffected. I briefly caught the scent of blood in the air, but I couldn't see any on her annoyingly pretty face.
My eyes widened, and I did it again, only for her to catch my fist, twisting my arm and shoving sending me across the room with all the ease of an Original. And that was just it, she was as strong as a motherfucking Original. Logically I knew it would have to be from all the sacrifices, obviously they were feeding her strength. I wasn't hurt, merely shocked as I stared up at her in surprise.
I took a second for myself, sucking in a cool breath of air before leaping to my feet and lunging for her. I wasn't, however, expecting a face full of vervain for my efforts.
I staggered back, gasping in shock and agony as my skin began to sizzle and burn. I couldn't help but yell out in pain, this time succumbing to the urge to collapse and falling painfully to my knees. I yelped, hands shooting up to cradle my searing face. I coughed as some of the powder got in my throat, and squeezed my eyes shut tightly as they stung like a bitch.
It took me a full minute to recover, the plant acting as a toxic poison, making it feel as if my face was literally melting off. I groaned in pain, feeling myself as I was curled up into a ball, recovering from the attack.
Slowly but surely, the effects wore off, and though my eyes still stung painfully, I was once again able to stumble to my feet, only to find that I was too late. Stiles and Scott were standing at a broken window, staring out into the night with terror splashed across their faces.
The Sheriff was gone.
A/N: A few quick notes. One review said something about how Juliet is always losing fights, but that they knew this was because there would be no plot if she took everyone down easily. This person was absolutely right. I also wrote Jules as not a particularly strong or competent fighter. Deep down she's a pacifist that has a love of chaos (a bit contradictory, but them's the facts).
Also, In the coming few chapters, I may be moving to a Stiles POV. It would be in third person (because I'm not comfortable writing canon characters in first person), but how would you guys feel about that? Things are going to happen that's going to make it impossible to write in Juliet's POV, but I think you'll like what's coming. It's interesting, to say the least. Let me know what you guys think. I love you all!
