Lydia's didn't bother to hide the tears streaming down her face as she knelt by Jackson's body.
They flowed freely down her face, and for once she didn't care. She didn't care about her image or how people would be talking about it the next day, not that they didn't talk about her behind her back already, she didn't even care about the fact that her designer clothes were getting dirty. All she cared about was the fact that the person she loved lay before her in a pool of his own blood, not breathing. And nobody was helping. Mrs. McCall had given up on artificial respiration almost two minutes ago. Now they all just seemed to be waiting for an ambulance to come and take Jackson away. Logically Lydia knew what that meant, but it couldn't be true. It couldn't be true. Jackson wouldn't just kill himself like that, she had seen the blood on his hands so she knew what he had done but it just didn't make sense. Jackson Whittemore was arrogant and cocky and full of himself; always wanting to be more, always wanting to prove himself. He couldn't do that if he was dead. No, he wouldn't have done this.
He wouldn't have done that to her.
Unless….
She choked.
"Jackson," she cried softly, "Jackson please, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I made you feel like you weren't good enough. I'm sorry I kept pushing you to be better….I'm sorry I pushed you to this." Her voice cracked as a fresh torrent of tears slid down her face, "Just….please, please come back to me. Please."
Gripping his jersey tightly in her hands Lydia lay her head down on his chest so that her ear was directly over his heart. Later on she would wonder what compelled her to such a public action since, being one who liked to hold up her image, she often did her grieving in private, but she would be forever thankful that whatever it was happened. For as soon as she put her head down she felt something spark between them immediately followed by the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat.
Her head shot up again, "Jackson?"
It was barely visible even to her, but the slight twitching of Jackson's lips into a shushing sign was unmistakable.
Lydia had absolutely no idea what was going on or why the blonde haired boy wouldn't want people to know that he was alive. Her heart clenched at the thought and she almost disregarded his request in favor of wrapping her arms around him and kissing the daylights out of him, but she didn't. She knew that something much bigger was going on and that if she wanted to find out she would have to do what he wanted. So she carefully lay her head back down on his chest.
Turning her face up a little so her mouth was under his chin she whispered, "Jackson, what is going on?"
Jackson's arm twitched as though it wanted to come up and stroke her hair. It stayed where it was. "I promise I'll explain everything but for right now you have to trust me okay?"
Lydia swallowed at the ominous sound of her boyfriend's voice before nodding.
"I need you to call Scott and tell him to meet me at the hospital, he'll know where to go, and tell him to bring the others as well."
Being as smart as she was Lydia was overcome by curiosity. Why was Jackson going to pretend he was dead if he wanted Scott to meet him? For that matter, why did Jackson try to kill himself in the first place? Who were these 'others' that Scott knew that Jackson was referring to? Did it have anything to do with the werewolves? (Ya she knew about them.) If so, why did Jackson of all people need to see them? She scratched that last question off her list, she knew exactly why the ego inflated jock would go see a pack of wolves. Taking a much needed breath Lydia forced herself to calm down.
"What should I tell them?"
"That if they want to find Stilinski alive they had better come."
Lydia stiffened, her happiness at knowing Jackson, her Jackson, was still alive was over shadowed by a gut wrenching fear toward the boy she had just begun to make friends with. After everything that had happened to her already this year she had honestly thought it was impossible to get anymore scared.
She was wrong.
Three years ago, after Andrea had died, when his son began having panic attacks Sheriff Stilinski often wondered if maybe Stiles had been over exaggerating his symptoms to get attention.
It was a stupid thought now though but back then it had been different. After his wife had died, after he had been forced to sit there and watch her die a slow, painful death, the Sheriff had pulled away from life completely. So caught up in his misery that he couldn't even get out of bed in the morning, and spending every night drowning his sadness in the bottom of a bottle, he was about two steps away from following his wife to the grave. He could still remember the day it almost happened. That was when Stiles had had his first attack.
The Sheriff could still feel the horrible churning of guilt in his stomach. Could still see his son's face, white as a sheet, staring at him as he held the gun to his own head. And he could still remember that heart clenching sound of that first gasp of air as Stiles' throat closed up, sounding for all the world like the young boy had decided he wanted to know what it was like to breathe through a straw. He had watched as his thirteen year old son had crumpled to his knees, wrapped his arms around his abnormally thin body (that the Sheriff hadn't even noticed until that moment), and began to sob uncontrollably. Not being able to breathe very well to begin with it wasn't that long until Stiles began to turn blue.
Being back at the hospital in less than two months, this time with his gasping and wheezing son, had been the kick in the ass he needed to pull himself out of the darkness. Not all the way mind you, he would need his son's help for that, but enough to be able to put away the alcohol.
At least for a while.
It had not been the last time Stiles had had an attack and with each consecutive one the Sheriff seemed to forget that he had been the one that started it. He had even yelled at Stiles on the second anniversary of his mother's death. Had told him that if he wanted attention then he could look somewhere else for it. In essence, he had called his own son a liar. And he had been the one to push his last living relative away.
Now he would give anything to take that back.
Would give anything in the world if he could just go back in time and, instead of blaming him, scope him up in his arms and tell him again and again that it was okay. He wanted to tell Stiles that no matter what anybody said his mother's death wasn't his fault, that he knew what people said behind their backs and that they were wrong.
He wanted to tell Stiles that he loved him.
Now he was gone. Vanished without a trace under the eyes of not only the entire Beacon Hill lacrosse team, but his own father's as well.
And for the first time in his life the Sheriff understood what his son had been going through these last three years.
His throat felt tight as he stumbled into the schools locker room. His heart pounded harshly in his ears and his body shook so badly he was almost positive it would cause his bones to dislodge and he would fall apart right there. He couldn't let himself fall apart though. Now until his found his son. Not until is baby boy was back safely in his arms.
It was the only thing that kept him from falling fully into the panic.
He wondered if Stiles had ever even had that.
Forcing a deep breath of air into his lungs he lent against the wall of the locker room and waited until he was calmer.
"Lydia, what are you doing here?"
Scott's voice drifted from around the corner.
"Yes, shouldn't you be with your dead, murdering boyfriend?"
"Issac!"
The Sheriff's attention was immediately peaked, his panic attack rapidly moving to the back of his mind as the cop part of his mind zeroed in on the word 'murder'.
A deep growl sounded, "What? It's true."
"You know perfectly well that he was being controlled."
"That doesn't change the fact that he did it."
Another growl sounded, this one louder and more authorities, "Enough both of you!" The Sheriff stiffened as he heard Derek's voice. What the hell was he doing there? "We kind of have more important things to worry about then a dead Kanima."
"He's not dead." A hard feminine voice, who the Sheriff could only assume was Lydia, cut through the air.
There was a moment of stunned silence and the Sheriff took the opportunity to peak around the corner.
There in the middle of the locker room stood Scott, Lydia, Derek Hale, Issac Lahey, and one more person that the Sheriff didn't recognize. He seemed oddly familiar though. He was the one who snapped out of his stupor first.
"What do you mean he's not dead?"
Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder in a move that was obviously designed to hide her discomfort, "I mean, he was dead, but then I called him and he just sort of woke up."
"What do you mean you called him?" the unknown man took a step forward, eyes fixated on her.
She shifted again, this time her fingers shifted twisting together, "He was just lying there and I…" she licked her lips suddenly looking embarrassed, "I told him to come back to me."
"And that is when he woke up?" the man questioned. Lydia looked down at the floor and nodded.
Derek stepped forward this time, "Peter," the Sheriff jerked in surprise. Peter? Peter Hale? As in Derek's uncle who was burned in the fire and was now in the hospital burned and catatonic Peter Hale? What the hell? He didn't have time to ponder this as Derek continued talking, "what does this mean?"
Peter let out a deep sigh. An invisible weight seemed to have been lifted off his shoulders, "It means we don't have to deal with the Kanima anymore."
Boyd held the phone slightly turned away from his ear so that Erica could listen as it rang. He could feel the girl shivering next to him as it rang again. Boyd nudged her shoulder comfortingly. She sent him a slight smile.
The ringing stopped.
"Chris, I swear to god if I find out you are behind this I will take you so far into the woods that even the birds won't be able to hear you scream."
Erica let out a chocked sob of a laugh and Boyd snorted, "Well that's a new one."
There was a moment of silence before a high pitched shout that was defiantly not Derek was sent down the line. In an instant Issac was on the line, "Boyd, Erica are you guys okay? What the heck is going on? I thought you guys were leaving town."
A sharp growl sounded and then Derek was back, "Where are you guys right now?"
It was Chris who answered, "We just turned off Santamonica*. We're heading for the old flour mill if you want to meet us there."
"Chris!? What the hell are you doing with him?"
"Derek," Erica timidly spoke up, "Chris helped us escape."
There was silence again though Boyd and Erica could hear slight muttering on the other end. Derek must have covered the mouth piece. Boyd let his eyes wander to the window while his Alpha spoke with whoever was on the other end. Chris seemed to notice his gaze.
"We're almost there; it's only about twenty more minutes."
Boyd nodded at the window.
There was a slight muffled sound from the phone and then Derek was back, "Once you get to the mill don't go anywhere. We're coming to get you."
Boyd's heart jumped. Derek was coming to get them? Did that mean he forgiven them for running away from him? Or did he just want to see them in order to kill them for leaving? Boyd shook his head. No, that wasn't right. Derek wasn't like that. The Alpha was by no means not a killer, but he only did that when he was hunting or to protect his pack. Neither Erica nor Boyd were a threat to him and there was still too much going on with the Kanima to risk coming all the way out here to kill Chris. If only he could be sure of Derek's intentions….
Erica seemed to be thinking along the same lines as him so she spoke up, "Derek."
"What is it Erica?" both Betas cringed at the shortness of Derek's tone.
The blonde haired girl bit her lip nerviously.
"Erica?"
"I'm sorry."
Boyd tensed slightly. In the front seat he could see that Chris was tense as well as they waited for Derek's response.
There was a very tired sounding sigh, "It's okay Erica. I am sorry to you two also. We are going to have a lot to talk about when this is all over, until then tell Chris I'm putting you in his hands for now, I promise I'll be there soon."
And with that Derek was gone.
The dial tone sounded obnoxiously loud as Boyd handed the phone back to Chris.
Derek forgave them. Just like that, the Alpha to whom they owed this life and to whom they betrayed forgave them. From the reflection on the window Boyd could see Chris's eyes flicking back and forth to the rear view mirror. He looked oddly relieved. Though that might just have been from the fact that he would not have to hold on to either of the Beta's anymore, but somehow Boyd didn't believe that.
Something suddenly slammed into Boyd's right side and all at once he found he had a lap full of Erica. Her laughter rang through the car like a set of bells in the wind and for the first time that night Boyd smiled.
Maybe everything would be alright after all.