A/N: I don't normally put these at the beginning, but here's an apology for making you guys wait for months and a reminder that you might wanna reread the last chapter(s) just to refresh!
I'd take another chance, take a fall, take a shot for you
And I need you like a heart needs a beat, but it's nothin' new
I loved you with a fire red, now it's turning blue, and you say,
"Sorry," like the angel heaven let me think was you
Chapter 34: Insurgence
"I know you killed Donovan," Sherry said, throwing herself in Stiles's path as he tried to exit the sheriff's station.
He jumped, suddenly pale. "What?" He glanced behind himself, making sure no one else heard. No one like Lydia, who lingered inside the station to discuss something with Parrish.
"I knew since Josh attacked you on the roof," she said, hands on her hips. "I heard. And now Scott knows, too, but he thinks you're a cold-blooded murderer."
"I didn't—"
"Let me finish," she bit, filled with fury. "I don't know why no one thinks I have the right to speak for myself." She huffed. "Anyway, I don't know anything about what you did, except that I'm almost certain it was self defense. And I can't fathom why you thought it was a good idea to avoid telling him about something this huge to begin with, but it is what it is. So you've got to sort this out yourself."
Poor Stiles looked heartbroken. "How... how does Scott know?"
"That's irrelevant. Where the eff is Theo?"
He shrugged, pointing to his dad, and slunk out of the station with his tail between his legs.
She knocked on the sheriff's door and let herself in once he beckoned through the gap in the blinds.
"I'm told you know where Theo is."
His eyes were tired as they looked up, bags forming among the wrinkles and smile lines of his pink skin. "I knew where he was five minutes ago, but as for now, I can't help."
She connected Theo's presence to the sheriff's haggard appearance. "What did he tell you?"
Sheriff Stilinski sighed. He motioned to close his door. Stomach sinking, Sherry complied and moved closer. "So?"
"I don't want you to overreact," he began, and Sherry nearly laughed. "He... Theo... Donovan attacked him, awhile ago, and he fought back..."
"And killed him," Sherry interrupted. "Right?"
The sheriff blinked. "Well, yeah—"
Fuming, Sherry nodded and left. She couldn't believe Theo. She could understand, maybe, if he'd misinterpreted Stiles's actions as murderous, and she could understand if Theo meant to take the blame for Stiles, but both? Wanting to both expose the truth and hide it? She needed an explanation.
So she hopped on her bike and pedaled for about a block until she realized, again, that she had no idea where Theo lived, or how to get there, or where he normally hung out. She squeezed her brakes, dug a foot into the sidewalk, and jabbed her fingers onto her phone screen until Theo answered on the other end.
"Hey, Sherry!" he chirped. "What's up?"
"Get to my house," she said, her voice careful and controlled. "I need to talk to you."
"In... person?"
"Yeah, because I feel like punching you," she replied, and hung up.
He was there, standing on the front steps when she arrived. He had wide, earnest eyes and a trembling hand reminiscent of an agitated Stiles. The front door was open behind him.
"Listen up," she announced, swinging her leg over her bike.
Theo held up his hands in an attempt to stop her. "Wait! Whatever you're going to say, it can wait! I need to show you something—"
"Like an explanation?" she spat.
"It's an emergency," Theo pled, grabbing her arm. "Don't be rash."
She kicked him. "Don't touch me, you liar!"
He stalled. "...Liar?"
"Yeah, you double-crossing, lying..." she struggled for a good word. "Jerk!"
"I didn't peg you for the 'lying is always sin' type."
She burned. "I'm not! I just," she kicked him, "can't stand it," kick, "when people mess with my friends!"
He put his hands on her shoulders, like he was going to calm her. "Stop being irrational, Sherry. You know I'm on your side. Stop messing things up."
Her vision blurred wet, and she wondered what she'd done to deserve this. Why Theo couldn't still be the sunshine boy he was before. Why everything—
"Your mom is hurt, Sherry!" he exploded. "I've been trying to tell you that this whole time!"
Why everything she'd tried so hard to build up now crumbled into desert sand.
He brought her inside — she was still processing the idea of hurt again — and led her upstairs, explaining and explaining.
"I tried to help, I swear," he was saying, "I only got here a few minutes ago and she let me in, that's how I know. I was sitting on the couch when there was a shatter and a scream upstairs; I rushed up to help and she was already lying there; whoever did it must've escaped; I'm sorry, Sherry; I think it was a chimera, but I'm not really sure..."
She wanted him to shut up.
The whitewashed door was ajar, pools of wet shimmering on the carpet. Linda Ming was against the far wall, unconscious, her hand crimson over her belly. She had gashes on her pale upper arms and flecks of blood among her freckles.
"Ohmy—" Sherry leaped forward, checking her mother for breaths. Linda's chest lifted up and down unevenly, probably impeded by whatever damage had been done. "Did you even call 911?!"
She barely noticed him moving closer from the corner of her eye. "Of course."
Nodding uselessly, she flexed her fingers and curled them back, unsure what to do.
When she stood back up, he hugged her, all warmth and good intent, and she almost didn't want to hate him, didn't want to remind him- "You're still a liar."
She was starting to hate the sheriff's station. Only bad things ever happened there: Tracy's attack, Parrish's lies, Donovan's anger, the lies and ignorance and incompetence of an organization that failed to protect.
She stormed through the station, a miniature, contained tornado that still felt obligated to respond to greetings from deputies and officers she passed by. How many of them suspected the true nature of Beacon Hills, the chimeras and wolves and violence that hid in the woods?
Parrish was in the last place she'd have expected, obviously, secluded in the farthest back corner of the station, behind metal bars and talking to Lydia. They were having a moment, or something, Parrish's hands on the bars and Lydia's clenched on the strap of her cross-body purse. As she entered, phone in hand, ready to text him, their moment broke and Parrish looked almost guilty, although she wasn't sure it was because of his position or that she'd caught him at this moment.
"Jordan," Sherry said in her most plaintive voice. "Something happened."
His hands dropped from the metal. "What did? Is everything okay?"
"No, everything's not okay," she retorted, tired and exhausted and emotionally spent. "My mom is in the hospital and she might die."
"She won't die," Lydia assured her, rubbing her shoulder. Sherry was almost comforted, although she was certain that banshee-senses didn't have any part in the prediction.
"Jordan," she said again, hoping and hinting. The fact that he was behind bars didn't even bother her.
He didn't get the hint, or if he did, he chose to ignore it. "I don't know what you expect me to do from here."
"Then get out," she reasoned. If Scott got out under murder charges and her mother did from counts of treason, surely Parrish could too.
"He doesn't want to," Lydia explained. "He doesn't want to hurt anyone."
"Why would he—"
"I'm the one who's been taking the bodies, Sher," he said helplessly. "I have to protect everyone. I'm trying to help."
Yet he couldn't help her the only time she ever tried to say she needed him. The one time she craved the connection of family as it grew weaker.
Her phone slipped through her fingers.
Bed seemed like a good idea. The sheets were cold and her room was a mess, but all she wanted to do was sleep. Maybe if she did, the velocity of life would slow. She didn't feel like dying, but she certainly didn't feel like living.
Her newly cracked phone was cradled in her hands, one tap away from turning on. Her fingers itched like they wanted to call someone.
She didn't know whom.
She counted them off on her fingers. Mother, hurt. Uncle, self-jailed. Kira, not here. Theo, questionable. Liam, preoccupied. Hayden, with him. Stiles, estranged. Scott, busy. Mason, mourning. Malia...?
She wondered whether she should.
The screen turned on, the brightness blinding in her darkened room. Wincing, she turned it down and found Malia's name under contacts. Her finger hovered over the call button.
The screen lit up with Theo's name.
She threw the phone down on her bed, but it continued to ring. It buzzed on the sheets, glowing from the edges. The sound was even more irritating than she remembered, inflaming her fury like pumps of oxygen to a fire. Finally fed up, she answered.
"Yes?"
"Come outside."
"What for?"
"Stop moping and do something," he responded. When had doing something ever ended positively? "Liam and Hayden need our help now," he urged. "Do you want them to be hurt?"
She hated how he made her feel worse. "Help them yourself," she said, not because she didn't care, but because she did, too much to let them be hurt by her carelessness.
"I think you're depressed," Theo analyzed, and sighed. "Well, it's not my fault if I can't handle them on my own."
She hung up.
The pillow was soft as she buried her face in it, but not soft enough. No matter how she adjusted the blankets and pillows, there was still a gaping hole somewhere, and it took a while until she finally realized that she couldn't just fill it with physical warmth. She was lonely, and frustrated, and exhausted. And she was too afraid to do something about it.
The doorbell rang.
She hugged her blankets tighter, tears pricking at her eyes. It rang again.
"Go away," she mumbled, her voice breaking. "Go away!" She screamed it as loud as she could, and wiped at her eyes.
There was a knock at her window.
Her blood curdled, her heart rate sprinting.
"Let me in," Theo's voice pleaded.
"You're a creep!" she yelled. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Don't make me break the window."
Wrapping the blankets around herself, she stomped toward him and opened the curtains. He smiled sadly, like he was trying to apologize. She hated his guts, but she unlocked the window and let him in anyway.
He made a beeline downstairs, expecting Sherry to follow him.
She did.
"Put on your shoes," he ordered, and left through the front door. His motorcycle waited at the curb. She stuffed her bare feet into sneakers and sulked out the door.
It was a little difficult to lock the door with her arms still buried inside her blankets, but she managed it somehow and climbed onto Theo's motorcycle without saying a word.
She wondered why she was still letting him boss her around.
He raised an eyebrow at her blankets, but stepped on the gas and got going anyway. The soft rumbling of the bike's engine calmed Sherry's nerves, and combined with the blankets and Theo's warmth, almost lulled her to sleep. Then she felt a jerk and she realized they'd reached their destination.
The neon sign glowed green over the warehouse exterior and her stomach sank. Sinema.
"Come on," Theo growled, his face rapidly morphing. She left her blankets on the bike and crept to the back door. Theo didn't stop to wait.
He barreled through the open door and was gone. Crashing and yelling echoed eerily from inside, pricking at Sherry's bones. She wasn't scared of the danger yet, just anxious that she wouldn't like what she'd find.
She was defenseless. Her gun was at home, although it would be useless against the Dread Doctors anyway. If only she hadn't used up all the liquid nitrogen...
The world became infinitely darker the moment she stepped inside. Then she pushed past the bead curtains and into chaos. Strobe lights flashed, the movie screen playing a grisly scene. Shattered glass lay everywhere, mixed into spilled drinks. Scott coughed up blood on the floor, too damaged to stand and fight. Liam struggled against a Dread Doctor as Theo slashed and bit. Amid the flashes of light and darkness, Sherry couldn't tell how many Doctors there were — one? Or three? But she could tell that someone was missing.
"Hayden!" Liam screeched, scrabbling against tile and glass.
Hayden. She dashed around the edges of the nightclub, careful not to get tripped up by the brawls that ripped through the furniture and walls. Where could Hayden be? She couldn't be gone, not yet. Not when Sherry'd just arrived.
The counter was bare but for smashed bottle shards, no one hidden behind it.
Sherry's fists clenched as she inched along the shelves, as silent as she could force herself to be. Her back brushed against something jutting out of the wall.
She spun around and grabbed it. A door knob, coated with something slick, nearly blended into the walls around it.
Stomach turning, she crept inside.
Bars of light fell from ventilation shafts in the ceiling, lighting up a backdrop of shelves and cleaning supplies. In the center, a Dread Doctor held Hayden in a chokehold, a syringe in hand.
Base instinct told Sherry to either throw herself at the Doctor or run, but she forced herself to do neither. Her mind raced, struggling and stumbling for a solution — and her eyes lit upon a rack of cleaning tools. Brooms, mops, vacuum cleaners... and a crowbar.
Sprinting, she snatched the heavy metal bar and swung it at the Dread Doctor's head. It barely made a clang — the next moment, she found herself thrown against the cement wall, the wind knocked out of her chest, unsure how she'd gotten there.
The door flew open, Liam pleading with Hayden's name, just as the syringe buried itself in her throat.
A/N: I'M SO SO SORRY FOR MAKING YOU GUYS WAIT. I LITERALLY DIDN'T WRITE SINCE MAY AND IT'S NOW JULY.
Anyway, I'm suffering from some serious Teen Wolf withdrawals. And recapping these episodes makes my heart hurt. AND! BEAR HUGS IS OFFICIALLY OVER A YEAR OLD! Thanks everyone for reading and bearing with me all these months! I know I suck with updating on time.
Also? I'm now starting college apps and? I can't believe I'm this old already.
What are your thoughts on this chapter? Love it? Hate it?
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